"You're wrong. You need to prove it to yourself, or you leave that courtroom out there knowing you kept a secret that could've saved that man's miserable life. Now unless I greatly misjudged your character, that's not something that Lee Adama wishes on his conscience. So what'll it be, Major? Sit on the sidelines mouthing pieties, or are you gonna get in this trial and give us something we can use?" Or are you going to take it one step further than you need to, burning bridges and jumping off edges with aplomb, because that's what self-destruction looks like from this angle, now that you can't get anybody to hurt you quite like they used to? Because even your father's given up on you taking any amount of responsibility at all? Because from this angle, a disappointed romantic looks a lot like a sulking menace? Because without the romance of "Captain Apollo, Defender of the Universe," with all the cracks you can't ever face when the chips are down, what are you? The destruction of Captain Apollo is accomplished in three quick acts, each leading inexorably to the next, with a sort of dramatic unity that would make Aristotle proud. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions... but not too good. Joseph was right.
First the setup: Bill helps Saul into bed, groaning, and looks down at his dear friend, and begs him to stop drinking. The bad nights, when he gets like this. He can't take it after a moment or two, and changes the subject. From death, and hate, and all the other poems Saul Tigh can sing, in a single grunt. "Got some good news today. We found the radiation signature on the tylium ship. Just like the Cylon prisoner said we would." Good job, Saul. He's like, "Great, awesome." Adama continues to speak brightly. Well, for him anyway. He's not actively glaring, so the overall effect is that of Tony Basil doing back-flips around the place. "Being repaired as we speak. Mr. Gaeta estimates the Fleet's nine jumps away from the Nebula. Considering how long it's gonna take to fix the tylium ship, we're out...maybe three days. Three days out from the next clue on the road to Earth." Tigh's not so much interested in the road to Earth right now. Caprica stuck him a lot deeper than she meant to, because she doesn't know any better. Still. Saul begins to weep, pulling everything closer in, his senses deranged by time and loss and sounds across the water. "Can't smell her. I can't smell her anymore, Bill. I kept her clothes...but her smell is gone now." What do you say to that? Nothing. Not your story. "I gotta go, Saul. Gotta retire." ("Do you honestly believe the Fleet will ever be commanded by somebody whose last name is not Adama?" asked Gaius. "Do you see what's happening? Jobs are starting to be inherited," said the Chief. "He's hanging by a thread," said Romo Lampkin. And all his children, he's losing them one by one. Gotta retire.) Tigh apologizes, weak and tired as a kitten, and Bill puts him off, kindly. "I embarrassed you. Made you look bad." Adama takes his hand firmly; Saul holds on as tightly as he can. "You're my oldest friend, Saul. You never embarrass me. Get some rest." Saul holds on, as tight as he can.