Note: The first part of this story contains dialogue taken directly from the episode 'Rapture' (3.12).

To know the face of God is to know madness. Leoben has felt it, been the echo in that vast mind. This is something different.

So many names now--their names divide them from their own. Caprica, not Six. Boomer, a flawed copy. This Three in the control room remains numbered but her sister D'Anna is the one whose purpose is causing this strife.

The Three looks mutinous--not a look Leoben normally sees on this model. She explains: "This is something we have to do. He won't launch over one ship, you'll see." Four of the five Raiders are returning to the basestar; they had agreed to send them, then they had agreed to recall them all after the threat of Galactica starting a nuclear strike against the planet and the Eye of Jupiter. The Threes are flouting the collective will of the Cylon by refusing to recall the fifth Raider.

Kara is there, on the planet. This cycle isn't supposed to end yet; she hasn't fulfilled her destiny.

He looks at Caprica; she's still staring at Three. Hands in the gel, they finally get confirmation from the hybrid: Galactica has closed its outer doors; it won't be launching weapons.

Three glances at them all, carefully not maintaining eye contact. "There, you see? Never over just one ship." She walks away from the group. Her counterpart D'Anna will be landing on the planet soon, with Baltar and a Cavil.

The Cavil here is the first to speak. "That is not a good sign, my friends."

An Eight continues the vocalization as they strive for consensus. "She defied us, defied the group."

Leoben adds, "It's not about the Eye of Jupiter. It's about her."

"It's like we don't even know them any more." Caprica's eyes are red-rimmed, her face full of vulnerability. He looks away--a habit he learned from spending so much time with humans.

"We may have to do something about this. We may have to do it sooner than later." Cavil says the words they hesitate to express. It's all true. She broke the code for her own design.

Caprica leans over the console, elbows on the edge, forehead pressed against her fists.

He walks back to his sleeping chamber and she follows him. Her model normally walks with pride, stands in attention-getting poses; it's part of her programming. This one is different now. The feminine strut is reduced to a lackluster stride.

Entering the room behind him, she grabs him and kisses him forcefully. She shoves him against the wall, not bothering to temper her strength. Her tongue presses against his lips while one hand holds his head and grips his hair. Trailing the other hand down the front of his shirt, she slides it between the buttons, cool fingers against the skin of his stomach.

She had told him she loved him but she didn't mean it yet; it shadowed what was still to come. "I'll never forget this moment," he told her. Smiling at her wide, dark eyes; he smiled because she didn't see but he knew that her words foretold the future.

"Neither will I," she whispered.

A terrible mixture, her apprehension and his love; but she hadn't ended it yet. He was waiting for it--had expected it from the beginning. It was imprinted in his memory before it happened. Touching the soft skin of her neck, he pressed his lips to hers again. This will have to sustain him for what will seem an eternity. She was leaving again. Not yet, not yet, he repeated to himself, but she pushed the knife deep into his stomach and then she twisted it. He was forced to let go as he fell backwards.

He allows the kiss but doesn't kiss her back; instead he gently strokes his hands up her spine in long soothing movements. She breathes in deeply, slowing her frantic pace. Now her lips are soft, she sobs (like Kara's gasp), warm breath against his mouth.

He traces a line with his mouth--from her mouth to cheekbone to temple. Lips against her temple, he feels her pulse throbbing, blue veins running under pale skin. Opening his eyes he sees her blonde hair. (Kara's was a pale cloud around her face.) He moves one of his hands from her back to her shoulder, traces another line from collarbone to neck to ear until she sighs and leans forward, burying her face in his neck.

New Caprica's pale sunlight highlighted her skin, warm colors hiding the blue shadows under her eyes. He stepped closer, looking into her eyes, green and gold like a forest. "You look so lovely tonight," he told her. She was destined to be a child of light, though she curled around herself, huddled in darkness. He touched her cheek. She smiled and stabbed him in the neck.

She starts to talk. "He left with her. He's gone."

Like Kara, she is stronger than she looks, and more broken. Her body shudders and her breath is warm against the pulse in his neck.

"Come," he says, and he leads her to the narrow bed. She follows obediently, like a puppet. She sits at the edge of the bed for a moment, slips her feet out of high-heeled shoes, then lies down on her side, turning away from him. They have lain face to face before, hands clasped. But this Six, Caprica, curves her body away from the center of the small bed; she faces the wall. He knows that she wants someone else, yearns to picture another face.

Her blonde hair curls across his pillow--an echo of what he has seen in his future.

Home. The rain-dimmed light from the window will wash across the long blonde strands of hair draped across their pillow. She'll pull him toward her, green-brown eyes wide with happiness. Whispering in his ear, she'll grab his hands and place them on her belly. "Do you feel her move?" The next of God's chosen generation. She will never dare blaspheme this, their child made in the image of their one true God.

He lies down beside her, his chest close to her back, curls his legs behind hers. Trailing his hand down her arm, he entwines his fingers with hers, his fingertips pressed against her palm. She is damaged (like Kara) but she has no scars for him to trace.

His own model had chosen a name; they had agreed, preferring it to numeric designation. Now he finds himself separated with this thought--he is Kara's. She's marked him; he regrets that the body he wears now doesn't bear any record of this.

"Show me something real," she murmurs.

A waterfall, hillside behind it covered with trees reddened by autumn and the setting sun. The colors brighten as he shares details.

"Caprica," he tells her. Unspoken words: Kara's father took her on a picnic here when she was seven. Leoben sought out the place when he was planetside. A small connection he built to her past.

She tightens her grip on his fingers.

"Now you," he tells her. Gray walls turn to gleaming glass and straight lines over a bay, flashes of light sparkling off water.

She lets go of his hand and the image fades. Turning to face him she says, "I loved that place, but I helped to destroy it."

Her unspoken words: this was Baltar's house in the colonies. She's attached herself to him, thinks she loves him. She's confusing sex with love, and Gaius is a weak vessel, not worthy of her regard. Now D'Anna has pulled Caprica's satellite out of orbit.

He understands this emotion, though; he knows it compels her, pushes her in ways that the other cylon don't. It's what makes life with humans so desirable; they can't become all that they're destined to be without humanity.

He takes her hand again; palm to palm he shares a projection, soothing sounds of water trickling past as they lie on the river bank, leafy plants tickling her bare feet. (He wants to see Kara surrounded by this same living green.)

Absorbed in this living ship, they're both immediately aware when the hybrid welcomes a long-lost soul aboard. Caprica opens her eyes, leans and gives him a gentle kiss like like a benediction and pulls away, going toward the resurrection tank.

He sees her moving away, making a choice that will change the course of her own destiny forever. She'll find a unique path. He doesn't stop her; in the end Kara's destiny will still be intertwined with his. He's seen it.