At the first building the Cylons ever built on New Caprica, Boomer and Caprica discuss how fucked up everything is, basically, and how detaining people in the middle of the night does not lead to warm feelings and cozy robot/people hugging sprees. On the other hand, Caprica notes, suicide bombs. Valid. Jammer approaches Boomer -- remember they were friends on the Deck Crew when she was secretly boning his boss a million years ago -- and stammers and acts weird because nobody knows the etiquette of resurrection, or if you can be friends with people who stick you in concentration camps, even if you join their fucked-up paramilitary police, on and on like this, and he can't say the word "friends," so he keeps hopping around it, and the only thing more painful than this is the sadness in her eyes and the need to ignore all that: "Yeah, Jammer. Just spit it out." So he does, and she goes very quiet: "They got Cally on the last raid." How come everybody acts like this is such an awful thing? Seriously. That is the very definition of "not my fucking problem."
Kara paces and plays with her pretty pretty hair and spirals out into crazier and crazier territory, thinks about rage and moms and Cain. Lee. The kid giggles and flops around cutely on the couch, chases Kara around the dining table, talks to her in crazy kid language. Kara picks her up, giggling, and puts her back on the couch for what must be the twentieth time. "Frack!" she screams, and hides in the bathroom, back against the door, listening to her mind shatter and fall apart and there's a scream in the back of her head and finally she drags herself to the mirror and stares into it and tries to pull it together. There's a tiny little scream, and a tiny little thump. She heads out into the room: Casey's not on the couch. But at the foot of the stairs, there's a pair of little feet, and Casey's not moving, and next to her head on the cement there's a pool of blood, and it's growing.
Do you have kids? Because that's actually the most horrific thing I've ever seen on the show. Surely there's some kind of Hays Code thing about no little kids dying on TV. That was like all of that movie IT crammed into three seconds. You know how they say like "my flesh crawled"? It's like every hair on your body goes the wrong way of its own accord simultaneously, and your skin slips around on your bones and muscles, and your skin and everything go cold, like your body is trying to get away before your brain even realizes what it just saw. And then there's Kara, looking at this, feeling her mom knock her across the room and seeing how tiny Casey is, and that's how they get you.