"It's all right. You're fine. Shh! You're fine," she says, quietly. Almost lovingly.
He begs her to stop. Nobody could blame her. She is a force of nature.
It pours out in a flood.
CIVIL BLOOD MAKES CIVIL HANDS UNCLEAN
A Raider dies, all alone in space, for the last time. Helo, reports on the wireless as they come home: "We have D'Anna onboard. We are clear of the Hub. Commence nuclear strike. Repeat, nuclear strike is a go." They form up, they fire; the Hub is gone, a garden of flame. A scar. The music is mournful, and triumphant. Twinset doesn't take her eyes off it; the horrible majesty.
"And with a whimper, every Cylon in the universe begins to die," Three smirks. (The "frakkin' serves 'em right" is silent; she's a free agent now, a singular player. Like Kara.) Helo knows what it means: every Cylon in the universe. Beginning to die. His wife, the love of his life is a clock, ticking for the first time in a thousand lives. "Yes," Twinset nods, "That's right. And it's a good thing, D'Anna, because now there's no difference." Three laughs silently, to be getting any kind of information from a fucking Eight: of course it's this optimistic love crap. "We can all start trusting each other!" Twinset looks at him, but he's still tingling from the pain. He looks... amazing. Is his hair different? Is the flight suit? The flight suit always throws me off.
"Don't do this to me, don't... Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me, please. Please."
Laura Roslin kneels in prayer, to the Lords of Kobol, and they lean down. She is deaf to his pleading, but the Gods can hear it all. His blood stains her, everywhere; his blood is on her hands. She mutters supplication to the Gods. I hope it turns to ashes in her mouth.
The only word she says is no.
Elosha leans against the foot of the Dying Leader's bed, talking more quickly than ever. She doesn't have much time, before the heart gives out. Before it stops in her chest.
"I'm not saying Baltar's done more good than harm in the universe. He hasn't. The thing is... The harder it is, to recognize someone's right to draw breath, the more crucial it is." Crucial?
Maybe for a moment you can see it all, and the way it goes around and around. This is certainly more than we've ever talked about it. But it's a miracle: like any miracle, we take it for granted. You could grow to hate it, simply for stubbornly continuing to exist. And like any miracle, we forget it when it's done. Most of the time.