Bill sits alone, in a Raptor, in the black. He readsSearider Falcon; his fingers on its pages, its scent in his nose. It keeps her close. On the wall behind his head there’s the flash of a jump, and the proximity alarms go off. Louder than they’ve ever gone before.
Bill heads to the cockpit, refusing to blink, younger than ever — is it the flightsuit? — and scans the sky for more. It’s just that one. Just her. He refuses to take his eyes off her, as he straps in for the approach.
The hatch opens, on a Baseship deck as alien as anything, and as close as home. He makes his way toward her without pomp, with a fair amount of grace, like a boy. She tries to speak, twice. This is his show.
“Missed you.” He is the bravest boy in the universe.
He was so terribly young then. He’s older than that now.
Quick takes: I really used to dig about Galactica that they got that there was no FUCKING SOUND IN SPACE. Coker was all my sort of thing, cliché though he was: All you have to do to get me to love somebody is say he’s a day away from retirement. I know he’s doomed and I’m all over him anyway. Mr. A and I were counting logic holes and plot problems and one of them was FOR FUCK’S SAKE IT’S HOTH PUT A HAT ON. Plus the space worm was about what now? All of this has happened before: The Cylons fucked the humans up just that way in the miniseries, because if you’re all connected the sickness is inside you all.
Funny thing is, so is the cure.
You know what the whole show was about, by the time “Occupation” came around? By the time Helena Cain showed up, by the time “33” had happened and Lee and Kara were doing whatever it was they were doing and Boomer got called a filthy whore about a hundred times and Tigh was clawing his way out of a bottle?
It was about what you said you’d do, versus what you actually did, and how crazy you went when those two things slammed into each other.
Who you said you were, and the power that had in times of extremity.
Where you drew the line, and redrew it, and redrew it again, and the moment when you finally figured out it wasn’t about the line, or you, at all, that nobody cares about your integrity one frakking bit.
Who are you when the walls fall down? And who are you the day after that? And what will it take to make you into something else entirely? What does it take to make you jump?
Bill Adama signed up to kill toasters and kick ass, and the world got very, very big for a minute, and then very, very small again. His definition shifted, from savior to sinner to savior again, and in the end he was a man with friends beside him, which is the best thing any of us can ever hope to be.
I would have watched that show forever.