There are tremors and lights flickering all around the ship; on the bridge Hoshi worries, and in the sickbay Cottle stares around. Ellen and the Six and Eight that are always there shiver, and Cottle tells them that, while the readings are going crazy, unprecedented and bizarre, there's still nothing to indicate Sam's actually thinking in there. The Six offers that his brain is possibly rebooting, reorganizing as it heals, and he darts a look at Kara. "The last thing we need is you jerking our chains with a lot of quack ideas. So why don't you take them someplace else?" They leave, an Eight wondering if he couldn't be hooked up to a datastream, like the Hybrids do. Kara strokes his hands, noting that his eyes are open, and Cottle tells her it means nothing. He asks her to pull it together and get used to her husband's vegetative state, but she's quite clear with him: there's not a way to do that. He promises he'll let her know if anything changes. Back to existing. She cries quietly and strokes Sam's face; there is a flourish on the piano.
There's a saying, old, says that love is blind
Still, we're often told "Seek and ye shall find"
So I'm going to seek a certain lad I've had in mind
Looking everywhere, haven't found him yet
Kara sits at Joe's, drinking, with a mirror by her side, echoing her tattoo back to her, the other half of her marriage insensate and unspeaking. She's irritated by the music, and yells at the piano guy. He clarifies that he's not "playing" the same lame-ass song, but composing it. "Been at it for four days now, it's hell." One of my chief issues with this script, as usual, is the tic where everybody talks like Wolverine: Like these actors aren't talented enough to interpret the lines in character. Gotta write them naturalistically as possible. Means a lot of dropped first words in every line. Been that way since the first season.
Kara drinks more and tells him to give up, what's the point, and Slick's like, "Um, to bring a little grace and beauty to an otherwise ugly and brutal existence." Kara lazily yells at him about the pointlessness of music -- of existence -- and retreats to the whole "how many bombs on Caprica did your music stop" place, which is obnoxious, and Slick's like, "So you're crazy and fucked up, I see." She admits, and wonders aloud how the heck that might have happened. Rafferty tells the bar it's last call, and Kara tells Slick to learn to actually play the piano before attempting immortality as a composer. She downs her last drink as he begins to play, something beautiful and sad, ethereal. Something different from his own work, something very well known in fact, to prove his skill. She doesn't look up, but she doesn't move either. The sound of the piano is amazing: like something broken that's been fixed many, many times.