Eight began to weep, shaking her head with the impossible weight. "I'm happier when I'm under. I'm happier when I'm human. I like myself." She nearly smiled, in the light of it: "I love myself then."
One decided then that she should die; One put his arm around his youngest, sweetest sister, and held her tight as she sniffed the tears away. "Never say that. Never, never, never. Because if that were true, they win. And they can't." She tried to be brave. She tried to fight her way back, to Eight, away from Sharon Valerii. "Look at me," he ordered, and then more softly: "Look at me." Finally, she did. "They know your lies? I know you." She needed a father, he tried to give her one. Sweetly, he promised: "You can do this. You can kill Adama." He took her chin in his hand, like a father. "For me." He leaned in, and kissed her. And she kissed him back. What else could she do? She was still so much younger than Sharon, after all that time asleep. She smiled, and basked in his approval, and pushed herself under again.
Gaius shoved his way into Shelly's bathroom stall, screaming. "I want answers, and I want them now! And I am not interested in playing any more of your stupid games!" She was, of course, appalled, and tried to get away, but he shoved her back -- behind the door, into the hot ugly room, into the darkness -- and began to scream. And every word was true. "You're a fake! You're just a copy. Another Cylon copy." Nothing like the woman he still couldn't admit he loved. Nothing at all. It hurt her, desperately. She'd felt Sarah's love pouring through her veins, every time she'd looked at him, the setup and the payoff, and now they were coming for him. Mission accomplished. But Sarah (Caprica, now) and Shelly always had more in common than they didn't.
She couldn't know how cruel the angel was being with him, how she was twisting his feelings around themselves, how she left the moment Shelly appeared. How many reasons he had to hate her. All she knew was the impossibility of the mission, and the fact that she'd achieved it. She slammed the door against it. Against him. "Struck a nerve, have I? Which I find rather impossible to believe! You think this is over?" He bashed against the door, performing quite a tantrum -- "This is not over! You have not heard the last! No more Mr. Nice Gaius!" -- but he'll never know what she was doing on the other side of that door. She was weeping, and she was beating first her fists and then her head against the doorframe, begging him to stop.