Laura sits in Pike's Raptor, with Searider Falcon in her lap. The last vestige of him. She can't live without him, and she's dozing. Helo wakes her softly, and she puts on her glasses, tossing the book onto the panel. It's the last time she'll see that book; things will stop moving in anything but a blur. She drops him carelessly onto a panel so she can whisper hate and deception, and she will lose him. He'll find the book, on the other side of anything, and he will wait. But this is where she lets it go. He was the dove and she was the hawk; she puts their cabin aside. This is not a love story.
"Thank you for the use of your Raptor, I needed some familiar surroundings." What's more familiar than an alien home? A tank, built for war. "Don't worry. I'll give it back to Lt. Pike the second you need it." Helo nods: that's the point. She is the point, the mama bear, the thing without which, who needs to be a little less frisky when the civil war comes to them. But she's better at this than he: "If there's even a chance that we can go in and blow up that Hub and end Cylon resurrection for all Cylons forever, we must take it. I cannot back away from that." (It's their God who gave her peace with death; she's just looking to return the favor.) Your commander speaks: None of this Helo shit. Even when he knows, and she knows, he's going to end up correct.
"If and when D'Anna comes back from the dead, bring her to me." She smiles, because it's what she does, but also because she knows what comes next. The line between the Helo and the Suit is hard to draw; you can usually tell because he's both right and it counts. "I think the Cylons think that she'll be interrogated by both groups together..." No doubt; there's no reason they'd think otherwise. However. Helo will bring the prisoner to Laura. And it makes sense, how could it not? She can play anybody, even Karl Agathon, now. She's good at this; so good she's bad. "She knows the identities of the five Cylons in our Fleet. It is a matter now of human security, and I will not let the Cylons have audience to that discussion. I want to talk to her alone." Helo accedes and leaves, she watches him go. He is good. Is he too good? We'll see.
Before a paragraph or two ago, he might have fucked this up for her, but now he knows: it's not that they'll betray us, it's that they are too weird to deal with. There are lines of neither salt nor sugar, lines of language and the basic rules and ways and means that are too hard to cross. She is not Boomer, not Athena; she drinks of them both. She is real. She loved Natalie, and she knows this must be done. She loves Athena, and Hera. And Karl Agathon. Those seem to be the facts. But somewhere in the cracks between those facts, there's something awful, because the Other is awful. En masse, not your babymama and not your compatriot, but all at once, there's something impossible. He can't swim in that stream. And so he will do what Athena would recommend; the thing he must do. You pick your side, and you stick with it. Or else you have nothing.