She tells him what she doesn't want to hear. There was a time when he hated her for that.

THE TRUTH YOU HAVE LEFT

Tory walks through the Basestar like Alice, staring at the strange and brave world she's just now named her home. The weird lights, the Centurions standing guard. She is attended by Three and an Eight (Twinset?), and brought with a fair amount of pomp to C&C.

"Brothers and sisters, this is a great day for us. One of our lost siblings has arrived." They stare at her, the Leobens and Sharons and Sixes; they want to reach out. Now that the moment has reached its crisis they have lost their goofy laughter and their childlike excitement, because Tory Foster is many things at once. She is a lost sister, yes, finally coming home. But until recently she was also one-fifth of a taboo, an entity so sacred they weren't allowed to think of her, or to see her face in their minds' eyes, or to admit it when they felt her near. She's so small, they think. She is lovely, they think, but she is small.

They stare and she smiles, telling them the lies she's told herself over and over, and to anyone that would listen: she is home. This is her home. These are her people. This is an extraction.

It's just that easy.

And sometimes, you know, it is. Laura sits in her makeshift office, a hostage with a private room, bandaging a very undressed, very bashed-around and vulnerable Gaius Baltar. She wraps new cloth around his fragile body; her hands are tender and her touch is soft as she ministers to him. "Laura... there's been something I've been meaning to say to you. I wanted to thank you." She busies herself; fuss fuss fuss. "Um, for what?"

Gaius has a way with words, doesn't he? "Essentially for not murdering me." She looks down, grimacing as she works. We don't bring up the moment of each other's ugliness and salvation, not now in the alien sunlight of a new day on the Basestar. It offends her sense of etiquette. "That can't have been an easy decision to make. But I love living." So does she. The conversation hops the tracks; they love living. They are two people who love life, and living, and between whom there's a space that tells a story. The space between them used to be infinitely wide, and full of hate; now she wraps her arms around his body and tends his wounds. This is a new conversation; no ceremonies are necessary. She looks into his eyes.