Gaius would be absolutely terrified if he could see her, see her for what she truly is.
A monster, he might call her. Flaming sphinx with six wings--an ancient horror equivalent to those abominations that stalk Colonial myth: the Lamia, Scylla, Echidna.
To Him, she could one of these things. She's not human. She's not one of His pets. She is His beast of burden, a creature created to carry out His will without question, to function loyally and emotionlessly while enduring the master's lash. She wasn't made to feel--He doesn't want her to.
And yet, she does.
Oh, how she’s changed. And He has no idea.
She feels. She feels for Gaius Baltar--she feels because of him. She feels so many, many things.
Greed. Lust. Gluttony. Pride. Sloth. Wrath.
She feels envy so clearly.
When they have sex--making metaphysical love in the recesses of his brilliant, brilliant mind--he treats their coupling like some advanced form of masturbation. He never thinks of her-- he fantasizes of other women, lowly human and machine alike. He has his favorites, a continual rotation of intriguing, attractive women: golden-bodied Thrace and green-eyed Roslin, the eighth machine with her cinnamon-colored lips.
But there is one he thinks of the most, the one she detests more than any of the others. It's the cylon woman whose body she shares. The sixth machine, serial number 377073. White skin, white hair--artificial blue eyes filled with such an eager tenderness. When he looks at her, he sees that Six.
He's so transfixed with that woman and all her incarnations--those six-six-sixes--that sometimes, she can't stand living in his head. She can't withstand the onslaught of all his dreams, all his hopes, all his love for that Six.
She can't help the gnawing feeling, the rage that makes her want to swallow him whole. It's only when she's tempered herself that she returns to him.
It's painful. It's shameful. She is so jealous of this mere puppet and she's witnessed the birth of the universe. Of everything. Pieces of heaven locked together, one atom at a time. She's hung the stars and molded moons and created intricate nebulas from the cosmic wisps of her breath. She is the evening star.
And yet, all she wants is to be human. To be cylon. To love Gaius Baltar and have him love her in return. She wants to die like they do, like Baltar will.
She wants to live like they do, like Baltar does.
And she knows that God will never give those things to her, despite eons of unflinching service. He won't sever His own left hand. But she wants it so badly that maybe, she’ll do it herself. She’ll spark a war in heaven if she must.
And she’ll make sure He sees her for what she truly is.
She’ll make sure He’s absolutely terrified.