"Wherever you are in the Fleet, this is Gaius Baltar wishing you a beautiful day." Gaius spots Caprica, on another mission to gather food or whatever she's always doing, and chases her up the stairs. He wants to show her what he's learned. How human he can be. "Uh, it's... Good to, um... Listen, I heard about your... loss, and I want to offer you my condolences, tell you how truly sorry I am." She thanks him; everybody's got to have their turn. He gestures limply at her ration: "I see you've got your... You know, if you need any more, we've got..." She assures him she's fine, and he offers her a place to stay, now that she and Saul have split. "I have no desire to join your harem," she says firmly. Been there, done that, thought God was involved, turns out no.
Gaius grabs her hand and begins to shake, pleading with her to believe him, to believe that he didn't mean it that way: to tell him back the story of his righteousness the way everybody else does. Terrified that she'll see through it, and prove that niggling little voice in the back of his head right. If she looks at him the way she used to, the way the rest do now, then he's new and different and changed, a holy man, worthy of respect. Redeemed. But if not, if the person who loved him the most in this world and whom he actually respected most, calls bullshit on that, then what is Gaius Baltar? "We are trying to make a difference within the Fleet!" It was Lida that reminded him, sent him home to his congregation. She believed in him, saw that his guilt and shame over leaving them behind was an injury, hurting him to the core, didn't she? She knew. When he looks into their eyes it's so perfectly clear: he would die for them. Gaius Baltar is more than anything capable of loving completely, as long as it's in front of his eyes.
Right now that's Caprica, and he shivers and quakes beneath her gaze, because if she signs on for this he won't ever have to question it again. "You haven't changed, Gaius," she says, still holding his hand. "Not really." The tears well up, but she knows now -- more than anybody, maybe -- that you can't just wish it away. You can't pretend that what they did, the two of them, doesn't matter. You can move on, take it into yourself, let it change you, let it settle, but you can't project it away. He hasn't changed. "I have." After Liam, she has. Home was her womb, and the bright future inside it that she always knew she was strong enough to bear. Home for Gaius is peace with his people, and God's love. All the things she wanted so long ago, before she changed. Gaius weeps, still caught in his own shit, wondering if she's right. Angel or demon, damned or redeemed, it doesn't matter; if it's true or not; if Caprica is too harsh or just harsh enough. The only thing that matters is that Gaius still has no idea.