Natalie's the show's new and wonderful Six, with hair the color that Gina's turned into. She's beautiful, and brilliant, and angry, and ready, and dangerous, like Sixes have to be. And what she's telling Cavil is that this time, the Hybrid's clearly telling them something. Directly. Forcing herself, squashing herself down in time and space enough to say something real, something direct, something you can get at without Leoben standing by. Or an Oracle. I need to see an Oracle run into a Hybrid one of these days and have a margarita and get crunk.
Cavil scoffs, because he knows it, because the Hybrids never shut up: "The Hybrid is always telling us something. They're supposed to maintain operations on each ship -- and recap the events in each episode in a humorous and snarky way -- not vomit metaphysics!" Everybody rolls their eyes at once in agreement, and Creon goes, "I would not answer the seer with a taunt," and Teiresias is all, "But thou dost, in saying that I prophesy falsely."
Leoben, Natalie, and an Eight stare at Cavil, looking summoned to the principal's office, looking overjoyed, looking younger than they've ever looked, finishing each other's sentences, making wishes and having dreams, giggling and wriggling and generally dorking out.
"All right, I give up. What. What is she trying to tell us?"
"They're in the Colonial Fleet," whispers the Eight. "With the humans." He's not giving them an inch, these three tainted motherfuckers, these Three who have loved and been loved by the humans, these who believe, these who have demanded. These who rise, no matter how frakked the angle. "Um, like they who?" And Leoben whispers too: "The...Final Five."
Natalie steps forward, of course: "The Raiders refuse to fight because they sense the Final Five might be in the Colonial Fleet," and Leoben sighs, "They could've been caught, they could be in hiding," and Cavil stops them right there. In their joy, in their worry and their care and their love, in their rising. Stop right there. "Turn around, go and take a cleansing walk, and I am gonna try and forget what I just heard." Which is what Cylons do best: take all those messy ones and zeroes and sweep 'em into the Recycle Bin, like on New Caprica, like after Gina but before the bomb, like every time it gets too weird, like after DEMAND LOVE. What do you call this? DEMAND ANYTHING is taken, and this is the opposite of that. DEMAND SALVATION. DEMAND REDEMPTION. DEMAND TRUTH. In memoriam to Three, I like that best. DEMAND TRUTH. (And RECONCILIATION, of course.)