Kara Thrace's eyes are going wild in her rack as she dreams, breathing heavily. There are flashes of the mandala, the Eye of Jupiter; there's a paintbrush and white paint. You already know what she's doing: you watched Boomer do it up until the second she shot the Admiral and couldn't pretend any more. Kara's in her apartment, in dead and burnt-out Delphi, in panties and a man's shirt, painting over her painting of the Eye. To the left of it there's a poem, as we've seen before: "Methodically smoking my cigarette / With every breath I breathe out the day / With every delicious sip I drink away the night..." There's only the sound of her labored breathing as she paints over the Eye, first with the brush and then in great gouts and splashes. Leoben comes to her, taking her from behind, and her breath begins to strive for something else. He turns her around, kissing her; back on Galactica she's moving. He pulls her shirt open and holds her hands against the wall, with paint all over them both; they're on the floor, covered in paint. His shirt disappears, and still the breath. One and zero, recombining. It was never about wanting him and not wanting to want him: it was knowing she wanted him, and being unable to reconcile that with the person she had agreed to be. Over his shoulder, the Eye, as the paint disappears; as she comes. Her eyes snap open in her rack; she blinks a hundred times and tries to keep it quiet, to get her breath under control, to pretend she's asleep. Hotdog, looking fabulous, is grinning down, fascinated and turned on: "What's up?" She rolls her eyes. Kara Thrace has eyes. "Nothing. Go to sleep."
Starbuck splashes water on her face, like white paint, to chase away the dreams; she's gasping as Helo walks into the head. He's awake because he has a daughter of his own. If he knew what was going to happen -- if he knew his daughter's fate -- what would he do differently? Sometimes it's better to just close your eyes: to the storm, to the shape of things to come. "Hera gets these nightmares, wakes up crying and shaking. By the time we calm her down and get her back to sleep, I'm wide awake. All that crap she went through on New Caprica really left its mark on her." Not to mention her Basestar misadventures, and getting her blood kidnapped, and being stolen back and forth by the cast a hundred times. "Yeah, I know just how she feels," says Kara. She does. She sighs about the mandala, admitting that she dreams about it, and "that bastard Leoben," every night. I feel like I'm losing my mind here. Helo tells her to see the psychiatrist aboard Incron Vale; they've already made an appointment for Hera, who though she seems never to age is apparently ready for the talking cure. Meanwhile Nicky's like 80 pounds even. Starbuck scoffs and he suggests instead that she check out the Oracle camped at Dogsville; Kara sees a child -- not Kacey, another girl; we'll call her Kore -- who appears, broken and bleeding, and disappears. Because it's Kara, she doesn't revisit the psychiatry idea from a second ago. "She interprets dreams," Helo says, like Kara's not the most religious person on the ship. "Sees things in them. Predicts events." She brushes her teeth and when he asks if she's okay, she smiles that smile she smiles and admits she doesn't know.