Caprica, horrified, steps forward too: "I'll take care of this child." Ellen sweetly flaps a hand at her. "That wasn't a threat, Caprica!" But Caprica smiles; she's been playing this game her whole life. Frankly, she's better at it. Good, better, best, bested. "No," she says almost kindly, "It was a threat." She remembers life with Three and Gaius, how it almost worked. How threes fall apart. (First there is nothing, then there is something. Then there are two somethings, that look upon each other. Then there are three, and threes fall apart. Then comes Simon.) "I don't know why you couldn't have children, Ellen. Sometimes love must not be enough, because he loved you." Kindness, but still past tense. Ellen nods at the honesty, the too terrible honesty: this has all happened before.
We are only women doing impossible math, dividing four hearts by infinity: "Yes, this... This is rough. But what can I do? If I make him choose between you and me, I know the best I could do would be to tear him in half." "Don't," Caprica says. It's unclear whom she fears would be hurt worse. Ellen makes a vow, taking her daughter by the shoulders: "I won't. You win. The man loves you." Caprica weeps, in gratitude; she doesn't know yet what it means that Ellen made her, made the heart that beats in her. With every word Ellen saves and damns the child, up and then down, safe and endangered. Gives love, and takes it away: "In fact, I'd say there isn't much he loves more." She strikes her Anne pose, holding Caprica's gaze, her hands, touching her belly fondly. A mother to a daughter. She smiles and leaves, and Caprica weeps. For Liam and what his name means, for Liam and what he means, for all the ways love is given and denied.
There are no "character episodes," because there is no plot without character, because there is no conflict without desire and there is no desire without the soul. But this is also true: the personal is never political, and the political is only ever personal. The fired secretary, the lone shooter. Without Paula Jones there is no Lewinsky and no impeachment. Without Roe, without Brown, Dred Scott, without Johnson burning flags, there is no change. There is no precedent in law without a face, if you go back far enough. The five leaders of two great races, all that is left of intelligent life in the universe besides God, suddenly might expect themselves to behave appropriately, but it's seriously unlikely.
Nick: Honey? what would you like?
Honey: Ohhhh, I don't know, dear, a little brandy maybe. "Never mix, never worry!"
George: ...Martha? Rubbing alcohol for you?
Martha: Sure! "Never mix, never worry!"