Once she's finally alone, Roslin breathes out a shaky breath and grips the edge of the sink, staring into the mirror. "Get hold of yourself, Laura," she tells her image. "One thing at a time."
The child is alive. Bill had been furious over the deception, she knows, and he'd had every right to be. She'd admitted as much to Captain Agathon when he'd accused her of being the one to blame.
But Isis -- no, Hera -- is alive, and back on Galactica with her parents. Given that Sharon hadn't betrayed them when she'd certainly had every chance, Roslin supposes there's no harm in it. It's far better than the little girl being on that Cylon ship.
It's a shame they couldn't have left Gaius Baltar there, though.
Her grip on the sink tightens at the thought, her knuckles whitening.
Still, she's able to look past her loathing to cold pragmatism. Whatever else Baltar may be, reprehensible or not, at least he's no longer a Cylon resource, but a human one. Hopefully he'll even have something of useful intelligence to share, whether he wants to or not.
"And even if he doesn't," Roslin murmurs to her reflection, "does it really matter? We're back on track, on the way to Earth. We know that now."
They do know it; she's sure of it. It can't be just a coincidence that the mandala in the temple was created to match the image of the sun going nova. Not when there was another nova four thousand years ago -- and thirteen thousand light years away.
A 'road sign,' Bill had called it.
Roslin lets go of the sink and turns on the water long enough to wet a cloth and dab at her throat and the back of her neck. She glances at the small glass vial standing nearby on a shelf, and a soft sigh escapes her.
She picks the vial up and puts it safely in her pocket before leaving the room.