She is currently not acting crazy because Laura is doing exactly what Kara's daemon needed her to do, which is connect the Opera House visions to the Hybrid, because this is not all that we are: Kara brought the Dying Leader a little bit of the newest golden arrow, Kara gets a cookie. There's bad crazy, which is what Kara was before she died, and there's good crazy, which is what Kara's learning to be, which is what we're all learning to be, because Seal told us long ago that we wouldn't survive otherwise. And obviously, the man who gets to go to bed each night with Heidi Klum knows something about making good choices in life, no? Anyway, the whole Uncrazy Thrace concept seems to throw people for a loop, but I mean: look at her hair. This is not the hair of a crazy person, this is the hair of a mythical lipstick lesbian perched exactly on the sweet spot of some butch/femme spectrum I imagine exists but don't actually know about for sure. Girl looks perfectly perfect.
Anyway. Adama orders the Raptors and the civilian ships he's totally commandeered to start searching, and CAG Kara is like, "Um..." He asks her if she has a fucking problem with that, and Kara points out that there are two pilots confirmed gone, and not even enough sticks to rub together to come up with a decent CAP. "Now you're asking me to send the remainder of the Raptors out on a blind search, looking for a ship that very well may have been destroyed. My people are gonna feel like they're being asked to go on suicide missions..." Adama assures her that he is not asking, and she stares. This is his truth, his true thing. His trajectory. "You're dismissed, Captain." She stands at attention long after he's gone. This is what it looked like, this right here: somebody completely convinced of their rightness, and you just have to look at them and remember that you love them, and then put them in a submarine and tell them to go be crazy somewhere else until they do whatever the daemon wants them to do.
There were many who went in huddled procession,
They knew not whither;
But, at any rate, success or calamity
Would attend all in equality.
There was one who sought a new road.
He went into direful thickets,
And ultimately he died thus, alone;
But they said he had courage.
Adama watches from Olympus as they get the birds ready on the deck, recon for a dead woman. Romo takes off his glasses on approach, and Bill asks WTF he's bugging him for: "Writs of forfeiture for the ships you're borrowing. The Captains want to be absolved of any blame should anything untoward happen." Bill takes them: this is a piece of his heart he can look at: the lives of the people on those ships, he can weigh them in his hands. Sign off on their deaths, one page at a time. Civilians: his people. "One of the less ennobling consequences of a legal culture -- no one wants responsibility," Romo patters, handing Bill a pen. "Lee said you once gave him something before a mission. A lighter, was it?" (I so wanted Romo to produce the lighter at this point and be like, "Was it this lighter right here? I am incorrigible!") Adama, signing: "It belonged to my father. Foolish to think a hunk of metal could keep him safe."