"You were born, right, Saul?" Tigh's eyeball is like, "Left field much?" Bill repeats the question and Saul understands him: "On Earth, yeah. I don't remember. But I wouldn't anyway. Nature of the process, right?" He laughs super weird and Bill joins him: "Not very machine-like of you," he glares, and Tigh chuckles. "Great-grandpa was a power sander!" They laugh and they drink and they smile; it's been well too long. Bill's mind is whirling like a flippy-ship, firing questions and worries out of his mouth in the order that they come. "They're putting the stuff into her." Tigh nods. "If it works," Bill says, "She'll still be the Galactica on the outside, but..." Saul stares. "...She won't know what she is anymore," Bill finishes lamely, trying to squash down what he means -- the amount of his heart that he has torn out and put in those walls and struts and engines, the machine he has built with his blood, over the years -- but of course Saul knows what he means. Saul knows exactly what he means, because his Galactica has always been Ellen. What he hasn't figured out yet is that Galactica isn't Bill's Laura. She's Bill's Saul.
("I can't even express these things properly, because I have to conceptualize complex ideas in this stupid, limiting spoken language," Cavil said. "If I can just complete the circle, I can get the words," Sam said. "Oh, dear," Ellen said, "I'm totally throwing you, aren't I?" And then they tried word magic, Wolfe said. But who's afraid of Thomas Wolfe?)
"It'll save her," Bill says, pouring again. "That, along with Cylons flying CAP..." He stops, and thinks. Aid and comfort of the enemy. To the enemy, from the enemy. The enemy has never once let him down; the enemy is sitting there with him now, drinking. Telling him jokes, and he's laughing at them. "We need their help," he says. Drawing a line in the salt, begging Saul to see it. "I need your help." He laughs in the enormity of it, and drinks, but continues. "Laura and Lee know it. They don't think I see it but I do. I see it." All these words, these useless stabs at word music, when all he means is, "I will die if you leave me. If you leave me, I will die."
"You never told me that the Sons of Ares were involved in this," Gaius whines, and Paulla tish-toshes him. Of course they are. "Did you think they would stay out of something as valuable as food supplies?" (Not a in a Jane script they won't; she won't rest until the whole world is fed.) Six mocks him, how he said he couldn't handle being King of the Fools anymore. "No," he breathes, stepping aside for a quick imaginary confab, "The only thing worse than being leader of this lot would be being one of them." Six asks, and it's in her eyes that this is one of those questions that determines just desperately everything, if he really wanted to feed those people. Those suffering little children. "I enjoyed it, actually." She smiles, believing him. In his conversion. "I did enjoy giving... I loved it, actually. The more I did it... Done it long enough, I'd have given them my heart." That's what they'll take, in the end. Ask Laura. Paulla rouses rabble as they talk, and as soon as Six has given him his due adoration and all that, she smirks toward his greatest student: "Think she's telling them anything as moving as that? Do you think she's giving them hope?" Gaius takes the bait, as Six hums and waits for him to finally get there: "What's Paulla been saying to you? Has Paulla been saying that we mustn't help others?" Six smiles; he's so easy now. "Because I! Disagree!"