Leoben lets himself in and she goes still. "Hi honey, I'm home!" He stalks down the stairs, smiling lightly at her in the half-light. "You kill me, I download, I come back. We start over. Five times now." The body looms. He smiles and sits down calmly across from her, speaking earnestly. "I'm trying to help you, Kara. I only want you to see the truth of your life. The reason why you suffered and you struggled for so long. That's why God sent me to you, and that's why God wants us to be together." Everything except the last dependent clause is cool, and true. Literally true. But the last one makes my tummy hurt. She searches his crazy crazy face for awhile. "You're right." He does a crazy robot version of a double take and she almost smiles at him. "You're right, and I hear you. I do. So thank you." She reaches out, leans in. "Thank you for putting up with me. I'm so sorry... " He interrupts her without looking at her face. "Put it down, Kara." She smiles, suddenly a madwoman, gleaming like a diamond. She idly holds the knife out, toward his face. "Just put it down." She drops it, point-first; it drops into the carpet and twangs there in the floor. "I'm a patient man," he begins, and she smiles -- almost like Kara, like the one we knew before -- and interrupts: "You're not a man." The part that stays free is disobedience. They discuss how she just needs more time, that eventually she's going to hold him, and embrace him, and tell him she loves him. "I've seen it." She snaps back to reality for a second and shakes her head: "You're insane." Anything to know she's still in there; anything to know the bird's still alive and he hasn't gotten her yet. Anything to know she's still fighting. He smiles weirdly. "To know the face of God is to know madness." He picks up the knife and looks up into her face, says he's going to bed, tries for a kiss -- she jerks back -- and then invites her to come with him. He makes a creepy sniffing noise and stands up: "Either way you're spending the night with me." She's horrified and grossed out, and the body looms. "I do love you, Kara Thrace," he says. I believe him; it's horrible. I hate the Dancing Girl story so, so much. Every third Nazi, seems like, would do this: take a girl and dress her up pretty. I can't do it; it's Starbuck for Christ's sake. He takes off and she goes nuts, tearing up the stairs and out the door -- and into the cell bars that cage her fake house in. And she begins to scream: "Let me out of here! I don't belong here! Let me out!"