But the stars and moon are whirling on the darkened walls, thrown from a magic lantern, and they are telling her he's finally awakened, put together the mechanism of their love and its iniquity, solved the mystery like any good mechanic. Chief Galen Tyrol, unable to put her back together, unable to love her as she always loved him. Galen in his grief and guilt, settling for her, making a home on New Caprica. Settling for settlement, in the dirt with a dirty girl. It was only a matter of time, she thinks, and then shakes herself, a little bit. These are just the dirty thoughts, the darkness coming round again like whirling moon and stars: she's just being silly, and this is a lie, and he really does love her. Doesn't he? She's given him everything to make him love her. She killed for him, to help clean him up again: she wiped the toaster off his skin, and paid thirty days in the brig for it. She put herself between him and the darkness, and her jaw eventually reset, and on New Caprica she was so proud.
Cally climbs the shadowed walls and searches for bottles, but the bottles are empty and the pills are all gone. And possibility whirls around again: if he's going places and lying about those places, it stands to reason he's meeting somebody. Ever since the Nebula he's wandered the corridors and secret places, hearing a strange song she can't hear. There's not a pill for that. And in his pockets, there's a napkin, four-cornered, and it says Joe's Bar. Marriage is the reason we build bars, and sometimes it's the method.
In Joe's Bar, Chief is looking rough as hell, and complaining to Tory: Before the song across the water, he knew who he was. "Galen Tyrol, Crew Chief, husband, father." Cally helped keep them in place, before the song. But now he doesn't recognize his face in the mirror, so how can he know where or what he is? Tory knows how much Cally means to him, how he is rooted in her. After Boomer died, when he felt the toaster all over him, inside him, sickening, and it grew like a cancer until he nearly died, it was Cally that put him back together, like a mechanic. Whose grace in pain, whose forgiveness was like the memory of something we've all forgotten. Imagine the eyes of something infinite and loving, that could forgive you anything. Not like a hound, not like a pet, but something brilliant, that saw all your angles at once, the dark and bright sides, all the facets, and loved you anyway: that is the gaze of love, and it keeps you in place. But now she doesn't see the truth anymore, because there's something worse inside him, and so her gaze means nothing.