"I'm not going," Bill grumbles, like a sleepy boy. "Bill, go," she says, and holds him close. And in that embrace there is a snake and a harsh whisper, because she has returned from the dead to accomplish one thing.
"If the Cylons get the Four, they get Earth. You can't let this happen. Even if you have to blow this ship to hell."
He looks at her, stricken. She stands in the darkness and she shines in it. He's still learning to walk those halls, still surprised by the edges and the glints of her sometimes; the clarity with which she sees, the way she knows this alien woman, is a mystery and a clue to the mystery; every love story is, first and foremost, a mystery. He shivers.
On CIC the pain and phantoms still have Felix; he drops his pills and groans, reaching for them. Muttering profanity he hobbles on a single crutch toward the bottle, and Dualla grabs it for him. He thanks her and retreats; she smiles kindly but is worried for him. She backs off. The Colonel asks if he wants a break, but he just pounds another Crimson Tauron and returns to his console. Dualla nods, all sympathy; the dradis beeps.
"Cylon Baseship. Another contact, same bearing. It's a Raptor. Our people are back, sir."
Lee and Kara run down to meet the shuttle from the Basestar, joining Tory and Tigh and Sharon, hoping their Zeus and Athena are aboard. Galen and Sam wait upstairs, on the balcony. Galen's spent a lot of time on that balcony, in his life and in his dreams, waiting for the story to end. Adama comes out onto the Raptor's wing, followed by Three. Anders hopes she won't recognize them, but Galen knows better.
Bill grabs his son firmly; Lee nearly hiccups with joy. "Gods, it's... It's good to have you back." Bill touches his face. "It's good to be home." Galactica. My home.
Three locks eye with Tigh, then Tory whose eyes slide away; out on the wing she catches Sam and Galen's eyes. The link. This is only an extraction in wartime. This is only the division of the people, intermixed and fearful, back across the lines of salt. This is for safety; for safety I reduce you to a chairness. My people are your hostages, willing or no; your people will be mine until an equitable trade is accomplished, and this is right in war.