Boomer sleeps in the brig. Chief watches her sleeping.
Sam lies in sickbay, all alone; his brain begins to move and shift again, life pouring back into him.
Bill stands up as the hatch opens, and Saul falls into his arms like shot from a cannon. There aren't any words, at the end of the world. Only apologies, from no one to no one. "Liam," Saul chokes. A gift, to replace all he's ever taken. "His name was Liam." Bill crumbles against him; these two boys together clinging. "It's a good name," Bill says, in thanks for the gift. Saying the word, so Saul will know. "Short for William." Saul shivers against him, guilty now for even mourning him: "It's not like Zak, I know. I know it's not." I don't know how they stay standing. There aren't any words.
He's not in need of learning, of introspection; he's not inflated, high on grace, looking for deflation. There's no learning to be had here, just more pain without cause or purpose or result. He was created to love, and be loved. But all he's had is hate. There's no learning there. He knows where he is blind, and where he is small. Saul Tigh isn't a man who needs more pain, to learn: He needs more love. Saul Tigh needs, and deserves desperately, to be loved. More, and more, and more love.
Time passes. The Baseship nestles in the Fleet. Bill and Laura walk arm in arm, watching the upgrade team working, together. They pass a Six and an Eight, hauling supplies, staring at the them as they pass, hauling supplies up into ducts. They pass a squad of pilots in the Hall of Remembrance: some human, some Cylon. They look alike in their flightsuits; little maids all in a row. A Six in deck gear pins a photograph to the wall, sad and lonely for a long-lost sister; once she's gone, Laura pulls him over to see. "These are the Cylons that have died with us since the alliance. I didn't know they were doing that, did you?" Bill shakes his head: "It's already happened, hasn't it?" Laura nods, and hums, and Bill reaches out to touch the photo: an Eight. The first daughter he ever lost, out of the light and into the darkness: they look so much alike. Steady as it comes.