And then commercial. Coming back, Gaius is fading in and out of his naked torture and out and into his Six fugue on the beach, shaking silently as Three turns the pain higher, until he finally cries out. "I can help you," says Six. "I can guide you through the torment and beyond, but you'll have to do the work." Task One: Continue teaching Gaius how to project. I don't know why, but it's clear she needs him to learn this better with a quickness. Considering she's always played his intuition, it makes total sense no matter what she is. "I'll do anything," he gasps, and falls back into the basestar: "Anything!" Then tell us what we want to know, says Three, who's not doing half the job she thinks she is, as far as coming off as cold and clinical with this. "How was the virus invented?" Is there a cure? "Look at me," Six says, hauling him back to the beach. "Look at me. When you make love to me, Gaius, you don't always think about me. Your mind wanders. I know that. You think of equations, puzzles, your laundry." Projection, on the lowest level. On the basestar Gaius screams. "It's the nature of the mind to disconnect from the body," she says, climbing onto him. The waves and the birds and the bright sunlight. "Separate your mind from your body. Keep your mind in that room. Use your intellect against her. Reason. Logic. Analysis. Find the holes in her psyche." In the interrogation he begs, saying he can't, it hurts too much. "The pain's only in your body. So keep your body here with me. Don't worry. I'll take care of it." (Hoo hoo hoo!) This show is so fucking weird.
Three turns down the machine again. "You see, Gaius, this is what the absence of pain feels like," she says, playing a role. "It's easy to forget." He repeats that it's not his doing, that it was a coincidence, and Three gets mad: "There's no such thing as coincidence. God wills the universe according to His design." (Wills. God wills existence. Just like a Cylon.) Six begins to undress, still straddling Gaius, still the one that knows him best: "Now. Focus on her. As a Cylon, not a woman. Be a scientist. Examine her faith. What's your analysis, doctor?" And as she starts to move, he starts to speak. "I'm a scientist. And as a scientist, I believe that if God exists, our knowledge of him is imperfect. Why?" He's speaking up at Three now, through bleary eyes. "Because the stories and myths we have are the products of men, the passage of time. Religion in practice is based on a theory, impossible to prove. Yet you bestow it with absolutes, like there is no such thing as coincidence." Three answers, correctly, that this is definition of faith. "Absolute belief in God's will means there's a reason for everything. Everything! And yet you can't help ask[ing] yourself how God can allow death and destruction and then despise yourself for asking. But the truth is, if we knew God's will, we'd all be Gods, wouldn't we?" She darts her eyes at him. Interesting. She's always assumed a privileged relationship with God, invoking it without even thinking as she commits her crimes and administrations. "I can see it in your eyes, D'Anna. You're frustrated. You're conflicted. Let me help you. Let me help you change. Find a way to reconcile your faith with fact. Find a way towards a rational universe." Let me ruin your ideology and religion by accomplishing the impossible? No thank you. But she's a robot: it's the perfect, ultimate, most beautiful solution. And it would shut Cavil up, too.