"And you blame him for her death... Have you been drinking today, Colonel?" Long shot on Bill, Tigh in the foreground, tricks with focus: "I had a drink. I haven't been drinking." Lampkin surmises that Saul used to drink with Ellen. He can't know the glory of it, though, the way their loved burned so hot. He can't understand what he means, what he's saying, when he says they used to drink. Tigh loses a bit of composure and the camera follows, swanning off sideways. The static and the sound, across the water: "You hear that? They're playing music in here now?" Not looking good for the prosecution, there. "Gaius Baltar didn't order the death of your wife, Colonel. That was somebody else." That was Sam Anders, recent widower, recent cuckold, newborn nugget. That was Colonel Saul Tigh, constant murderer, recent poet, constant cuckold, newborn... what? What music is he hearing? "Who was it, Colonel? Who killed Ellen? Come on, Colonel, we're waiting. Tell us. Who was it? Who killed Ellen?" He breaks, on the rocks. Runs aground. Begins to sing. "I did. I did. I did. She was giving information to the Cylons. A lot of good men died. She was my wife. It was my responsibility. She did it for me. That's what she said, to save me from going back to prison, so they could tear more pieces off me." His eye, traded in for something new. Something we aren't at the correct angle to see yet, another hallucination, another way the world goes south on you. "So I killed her. All because of that thing over there. All because Gaius frakkin' Baltar didn't have the guts to stand up to the Cylons. Because he handed our fates over to the Cylons, I had to kill my Ellen." Because you held the temporary goals of the insurrection, and the Circle you knew you'd create, above the simple fact that you don't put guns in the Temple, and you don't play with scapegoats unless you're prepared to back it up.