A/N

I apologise for taking so long, I had to rewrite the chapter as it didn't work for me, and I still don't really like it. I thought about scrapping it altogether and move on to the next, but then I decided to upload it anyway so those of you who follow the story have something to read. 😊 The next chapter will contain less talk and more action, promise.

"I can feel your teeth chattering," Bernard said a while later. "Do you want the blanket?"

"Y-yes p-please," Theresa replied. She had tried to be a trooper, but she was freezing, and maybe it was no wonder; the dress was sleeveless, backless, and had a deep décolletage. Why was women's clothing always more uncomfortable than men's? And more importantly, why hadn't she picked something at least a little bit more comfortable?

Oh, but she knew why. This was the nicest dress she owned, and she still had that same insecure streak that had almost been her undoing eight years ago.

Bernard halted the horse, took out the blanket, and handed it to her. Theresa swept it around her, wincing a bit at the coarse fabric against her bare skin first, but it was wool, and she felt warmer right away.

"Thank you," she said, leaning over his shoulder and giving him a quick kiss. "Bernie?"

"Mhm?"

"Thank you."

"I heard you the first time," he said, smiling. "You're welcome."

"This time it was for coming after me when I left the crowd to have a smoke. I don't know what I'd done if you had been caught in that massacre," she said quietly. "I think I might just have sat down and waited for them to get me too."

"No, you're too tough for that. You would've moved on."

"By now, you should know that I'm not as tough as I try to pretend outwardly."

"I think you sell yourself short," he replied. "Ready to keep going?"

"Yeah."

And so they kept going, riding along the railroad tracks that vaguely reflected the moonlight. It was like moving through a dream.

Do you know where you are?

I am in a dream.

Theresa shuddered again, despite the warmth of the blanket. No, the hosts had never been in a dream, they were caught in a nightmare, and it seemed they weren't willing to stay there any longer. She wasn't sure how she felt about them, about the realness of them, but she had always found it unpleasant, this whole idea of creating lifelike human robots to rape and mutilate and kill. What did that say about actual humans? Nothing flattering, that was one thing for sure.

"So who were you trying to impress with that dress anyway?" Bernard asked. "I know it wasn't me."

"No, to do that, I just need something see-through," she said playfully. "Because you're too easily impressed, Mr Lowe."

"And you're avoiding the question. Was it Charlotte Hale?"

Theresa's heart nearly stopped.

"Why would I want to impress her?"

"You tell me."

"I don't give a fuck about Charlotte Hale," Theresa lied, remembering the gentle kisses that could turn into blood-drawing bites without warning. She had been addicted to and terrified of those nights, and when finally deprived of them, she had been both relieved and desperate to get them back – the very nature of self-destructive compulsions, she assumed. But what had happened between her and Miss Hale had happened a long time ago, and she had moved past all that. Hadn't she?

"Don't you?" Bernard replied, unknowingly mirroring the unsettling thought process in her own head.

"Other than the fact that I prefer not to get fired, no." To her own ears, her voice had just the right balance between indifference and slight annoyance. Though Bernard might hear something more; he was alarmingly talented at reading her. She went on, hoping to distract him from the subject. "Although after this shitstorm, I expect to be. Either by her, if she's even still alive, or by whoever is in charge when this is over."

"You didn't program the hosts. That's on Behaviour and Narrative," he said. "What happened is not your fault."

"It wasn't my fault, but it was my responsibility," she said. "I'm the head of Quality Assurance. It's my responsibility to keep people safe in the park, guests and employees, and…" she sighed and chose not to finish the sentence. "If anyone out there is still alive, we need to get someone out to help them."

"We will."

"What the hell is going on?" she said. "Like you said a few weeks ago, the park hasn't had a critical failure in over 30 years. So why now?"

He turned around so he could look at her.

"I have no idea."

Her eyes met his and she felt that jolt of attraction again. Every damn time she looked him in the eyes she wanted to shamelessly throw herself at him. It wasn't very ladylike, and it was certainly not how she had been brought up – her mother would have been horrified, but then again, her mother had been a raging racist, so she would have been horrified either way – but Theresa wasn't aiming to live according to anyone else's expectations. She had more than enough trying to deal with her own problems, she didn't need anyone else's on top of that.

What she did need, she saw in Bernard's eyes. They still kept up the pretence that this was a simple affair, a 'friends with benefits' kind of deal, but what she saw in his eyes, what she felt in her heart, that was a bit more fundamental. That was love. It was terrifying.

And it was wonderful.

"Bernie?"

"Yes?"

"Kiss me."

He smiled.

"I'd be happy to."

When he kissed her, she could relax and lose herself in the feeling, not having to be prepared for sudden pain. So she supposed there was one thing that her strange months with Charlotte had taught her; to appreciate gentleness.

Despite how good the kiss was, her mind wandered back to when she had first been hired by Delos… and had her bizarre fling with Charlotte Hale.

It had been a messy year. She had just gotten through a nasty divorce when Charlotte came into the picture, and she supposed that had plenty to do with how easily she had been swept off her feet. She had been emotionally raw, and Charlotte was a natural predator. Theresa had been flattered that a young beauty – Charlotte had only been twenty-seven at the time - would take an interest in a worn, divorced woman who had somehow, without even noticing, crossed the line into her middle age.

Maybe it had been nothing but a bout of middle age crisis. Oh, if only she could convince herself of that. But it had felt more like being under a spell, a victim of some powerful, malevolent magic. Charlotte hadn't been interested in love, and it had later dawned on Theresa that it wasn't sex either; what Charlotte truly desired was to hurt her. Theresa wasn't at all opposed to a bit of rough sex now and then, but it stopped being fun when it actually hurt or became humiliating, and with Charlotte it had quickly descended into both.

Bernard was something completely different. The way he cared about her was something she had never expected to experience. She wondered why she had to meet him this late in life and in a situation where they couldn't openly date. But she was grateful to have met him at all. He was kind and thoughtful and had a calming influence on her tattered nerves. He had a quiet but intelligent sense of humour.

And he was damn good in the sack, at that.

She slowly broke off the kiss, knowing that if she allowed it to go on it would lead to actions they had no time for at the moment.

"You were a million miles away just now," Bernard said. Theresa shook her head.

"No. I'm right here with you. And that's where I want to be."

He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, softly, before turning forward and urging the horse on again. They moved slower now, as the ground on the sides of the tracks fell away into a modest ravine. The moonlight shadows were sharp but somehow still hazy. It was difficult to tell distances.

"How much further do you think it is?" she asked.

"A few miles? It's hard to tell."

"I can't wait to get off."

Bernard turned and gave her a mischievous glance.

"Very funny," she said and rolled her eyes, but she was nevertheless unable to hold back a smile.

"I didn't say a thing."

"You can say plenty without using words. It wasn't an innuendo." She pursed her lips. "Well, it was, but it was unintentional. Why do I even think about that kind of thing in a situation like this?!"

"Stress response," Bernard said. "Same reason you want to smoke."

"How sexy," Theresa said, and the sarcasm was laid on thick as bricks.

"If it makes you feel any better, I want to take you to bed right now too."

"I'm not sure I even need a bed."

"Figuratively," Bernard said in a patiently amused tone.

For a second Theresa thought about throwing cation overboard, dismount the horse, get Bernard on the ground and mount him, and get this fucking urge out of the way so she – so they – could think clearly.

Then her deep-rooted sense of duty kicked in, and she abandoned the idea, but not without regret.

"I guess that has to wait until later," she said with a wistful sigh.

"Yes," Bernard agreed, but he sounded as wistful as she did.

"Do you see something over there, or am I hallucinating?" Theresa asked, pointing ahead to a darkness darker than the night, rising against the black skies. "Is that the mesa?"

"I think so. Yes. Just a couple of miles left."

"Thank God."

"I take it horseback riding wasn't for you, then?" he said with a smirk.

"Tell you what, take me out riding some day when the fucking apocalypse isn't in full swing, and I'll re-evaluate."

He chuckled and spurred the horse into canter again.

The desert was wide-stretched, but it still felt like the darkness was closing in on them, and while neither wanted to voice such a ridiculous thought out loud, both felt it. It felt like they were heading into disaster rather than escaping from it.