We write our own destiny, sure: that doesn't mean you can't see it coming, like a huge wave on the ocean. Everything that happens in this story is fate, unfolding out of itself. If you were to see somebody realize they already know everything that's about to happen, it would look like time moving forward. It would look like this. The wooden dialogue actually adds to the effect: every "realization" Kara has, moving forward on the tide, is just another level of acceptance. She'll get you between the eyes with it, in the end; but think about it, like hearing a sound across the ocean, getting closer. Like hearing Chip Six declare herself an angel a thousand times before you can admit the possibility. If she could admit was going to happen -- if she knew her fate, consciously, and how it keeps the world turning -- who knows what she'd do differently? Sometimes it's better to just close your eyes, especially when the Gods are involved. God has very bad manners most of the time, but this is one thing you can count on: nothing you can't handle until precisely the point that you can handle it. Until the bugs stop jumping and you realize there was never anything to be scared of, after all. This is how change works, all change: it feels like dying because it is.
Credits. 41,000 souls in the Fleet, for now. Sam's leaving after a booty call, zipping up at the side of Starbuck's rack, asking her to come away with him, for just a little while; she calls it tempting and he promises not to talk about their relationship. "I'll think about it," she says, and he knows that means no. "I hate to say this, but that whackjob Oracle, she's got a point. Your mother fracked up your head long before Leoben ever got to you." (PS: Your wife's status as a survivor of child abuse, abduction, and multiple rape? Not on the table for a fight that's basically about how she won't hang out with you. Just FYI.) She plays with the Aurora fetish, turning it in her hands, thinking about her mother. Acting a little out of character, diverging from the stream of this scene, a scene they must've played out a thousand times, takes a sudden turn. Kara turns sympathetic: "She was dealing with a lot, Sam." The message was this: that Kara was different from other kids, that she needed to be a warrior, like her mom. That fear gets you killed, and anger keeps you alive. The message was confused; the messenger was human. You can't trust us. "Well, she gave you plenty to be angry about, didn't she? Split your head open with a broomstick handle because you didn't make your bed?" Kara offers a little story, which happens to contain the key to this episode, and to...pretty much everything. (I'll tell you another story in a second that's the same, but funnier.) During the first Cylon war, Kara's mom (whose name, since "Gaia" and its brothers and derivatives are taken, was Socrata, which...) was stationed with the Fleet Marines on a jungle planet, and hated bugs as a result. Serious phobia. So Little Kara buys a bunch of rubber bugs, and leaves them all over Corporal Thrace's shoes. And Socrata screamed, and tried to smash them with her shoes, but it just made them jump around more.