So too these Four, these heroes, this very frakkin' sexy shape of things to come: Saul Tigh, Sam Anders, Tory Foster, Galen Tyrol. Galen means "physician." Athena, and Caprica, and Hera. Laura, perhaps. Kara, one assumes and hopes. Those that walk between worlds, seeing in bifocal, finally focused, hearing the music of God. The obsession of life is nature, how about that: discovering and describing. Trying to love everything around you. Maybe all these Helo and Adama Suits, the Kara Suit of Special Destiny, the Chief Suit of Labor Disputes, maybe they were all helpfully provided for us, after all. Maybe we were the ones trying them on, all along. Boomer and Athena, and Laura Roslin. Tory and Sam. Cally, and Cavil, and Three, Gaius and his angels: maybe we were being prepared, focused through so many lenses one by one, so that we could handle this. Human psychology is based on projection; we've been running from the attack for years, too. Waiting to rest.
And these Four, these newborn people, that can dance in the link and still claim the ground below their feet; these Four that can lay down their burdens of fear, and hatred, and self-loathing, and pledge the work of their hands to their people. Their people. These Four take their stations, hold the line, and take back their names again. Bill greets Saul in CIC, and Saul promises he can count on his oldest, closest friend. Through all the bad nights, when he gets like that, they held on as tight as they could: Lee and Sam couldn't stop loving each other if they tried, from that angle. Tory takes Roslin's arm ,and the love in her eyes could stop you cold. "I'm here if you need me, Madam President." And across the deck, Tory and Tigh lock eyes. The link.
As long as things are fucking awesome rockout stupid great, they say, why not make Jacob cry? Lee grabs his flight suit and helmet from his locker, and runs to the deck. It's no use going back to yesterday: he was a different person then. Why am I only getting emotional about Lee Frakkin' Adama these days? If I knew him I'd slap him to hell and back. I think it's all the civics talk. What we do and what we don't do. How the only way you can be sure about the lines between yourself and everybody else is to draw the circle as wide as possible, and serve it all with the work of your hand. How goodness is the strength to do what's right, not what's allowed. The pursuit of excellence. He's like the only person on this show that wouldn't look at me like I was crazy talking like that. That's probably why I hate his ass. That's probably why I secretly love him best, too. Human psychology is based on projection. Captain Apollo is dead, shed like a Suit. On the other side of Bill, and Joseph, and Kara and Carolanne, on the other side of Roslin's carcass and all the apologies, all the love, burning like that door, there's Captain Apollo. He's not one of the Four, in this moment, and I don't think he's number five, but you tell me the difference. Then tell me how it matters. He's a good boy, we never forgot that. But there's no such thing as too good, just the wrong angles. He just needed to remember. Thank the Gods he did.