Somewhere, he hoped, there was someone who had heard the last testimony given in the trial of Gaius Baltar who understood what happened in those minutes, because Lee Adama was frakking sure he didn't understand at all. He wasn't sure where those words had come from, except maybe from something, or maybe even someone deep inside of him, not afraid to tell all of humanity's dirty little secrets to itself in the hopes that maybe things would change for the better.

And so, on the stand, he'd laid low the society all of them-- him included for sure-- had fought so hard to hang on to and reestablish. Lee had broken down the fleet and the people in it, and held a harsh, unrelenting mirror up to them all. He knew that he didn't like what he'd seen, but Lee also knew that there was no choice but to accept it and move forward from it.

When Lee looked across the courtroom to not quite meet the tired, confused and sad eyes of his wife-- for as long as she was his wife, he supposed-- he couldn't avoid the next truth to hit him. She had been right. Dee had been right. The system is broken, she said. It needs to be torn down and put back together. So that's what he'd done. Or, at least, what he'd tried to do.

The Captains were in their conference room, deliberating over the fate of one man. One man whose fate, really, didn't matter as much as what that decision meant for the human race.

Lee was standing clear of Baltar and Lampkin. The other two men were conversing over the next steps. He was still reeling from his moment in the spotlight when Sharon arrived and all but pulled him aside.

Confused for a moment, Lee finally understood her question and shook his head. "No," he whispered, "no, she doesn't know. It's this-- the trial, my resignation, all of it. Not... not us." He hadn't thought about them and whatever they had in weeks, but Sharon's presence stirred the fire.

"When this is over," he said, even more quietly, but intently, "I need to see you."