Paulla should take notes, because she's Gaius's Galactica, and she knows what this is like. These are your saints, girls: One illuminated and pretentious, and still rocked by human jealousies, and one comatose, whose half-dead brain holds mysteries like a dream, a joke. Three still amnesiac and hopeless: Tory trying her best to become more Cylon than the Cylon even as they're trying to be as human as possible, Galen regressing to five personalities ago and trying to have it both ways, and Saul Tigh with his nasty little secrets. Isn't that so sad? When they dreamed of them, and forgot them after waking, they shone immaculate and white, in angelic robes, under frescoes of creation, in a beautiful lost hall with proportions and acoustics fit for a holy choir. Reaching out and welcoming you home... And now finally you see them, you've sacrificed an unbelievable amount both personally and racially to find them and bring them together and explain yourself to you, and they are just these freaks! These broken-ass dirty motherfuckers! That is comedic.
Cottle tells the room full of machines not to unplug anything, and Ellen spots Tory as she enters, gasping softly with joy. The Six shines, seeing the Final Five reunited, and Ellen gets super obnoxious as only goddesses can. She moves from Tory to Galen, caressing their faces. "Yes. This is how it was. Tory, Galen." He searches her eyes for memory; this means nothing to them but what they think it's supposed to mean. She moves to Sam, holding back tears: "All those years. Oh. Oh, the poor boy. Such bad timing..." Tigh looks down, unable to feel any of this along with her. Chief stands and clears his throat, uninterested in family reunions when there's salt to be crossed. The Six nods and addresses them.
"We've been ... Thinking. We belong together. Join us on the Baseship. We'll jump away, start a new life." The Eight chimes in, asking her and Saul to consider, and Saul clarifies that indeed, they mean to abandon the Fleet." He is crusty about it, if you can imagine. The Six tries to explain, lowering her voice because it's sort of rude and Sixes are always polite, but it's something that must be discussed, like a bastard's inheritance: "The priority of the Fleet is the survival..." She knows enough to be embarrassed, just saying the word this way, in this context: "The survival of humans." Eight points out that the natives are getting fairly restless, pointing out the assault on "a Cylon" earlier.