Battlestar Galactica

Episode Report Card
Jacob Clifton: A+ | 3 USERS: A
The Stockdale Paradox

They laugh; she's so proud of him. This is the man she always wished he was; the man she would have liked to marry. He has finally become that man, idealism tempered by structure and the hard and fast rules, the facts on the ground. His willingness to throw off the shackles of the past and the authority she's always hated, the way he can poke fun at Pythia when she's guided every moment, the way he can look into the negative space where certainty once was and see that as a gift. His instinctive knowledge that apocalypse means "unveiling"; that it's just another word for change too big to swallow yet. Don't spin it, she told him, and so he didn't: just told the truth, a truth of blinding brightness, less hope than faith, less optimism than certainty and belief in the strength of his hands and his back, and those of his people. How he is grateful for the loss of prophecy, because he puts his faith, and his love, in people. His people.

Lee touches Anastasia's hair, without even thinking about it. There are stars in their eyes, remembering less the things that never were than the beauty that they had, for the first time. He smiles, intimately. "I think I managed to stall a full-scale panic, but I've got no idea what to do next." She knows he will. She is grateful, happy, peaceful, coquettish; she thanks him for a good day. She is grateful and at peace, and happy for one good day. They look into each other's eyes, and she hesitates only a moment before she kisses him, passionately. Hungry to touch him, tonight, now that the world is ending, to remember every hair and pore and inch of him. She always loved being an Adama best. That's what she feels like tonight.

Anastasia grins and backs away, smiling at him one last time from the hatch of her quarters. He has tears in his eyes as she goes, and a little bit of hope. He wanders away when she is gone, floating on a cloud. Inside, Felix settles a watchcap over his missing leg, as a makeshift pad for his artificial leg. Anastasia enters humming to herself, putting away her things, dreamy and unfocused, memories like perfume, dancing in the air. Holding onto the pieces of it.

She quirks a smile at Felix: "What?" He gives her a look. "You're glowing." She's big-sister coy, little-sister delighted: "Am I?" He grunts, standing. "All I can think of is that waste of a planet..." but she cuts him off easily, grinning. "Felix, please. I just want to hang on to this feeling for as long as I can." He's brusque, jealous of the feeling, but he's always adored her. The voice of home, and its nervous system. All the parts of them that have gone missing, but he's still grateful they have each other. There are no guarantees in the Fleet, not even in the best of times: who knew you could find such a good friend, in the midst of all that chaos? It's rare no matter when or who or where you are, isn't it? Someone with so many of the qualities you respect? They gossiped about the higher-ups, and planned their mutinies, shared private revolutions. He'd tell her jokes, and she'd laugh at them; she'd tell him her dreams and he'd sigh.

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Battlestar Galactica




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