Bill smashes glass against the table, and picks up the photograph, of Saul with his Ellen. If anything, that will do it. "Ah, Ellen. Yeah, you know, Ellen was smarter than I gave her credit for..." Saul warns him not to go there, praying we come back from this. "Smarter than me. She knew from the beginning that there was something wrong with you!" Saul's confused, pulled in, not ready for the strike when it comes: "That's why she went around frakkin' half the Colonial Fleet, searching out, trying to find a man who had real blood in his main vein!" He laughs, over Saul's barking orders to shut up, stop it, halt before he goes too far. "She came on to me once," Bill chuckles. "Like a dog in heat. I could smell, I could smell it." Saul puts the gun to Bill's head, pleading with him to stop. "She smelled so good... Go on, do it!" he suddenly screams, shocking Saul. "Do it, do it!" Saul growls, deep in his throat, terrified of what will happen, unable to look away, to make it stop.
"Or I will," Bill grunts, holding a gun to his own head, pleading for death. "Go on, go on. Do it. Go on!" Saul cocks his head at Bill finally, and then drops his gun: "Oh my Gods, that's why you came here. To do this. You haven't got the frakkin' guts to do it yourself." He ejects the magazine, relieved and disgusted, and Bill sits very still with the gun still to his temple. "I'm sorry, Bill. This is one time I can't help you." Bill crumples, so sad and disappointed. He can't do it, either. Hope is what kills. He puts the gun down slowly, down to gravity more than intention, and reaches for the bottle again. "I think we've both had enough," Saul says, pulling the bottle out of Bill's hands, and Bill shrugs and takes a long drink from the glass instead. Saul watches him drink, and the room rights itself. The equilibrium is restored. Bill tells him a story, as he often does when he can't say his feelings out loud.
"Did I ever tell you about my summers with my uncle when I was a kid? Foxes would attack his henhouse all the time. Really pissed him off. He'd wake me up, we'd go with his hounds at night up into the hills looking for the fox. When the dogs smelled the scent, they'd go crazy. The pack would become a team, force the fox... Toward the river."
Saul plays his part, and asks what the foxes would do then. "Half would turn and fight." Cain, the altar, the Lie of War. "The other half would try to swim across." Adama, the Temple, the Lie of Earth. "But my uncle told me about a few that... they'd swim halfway out, turn with the current, and ride it all the way out to sea. Fishermen would find them a mile offshore. Just swimming." Saul nods. "Because they wanted to drown." Or maybe they were just tired, Bill says, and sighs. Nobody but Lee knew what that felt like, until today; not even Lee remembers that great notion now, what it costs and how it feels. The world ending all around you, and you just drift, peaceful.