But Bill Adama loves Saul Tigh, and would never question that -- that's Saul's shit, and he scoffs at it -- but one thing he will always question, in his first officer, is his judgment. "I need your competence. I'm through jeopardizing this ship, putting it at risk because of your weaknesses."
What he means is, "This is the second test. I have already made my decision. Earn it."
Saul points out that of the two old men in the room, it's Bill whose judgment is complete frakked right now. The Fleet is a cat in a box, neither alive nor dead, because Bill's off chasing a dead woman. Again. "You watch what you frakking say about that woman! She's the President, not some frakking skinjob that I've been banging. What do you think Ellen would say about this?" Dirty pool, Husker! Too nasty! "What do you think Ellen would say about her husband impregnating a frakking Cylon prisoner?" Well, needless to say, Saul punches the hell out of Bill. And technically he's right: that's exactly what Ellen would say. BAM! POW! And then they would make out. Which: stay tuned.
They fight and fight and fight, and hips get broken, and dentures go flying across the room, and somebody's sciatica does whatever those do, and oh my back and oh my old tennis injury, and then Bill launches Saul across the room with both feet, in a truly righteous manner. I mean to say he takes something he loves, and hurls it against the wall like a thrown bottle, in protest. And Saul lands, of course, right on that old model ship, which is a METAPHOR.
Then they rest, because they're old. "You know how many times I've had to repair this thing?" Every single day, for the rest of your life. He pulls it toward him, and they sit there being adorable. "What are you gonna do with that woman?" asks Bill tiredly, and Saul sighs. "What are you gonna do about Laura? ...If you ever find her?" Neither of them know. They are so, so tired and so, so awesome.
I don't want metaphors anymore. I want answers: In the brig, a family is broken. You know how many times she's had to repair this thing? With her hands, sometimes bleeding, sometimes in shackles. Athena paces her cell, alone. No love, no family. The scariest thing for a Cylon. For a human, too. She hums a lullaby to no one, weeping.