So! Spoilers for the end of S3.
Would you still like me if I was a Cylon? Check one:
Adama looked at Tigh, stonefaced. “What did you just say?”
“I was just wondering,” said Tigh, “why I had to be the only frakkin’ Cylon model to start balding. What the hell’s that about?”
Adama took several silent moments to consider this.
Then: “You got the short end of the stick, Saul,” he conceded, and then started to wheeze a little with laughter. “Now pass that over.”
Saul handed him the joint, and Adama took another puff of the President’s finest medical marijuana.
Let's face the facts about me and you,
A love unspecified.
Though I'm proud to call you "Billy Bear,"
The crowd will always talk and stare.
I feel exactly those feelings, too
And that's why I keep them inside.
'Cause this bear can't bear the world's disdain,
And sometimes it's easier to hide,
Than explain our
TIGH AND ADAMA:
That's all it is,
He's mine, I'm his,
There's nothing gay about it in our eyes.
You ask me 'bout this thing we share
And he tenderly replies . . .
I’m one of the final five!
. . . what?
SWEET THE DEMON: I love this fleet.
“The basestar is set to self-destruct in two minutes,” said the hybrid pleasantly. “End of line. End of line. .”
“Bill!” gasped Tigh. “Before we die, I have to tell you the truth –”
“What?” Adama shouted – or rather, said in a slightly louder and more agitated rumble than normal – and then added “I can’t hear you – the blast,” and pointed to his ears.
Tigh stared at Adama, and racked his brains, and finally, desperately, held up five fingers.
“. . . five?” said Adama, and then, almost as soon as the word was out of his mouth, “The Final Five? You?”
Tigh, who had in fact been planning to act out in charades the phrase “I Am A Frakking Cylon,” nodded frantically and enfolded Adama in a tearful bearhug.
“The basestar is set to self-destruct in thirty seconds,” said the hybrid.
“Will you stop that and shut the frak up!” shouted Tigh, over Adama’s shoulder.
“Final Five overriding order,” said the hybrid. “Self-destruct cancelled. Have a nice day.”
There was a long, strained silence.
“What are the odds,” Tigh asked finally, “on us pretending all that never happened?”
So there it is. We found out today, all of us. We’ve been activated. We didn’t mean it, we didn’t want it, we none of us want to be traitors. But it can’t be helped. If you want to send us out the airlock, you’d be within your rights, and no one would blame you. Hell, I wouldn’t blame you. I’ll obey orders. The good of the fleet is my top priority. That hasn’t changed. But I think this way is better.
We’ll meet up, keep track – I’ll keep an eye on them. Keep them human. They won’t know you know, and no one else’ll ever have to. I’ll make sure of it.
I won’t let you down.
And if any one of them looks like a danger, I’ll shoot them myself.