Cottle and Adama say goodbye to Bulldog, who's going to another ship in the Fleet for recuperation time, but we'll see him again, I'm sure. Adama offers him a Fleet uniform, calls him "Lieutenant," but Bulldog's caught in the idea that he struck a commander and superior officer, and is willing to detach. "Take it. You're not gettin' off that easy." Adama knows, even if nobody else is hearing it. Sorry I hit you with a pipe and tied you up and lied; sorry about how I used you to jumpstart a war and then shot your plane down and left you for dead. So awkward, but all you have to do is speak. Bulldog takes the uniform. "Once a pilot, always a pilot, Bulldog." They salute each other -- nice bookend with his arrival -- and he boards the Raptor and takes off to heal, and to speak.
Adama's quarters, where Tigh and Adama are about to put Lee and Kara to shame in the extended adolescent apology department. Not that Lee and Kara are anywhere close to that right now, but they've played some doozies in their time. At least Tigh didn't shoot Adama. Tigh comes in, and he and Adama stare at each other for a bit. Tigh digs in the floor with the toe of his shoe, shoulders rounded, eyes grounded: "I heard you won a medal." Bill is gruffly ironic, trying to lighten a mood that won't lighten until something happens: "They give 'em out for anything these days. Good behavior, attendance, playing well with others..." He finally looks Tigh in the eye; Tigh does not know the meaning of any of these words. "I need you back in the CIC," says Adama. "It just ain't the same without you in there intimidating the inmates." Tigh jumps and shakes his head, nervous that this attempt at reconciliation looks weird: "No. No no no. That's not what I came here to talk to you about." Tigh and Adama stare at each other, trying to remember how they've done this before: the awkward mutual thing. Why is it so hard to remember when you're in the middle of it? "Okay. So why are you here?" Tigh literally shrugs, and his body folds out like an eight-year-old, into awkwardness and shy nervous anxiety: "I don't know. Nothing." Sorry I fired Bulldog at you; sorry I spread dissent through the ranks like a cancer; sorry I hate you for being fallible. "You wanna tell me what happened to Ellen?" asks Adama. Tigh sighs: "I could use a drink." Bill pours out two, and they sit down. They begin to speak.