"But... I'm going to be slipping away from this life very soon, and I've gotten kind of curious as to what that's going to be like, and so I did some research. And there are some people who say that when people are getting closer to their death, they just don't care as much about rules and laws and conventional morality." Is she threatening him? By breathing, by looking fearlessly into his eyes, by taking the reins of her rage and her pain and urging them on into light, she's doing everything but. She's being as clear as she can.
"No, no. I'm just saying have a quiet life. And I'll die a quiet little death. And everyone will be happy. It's just that I'm not in the mood any longer to indulge you. And that's... all."
That's always been "all." Somebody always indulges his ass, and when it's not her it's the Gods, and when it's not Them it's God or His sexy majordomos, and when nobody's paying attention somebody's handing him nuclear weapons, or the Presidency. It's not that she is focusing on him now; it's that he's such a painful blot, such a shitstirrer, nobody can stand to look at him for long. The man who sold her world. God loves him, and I will always love him because he desperately needs it, but I can't blame anybody else for finding him vomit-worthy.
Laura Roslin stands, towering over him somehow, and at the door she turns. "And you are being released, so..." She slides her glasses back on. "Stay safe."
Chief drinks at Joe's Bar and wonders what his next move is going to be. North, south, up, down. This life is done. It's a betrayal by existing, for sure, and it's ended twice in a month already. It's used up and bruised and worn out and too ugly to wear anymore. The Admiral sits down, a stool away, and nods to the bartender, and says hello. The Chief stares into nowhere; it's a nowhere the Admiral thinks he understands, a nowhere the Admiral is once again anticipating. It's a fraction of the darkness. "We all miss her, Chief. I understand if you need some time off, or even if you might need more shifts to keep yourself busy. No one knows how they're going to react to loss like this, or what they're gonna need." We mourn alone, he's saying. His meaningless words were for the funeral, but this is for what comes after. Chief doesn't look at him. "I don't need special treatment." Every kindness is a hair plucked from his head.
"I guess she just couldn't take it, huh? Being married to a Cylon? Being the mother of a half-breed abomination?" The Admiral takes a drink calmly, and the Chief stares, terrified. (At this juncture, I was about to ask, "What if Boomer was projecting all that time, and we never knew?" But we did know. Who the hell wrote CYLON on her locker mirror? It was never there. Human psychology is based on projection, and Boomer's more human than any of us, because it's all she ever had, after download. Just the fears he's thinking now, and knowing they were true, but feeling the memories anyway. At least Chief has the possibility of being real: that's what he's trying to find out.)