Dualla sits with Apollo, sleeping. His hand moves in hers and he looks up. She's back in uniform. Lee: "Hey...what is it?" He has no way of knowing, about Billy or Sesha or what his father did. What Kara did, and how she can't repay it. Dualla: "Nothing. When you're feeling better, we can talk." He calls it a "hell of a vacation," and they smile. He falls back out of consciousness, moaning weakly. Dualla resumes the litany because she doesn't know what else to do: "Lee? Lee, you can't leave. You have to stay." Somewhere, Lee's floating in a black sea, her voice over the radio, calling him home. I wonder if all the pilots, Viper and Raptor and all, aren't just a little bit in love with Dualla? It's been said that she is the voice of home, out in the black. Behind Dualla stands Kara, in Captain's dress, watching them. "You have to really stay. You understand?" Kara leaves silently, her heart breaking for him. Which is worse: Adama hating her again, or Lee knowing that when the chips were down, she couldn't protect him -- she in fact shot him herself. A little taste of his guilt, after the Resurrection battle, when she walked into the Pegasus bridge with a gun in her hand, all alone. The price of representing the emotions of the entire cast is being sacrificed to them yourself, and that's not a role Lee's ever going to be able to control or even understand about himself. "It's okay," Dualla whispers. "I'll be here when you wake up." And she will. Lee's all she's got. There's a wide shot from above: Apollo sleeping, Dualla awake. "I'll be right here."
Lee's bed cuts to Sharon's cell, a wide shot from above, ninety degrees from his, slowly turning. Sleeping Apollo, the sacrifice to rage, is replaced by the sacrifice he and Billy replaced, who lies awake, hands over her belly, having once again narrowly missed paying twelve worlds' worth for what her people have done. What is she thinking about? Is she playing with them? Is she planning something? Is D'Anna (the only uncompromised model left, right?) coming back to save her and the baby? Will Helo turn? Or is she counting the chips she has left, and wondering what they'll do to her when the baby is born? What they'll do to the child? Staring up like that other Boomer, in the morgue, the one the others loved, those others that she can remember loving. The music is troubling as the camera creeps up Boomer's body, slowly, the curves of her hands, stomach, breasts becoming sinister, fading into her face, off-center, one eye obscured, staring blankly up.