Gaius Baltar is a miracle. You want to talk about miracles? On the very same day that a very pale doctor informed Laura Roslin that she had terminal cancer, most of humanity was annihilated. And of all sadness, this was sad: a woman's arms, shielding the head of a sleeping boy from the jaws of the final beast. Gaius survived, by some mathematical absurdity; some probabilistic madness brought him and an angel to the remnants of humanity, trading places on Caprica with the father of his child. And -- wheels within wheels -- he somehow became President. Because he was charismatic. Because he had to be.
"If humanity is going to prove itself worthy of surviving, it can't do it on a case-by-case basis," Elosha says.
What nobody really talks about is that the President of the Twelve Colonies stands between her people and darkness. Every second of the day and all through the night, like a mother bear, growling, snapping, hissing, bleeding for them. Shouting into the darkness. Shining in it. You either love them or you don't, but if you love them, you love all of them, because you're the woman that stands in the dark.
Laura joins Elosha, finally, and looks down at this woman, the Dying Leader; the President of the Twelve Colonies. A woman who was rarely satisfied; who was convinced that the Gods Themselves were leading her toward destiny. And she believed it. Even after the diloxin and the radiation failed to stop her cancer. She was a teacher, she was something to behold. In the head of a classroom; standing before the Quorum, holding onto strength she never knew she had. Shining in the night. And her people, her students: they loved her. They'd walk through fire for her.
And now, Laura, look at her. This woman who seemed so eternal, withering away. And Bill having to change her diaper because she can't even... And at the moment she dies, there will be no gleaming fields of Elysium stretched out before her. There will be a dark, black abyss. And she will be terrified. She will be so scared. Afraid to die alone, afraid she's not the Dying Leader she thought she was, or that her death might prove as meaningless as everyone else's.
"A bad man feels his death just as keenly as a good man," Elosha says quietly. Or a good woman. Or a young race, still learning its limits, striving to be better.
"What do you want from me here?" says Laura, defiant, searching. Still searching.
Bill says her name, softly. She is still beautiful. To him, she will always be beautiful.