"You are one of the revered Final Five." To the Six: "And as such, the Cylons will listen to you, is that not right?" The Six nods, slowly; Tory's body shuts them out. A request now, at the bottom of the well, after so many indignities. The President doesn't ever stop loving, but she knows when to withhold it. "So Tory, please go to D'Anna and try to convince her to back down and release all the hostages." Tory looks up and says, kindly and softly as she can, looking straight into her eyes: "I'm done taking orders from you."
Her back is straight as she heads out, into the nightmare she'll try desperately to unbend, into the strange and brave world the Cylons built. And will she be brave enough? And will she be strange enough? And is she right or wrong, for jumping out into the night? One thing is known, and Laura knows it too: she helped bring her to this place. She was the last wall, the last part of the world that was left, and she has been for years, and she fell down, and there was nothing to hold Tory here anymore. Not the Four, not Laura, for sure not Gaius Frakkin' Baltar. Just a mother, bitter, turning her back like Socrata at her end of line; like Kara, flying out into the world. Just the realization that you're growing up, finally, and meeting what comes next.
The President of the Twelve Colonies stands between her people and darkness. And when she fails, perhaps, sometimes they stop being her people altogether. Imagine two stones, one white and one black. When faced with untenable alternatives -- Up is down, black is white, scripture is fiction, home is thin air instead of solid ground, etc. -- your only imperative is the truth you have left. The truth is that Tory Foster is a Cylon, and she is home, and we can thank Laura Roslin for that. The truth is that we are orphans, and that the forgotten and the unforgiven must simply leap, in one powerful movement, out into the darkness. And whether they find gold at the bottom of the well, or a place to stand; whether they learn to shine for themselves or are extinguished, the duty remains: to try.
ALL THE ORPHANS & THE RUNAWAYS
We are all orphans, in the Fleet; in our minds we carry a place called Home. Adama decided to call it Earth. During the strikes Galen suggested we should begin to treat the Fleet as Home, in case we never got there; during the strikes Cally suggested the rough parts are all we have left. They were both right, in their way. Took Laura Roslin a walk with God and the moment of her own death to realize where her Home really is, where it always was.