That's one. Two more and you'll be martyred. This isn't my first barbecue, I know how it works.
The cult sits in a room grown bright as five stars, in their secret little heaven. Their miraculous garden in the shadows, demanding magic now, murmuring of miracles. Paulla -- covered in blood -- looks on once again from the sidelines.
And there past her, in a corner flooded with God's light, the angel stares at this new tableau, her look untraceable. Light, and dominion, and joy, and passion, and love, in those eyes. And maybe something else, something hard and wild. Something with a claim now on them all, like a diaspora, like an exodus, in reverse. Like something joining with itself in the Promised Land, gathered on the wings of something yet to come.
HE WHO WALKS BY DAY, OR: JOCK LOVE
Kara stands in the Hall of Remembrance, staring at her picture, next to Kat's as she requested, long ago. Looking at the girl who burned away, who left her past behind and flew shouting into the heart of a star. Sam approaches, yearning for her, but she doesn't look up.
"No one took it down. Not the old man, not Lee. Not even you, Sam." Leaving out how this scene is dumb, because she just got back like yesterday and Kara wouldn't be throwing a hissy about this if it weren't the most expedient way to get to the next thing, Sam explains that she's being illogical and needs to cut everybody, including herself, some slack. Marines look on, now, everywhere she goes. "When I woke up orbiting Earth, I just figured it was some crazy dream, but..." He breath goes ragged as she tries, desperately, for the hundred or thousandth time, to reconstruct her life. Which is to say, to put herself back together, starting with her most recent past: how can you know when you know?
"I went in following a heavy Raider," she says, tired of saying it. "I mean, maybe the Cylons pulled me out of the soup, captured me, brainwashed me? On Caprica, in the experiment on me, I mean, did they take pieces of me? I mean, is it possible that they grew me, another me in a Petri dish, and they embedded me with the memories, or it with the memories, or..." And, having checked off all the most obvious theories, she sits heavily, voice breaking. The only thing she ever had was Kara Thrace. Even when they took away her wings, even when she started cracking up, she still had that. Not the girl she chose to be, but the sacred girl beneath every choice and mistake and wrong turn, all that stuff burned clear: that secret name, like a precious gem. And now that's gone. Burnt off in the soup, in time dilation or wormholes or vat-grown Kara Klones or all the stuff we can now be sure it is not because that's how this episode works, gone, in a secret disappearance we might never know the truth about. Samuel T. Anders and Tory Foster and Chief Galen Tyrol and Colonel Saul Tigh have one thing going for them: the men and women they've chosen to be. The only thing she's always had, until now.