Gerard watches Kara whispering to Sam as he sleeps. "Sorry. I'm so very sorry. I was greedy, I kept you too long. I thought maybe I was the Seven... I need to be something. I'll be here as soon as you wake up, and I'll give you all the time that you want. We'll learn all the secrets, okay?" Gerard starts the surgery and Cottle tells her to leave. In his quarters, Bill starts drinking at a phenomenal rate. There's a huge slash across the wall, over his bathroom door. He gapes and drinks more.
"How do you stand it?" Boomer asks Ellen in her lovely dress, looking down at the picture of Saul, thinking of the Chief. "Knowing that he hates you for the things you've done?" Ellen thinks maybe he doesn't; maybe he never did. "Love's like that sometimes." A strength and a weakness. Boomer hands her a white surgical shift, courtesy of the Simons, and Ellen smiles mirthlessly. "A prop, to legitimize John's final bit of theatre. No thank you. You should have brought a tumbrel," she muses, and blows off Boomer's uncomprehending stare. The Terrors. Witch hunts. This has all happened before. Boomer leads her away.
Tory sleeps against a bulkhead while Saul paces, outside sickbay. One surgery to quiet memories and another to awaken them. They talk about the questions still unanswered ("I wanted to ask him about that frakking song," Tory grumbles, stirring) and then Cottle brings Kara the bullet from her husband's head. He'll live. Kara asks when he'll wake up, and the surgeon wonders why he hasn't already. The words.
"Boomer," Ellen asks, "Have you really thought about this?" Boomer, a bit of that old Galen humor poking through, assures her that she has. A Centurion accompanies them; not guarding exactly and not herding, but something holding elements of both. "You're going to regret your part in this," Ellen says, not hysterical and not frightened after a year and a half of solitude and disappointment, but holding elements of both. Boomer nearly cracks a smile: "I'm sure I will." Boomer leads her mother onto a Colonial Raptor, with the Centurion standing by. What is she's doing? "Forgiving you." For all of it. For this life. Raiders break away to follow them, but Boomer's already jumping.
When you're a pilot you can see the ground curve away, the way the world goes around and around. The flat Earth goes round on you, and you've gained a whole dimension to play in. Pawns move this way and that way, hedged in by the rules -- sometimes diagonal, sometimes en passant, like sleepers -- but not queens. It tastes like apples.