A reader pointed out this week how funny it is that the commercial airtime for the best show on television regularly promotes the very worst that television has to offer. I mean, I am all in favor of TV movies about Theseus -- talk about a timely metaphor, when every joule we've got is devoted to finding the problem anywhere and everywhere else, because we're too scared of the minotaur we helped create, feeding it boys year after year -- and the Ring of the Nibelung, and I would take that over whatever Lou Diamond Phillips/Mansquito/spider-dimension bullshit, but it's funny anyhow. I'd even go for Faust: Love Of The Damned, the week I've had. Helo's on Sharon's cell phone, begging her to explain why she didn't let on about Brother Cavil. She looks right into his eyes: "I don't know. Maybe I didn't want to. Maybe I wanted him to come here and blow up the whole ship." Beat. "Is that what you're looking for?" Beat. "Hm?" Helo begs her to take it back: "You don't mean that." She looks away. "Sharon?" He raises his voice: "We finally got the Admiral to start trusting us. Finally! And what?" She puts her dead eyes through him. "They killed my baby. You think I care about you? Or us? Or whether the Admiral trusts me anymore?" They stare, Sharon drops the phone. Walks away, backwards. Focus on the phone, dangling, communication gone dead, conversation over. Helo drops his side of the phone as she paces around her bunk, lies down, stares at the ceiling. I can't stand to see anybody caged. Maybe that's why I've always loved this Sharon best. Helo screams, barely audible, throws himself against the glass, the only one of them fighting it now, positions reversed: "Sharon! I love you! And I'm not giving up this frackin' easy! Not after everything!" He watches her for a moment, turns and leaves, and she just stares up.
In the Galactica pilots' quarters, Kara and Anders are getting 'faced. They pound a shot, and laugh, and she starts pouring again, laughing without hysteria, laughing joyfully, bullying him into another shot: "Hey, hey, hey. Listen. You don't have to get me drunk. I will sleep with you, okay? I figure I owe you one, what with you saving me and all." They are the same person. Starbuck calls Anders a little slut, and he tells her to shut up, and they play kissing games, leaning back, jumping forward. They finally kiss. I feel like this is about to suck, and Lee Adama immediately enters. "Gods, I guess they'll let anybody in here these days," he says, geekily, embarrassingly, knowing he should turn and leave, unable to do so. Starbuck turns and sees Apollo, and jumps up gaily, running the length of the room to grab him. "Hey, hi," she whispers, overjoyed to see him after the rescue mission. He welcomes her back, and she offers to introduce him to "her man." Lee makes fun of her, the pissing on him, the territory, and she's down. "My personal property. Right, Sammy?" Anders grumbles, "Don't call me 'Sammy,'" and Kara leads Lee back to him, skipping: "Oh ho ho. How does it feel to be my personal property?" We get it. Anders is uncomfortable, but not sure why. "And before you answer...," she says, and kisses him again, Lee standing by. "He loves it," she murmurs, without looking away. He hums his assent. "I'll bet he does. I'm Lee, by the way," he says, extending his hand. Get the fuck out of there, mister! What are you doing? Kara giggles and pulls herself off Anders; he and Lee shake, and Anders offers Lee a shot. Get out of there, Lee. She's not done yet, and the way that I know that is that you are not crying yet.