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.
The song continues as Chief works on the Galactica, staring across the way at an Eight, still alive and walking around, free, part of the new alliance. He remembers how much he loved Boomer once: the curve of her lips, the way she smelled. Boomer laughed at him: he sees her face every day! They kiss. And later, after she tried to kill herself, in the brig, having almost died himself, telling her that their love meant nothing. She was a machine, and he wasn't, and her love was never real. "Software doesn't have feelings," he hissed. Now he knows different. The other Eight applies compound to metal, unaware of how lucky she is, to be forgiven. To be free, working the deck. "How many of us ended up with the people we really wanted to be with?" He screamed at Bill. "Got stuck with the best of limited options?" He remembers Boomer, how she was gunned down, laughed at and screamed at, on her perp walk. How she died in his arms. "And why? Because the ones we really wanted, that we really loved were dead. Dying..." Her last word was his name. He's lost in the memory, shocked out of it when the power goes down. He jerks away and screams at his people.