It doesn't make it hurt less where I slapped you, even if you slap me a million times it won't sting you less. This is the main area of our blindness, and Seelix's, and the Great Turkey Shoot, and guns in the Temple, and suicide bombs, and everything the Colonials ever did that was cruel and stupid. That's playground logic, right in line with Laura and Gaius above. So again: if Laura's soul is dying in her breast, if her cancer has moved into her heart like Bill always said it would, it does not matter how much of an asshole Gaius Baltar is. She is still a person who is dying inside; she's still a person using someone else's sins for her excuse.
Bill sits at the bedside of the woman he loves, as she lays dying. She is a Hub. He reads to her a book written by nobody, or by Laura, or by God. "...Then I dug into the stump and pulled rocks from the ground until my fingers bled. I collected seeds from the few fruits the island offered, and planted them in long, straight furrows, like the ranks of soldiers. When I finished, I looked at what I had done. I did not see a garden. I saw a scar." Dying Laura shakes her head, saddened: that's what she's done. Turned the garden of her heart into a scar, with a million names sliced and burnt across it. Made her home a succession of jail cells, no matter where she was. Or who she was with. "This island had saved my life, and I had done it no service."
THE PATH MARKED BY GRAVESTONES
Gaius runs into a Centurion in the corridor, and -- because as long as he's been trying to impress Laura Roslin, he's been starting revolutions, because it's just what he does now, because whenever he opened his mouth on a Basestar he moved heaven and earth, and took that habit back to the Fleet with him; because he ministers to the lesser and the aimless and the downtrodden and there are two reasons for that, like an angel on one shoulder and something else on the other, and those two reasons haven't stopped fighting, like cats -- he decides to have a chat. It's straight out of My Triumphs, My Mistakes; he's not even trying. "I can see a real hierarchy around here. And I have to tell you, you're on the lower end of the scale, my friend. Yes you are. Which is odd, when you think about the Cylon God..." Disingenuously: "...They told you about God, didn't they?"
Roslin sits in her makeshift office on the Basestar with Helo. "I'm not even really sure if the Hybrid was referring to D'Anna, but if it's true..." Then, Helo points out, they won't have to fuss -- in the middle of a nuclear battle, inside the beautiful monster they'll be nuking -- with getting Three into a body and the whole resurrection rigmarole; they can just grab her and go. But that's not all he's thinking, how he says it: "Wouldn't have to find a... Find a body." We're talking about a factory for making women. The last thing he wants to see is how it's done.