"Sweethearts. To our sweethearts!" the assembled Viper pilots and Raptor pilots and ECOs and whatever else cheer. And he goes quiet, segueing from the last: "To absent friends." And as the group cheers, thinking of the Hall, thinking of all they've lost, Bill thinks about absent friends and sweethearts, and his dilemma. About how when there's alcohol involved, he expects two people: Tigh and Thrace. And one of them is here, and one of them is absent. He stares at a picture of her, upon the wall in the Mess. And later, in his quarters, he painstakingly puts his model ship back together, his family, and removes Aurora from her prow, and looks at her, and thinks about his broken heart, and thinks about putting it back together.
(Creon, to his son: "All thy words, at least, plead for that girl." Haemon: "And for thee, and for me, and for the Gods..." When we plead forgiveness, it's not just for them and it's not just for us. It's the opposite of scapegoating, it's giving back divinity to God. It lets the light in, and a cool breeze. A fresh start.)
In a civilian mess hall, a Batshit Lady of Baltar murmurs quietly to Gaius, and gives him tribute: an apple. Always scary. He does his usual celeb finesse -- "Thank you. Oh! Oh, that's very sweet. Thank you. Thank you." -- and notices Tory Foster, at a table halfway across the room, staring her ass off. He's wearing an unfortunate ascot due to his unfortunate neck-slicing last week and generally looks like an unfortunate explorer on an ambiguously gay safari. Luckily, he's about to meet an angel who's totally into that. He fidgets with the ever-so-symbolic apple as he crosses the room -- nearly getting into it with a burly hater, to whom he doesn't quite know how to react -- and sits down opposite her, with the Batshits looking on.
"You're spying on me, Tory. I've seen you here." She protests, mentioning the miracle of Derrick and all, and he's like, "So Laura Roslin's interested in my miracles suddenly?" Which, if you've been paying attention: yes. Laura Roslin is not having any miracles in the Fleet that didn't arise from her own personal drug use. She's kinda Cavil about it right now. Tory finally shrugs and says that, yes, she's been spying, but in such a way that suggests there's more to the story. He says something irritating and sarcastic about how not-surprising that is, and she gives another patented Tory Foster deadpan assent before elaborating: "I've been watching these people. The way they look at you." And already, that's how you do it, obviously. Tell him how special he is. "Of course, if you go screaming to the president that my newfound popularity borders on the phenomenal, then she should be very worried," he says, loving the power in that. As though he's never heard of airlocking, or her itchy airlocking finger. "I came here on my own," Tory murmurs, and Gaius jokes that he slept with her boss just last night.