"These people are freaks," Cosima mumbles beneath her breath, fidgeting with her bowtie.

She watches herself in the long antique mirror, brow furrowed in concentration as she tries to get the knot right. The tuxedo is ill-fitted, undoubtedly intended for a man, and it does nothing to compliment her natural curves. She feels like a child playing dress up with her father's clothes but even still, she's determined to make it work.

"I know," Delphine agrees. "We just have to play along for now."

Cosima's eyes drift slightly over to her right in the mirror, spying the blonde through the glass. Delphine sits at the vanity on the other side of the room and carefully applies her makeup like she's done so many times before, seemingly unbothered by the events that are currently unfolding.

"Is all of this really necessary?"

The fancy clothes, the big mansion, the exuberant dinner; it all feels like a front to her, like someone trying far too hard to both impress and intimidate her. She grew up around wealthy people who had no problem flaunting their money, but most of them (to her knowledge) didn't belong to some secret society of eugenicists. It makes her skin crawl.

"He said formal attire. He's very… particular," Delphine replies.

Cosima's frown grows larger.

When Delphine had returned from her trip with the news that P.T. Westmoreland himself wanted to meet her, Cosima was intrigued. Who wouldn't want to meet the man who held the key to her origins, who's somehow found a way to defy death? She had so many questions and she wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to find answers even if it meant diving into the belly of the beast. However, her curiosity is stifled by her girlfriend's anxiety; the way Delphine speaks of the man, the way she seems to almost flinch every time he's even mentioned makes Cosima's stomach churn and wonder how firm his grip on the blonde really is. He may have saved Delphine's life, but he's also the one keeping her prisoner on this island—the one who's kept them apart for so long. Delphine wears a brave face, tells her that she's got everything under control, but it's very clear to Cosima that her monitor is uncomfortable being under this man's thumb.

Delphine rises, then approaches.

"Here."

Cosima turns into her, Delphine reaching for her bowtie. Long, slender fingers work at the tie with a sense of fluency and Cosima smiles, allowing her lover to assist her in the task.

"You know, you don't have to wear this. There are other dresses," Delphine remarks.

The closet in their bedroom is full of them, all much too extravagant for her taste. She had dozens to choose from, though Delphine was not awarded the same privilege; a dress had been set out for her on the bed and the servant who'd escorted them to their chambers had informed her that the master of the house demanded that she wear it. Delphine had swallowed hard and nodded silently. The entire exchange left a sour taste in Cosima's mouth and she tried to argue with her girlfriend but Delphine was having none of it, claiming that it was a battle not worth fighting.

"I know. I'm just trying to make a point," Cosima says.

She hasn't even met the man yet but she already knowns that Westmoreland is narcissist and a control freak. He expects them to come marching down the stairs to eat at his table, dressed like fancy porcelain dolls for his enjoyment. She'll have none of it. Her eyes had been drawn to one of the tuxedos hanging in the back of the closet and without a second thought, she'd plucked it out and began changing.

"This isn't really the time or place to be making a statement," Delphine mutters, her lips drawn in a thin, straight line.

She falters, her once graceful hands trembling slightly. Cosima reaches for them, placing her hands over Delphine's and giving them a reassuring squeeze.

"Hey," she speaks softly, trying to catch Delphine's gaze. "Will you just chill for a second?"

Delphine hesitantly meets her eyes but holds their gaze only for a second. She expels a long, uneven breath and finishes with Cosima's bowtie, turning away once the task is complete.

"You're not even supposed to be here, Cosima," she says quietly.

"Then why'd he invite me?"

"I don't know."

That's why I'm nervous, she means to add, though the words are unnecessary. Cosima can see the worry etched plainly on the doctor's face. She had been delirious at the time, but she remembers hearing Delphine speak to the man who'd saved her and Charlotte from freezing to death in the woods; he had said that they wouldn't be allowed to stay together, that "he" wasn't happy about her being there. If her presence really was such a nuisance, why had he demanded that Delphine bring her to his home? It didn't seem to make whole lot of sense unless he intended to rectify the problem.

"Don't worry. I'll be fine," Cosima tries to reassure her with a small smile. "Let's just get through dinner with Lord Doucheington."

Delphine nods slowly, matching Cosima's smile.

Their lips find each other in a gentle embrace that soothes their nerves and gives them enough strength to leave the bedroom and make their way downstairs to face whatever awaits them. Cosima plays the part, holding Delphine's hand and escorting her down the stairs like a gentleman. For a moment, she can almost forget about the dollhouse of horrors they find themselves in and pretend like they're a normal couple on a normal date. They cling to each other for support until they're met by the servant once again, waiting at the foot of the stairs. He seems shocked by Cosima's attire but quickly swallows his surprise to escort them to the dining room where a man sits at the head of the unnecessarily long table.

"Ah. Here are my guests."

He rises, offering Delphine a bright smile. When he notices Cosima at her side, his expression shifts. It isn't exactly a frown, though he clearly isn't as delighted to see her. If anything, he regards the brunette with a guarded curiosity.

"We finally meet."

Cosima matches his stare, her own face neutral as she tries to get a feel for the sharply-dressed man before her. He seems pleasant enough on the surface—certainly polite and welcoming—though his words are not an expression of relief or excitement, merely a statement of fact—possibly an invitation as he sizes her up and waits for her to finish doing the same.

"Yeah, well, it's about time," Cosima replies rather dismissively.

Delphine discreetly slips her hand into Cosima's, a wordless reminder to remember where they are and who they're with. She knows Cosima is full of snark but she hopes for both of their sakes that the clone can keep it under wraps long enough to get through dinner without angering the man.

He gestures for them to take a seat on his right and they do, Delphine slotting herself between the two forces. The food is quickly presented to them on platters by a number of servants who come marching out, plating the food for both Westmoreland and Delphine. When one of the servants reaches Cosima, she stops him before he has a chance to begin putting food on her plate.

"I can do it myself," she tells him.

The uniformed man hesitates, glancing over to Westmoreland for confirmation.

"I can't have my guests serve themselves. It's impolite. What kind of host would that make me?" he asks with a smile.

"An accommodating one."

They lock in stare, Cosima refusing to relent. A beat passes between them, Delphine nervously gripping Cosima's knee under the table.

"Very well," he nods. "That will be all, Simon."

He dismisses the servants, leaving Cosima to tend to herself. She can hear the mental sigh of relief Delphine releases when the situation settles and they begin to eat. Cosima barely touches her food, not quite trusting it; she knows it isn't poisoned or tainted, but it somehow feels like a betrayal of her values to sit at this man's table and eat his food, so she absently stabs at a few leaves of salad. Delphine picks at her plate like a bird, conscious not to take too big of a bite or indulge too much. She seems painfully aware that she's being watched and so she regulates herself accordingly.

"So, Cosima. What do you think of my operation?" he speaks up. "Now that you've had the chance to see, I'm curious how you feel about all of it."

Delphine pauses, her eyes drifting over to the brunette at her side.

"I'd say lukewarm, but that's being really generous," she retorts.

Delphine tenses, her gaze then traveling to her left to gauge Westmoreland's reaction. His smile is delayed, a quiet creature that spreads across his face while still giving almost nothing away.

"You aren't easily impressed, are you?" he asks.

Cosima shrugs.

"I'm just smart enough to know that when someone's dangling something shiny in front of me, it usually means there's a sniper hiding somewhere."

A small chuckle escapes him.

"I can appreciate a skeptic," he nods.

He wipes his mouth with a cloth napkin, folding it in his lap.

"Delphine was also a skeptic at first, but she wouldn't be sitting here right now without me," he says. "Isn't that right?"

"It's true," Delphine quietly agrees, her eyes lowered.

Cosima is the one to pause this time, her eyes traveling back and forth between her lover and her captor.

"She wouldn't be here at all if one of your psycho followers hadn't shot her," Cosima snaps.

His smile disappears.

"I assure you, that order didn't come from me."

"Oh, so that's supposed to absolve you of any guilt?" she challenges him, her tone becoming more pointed. "Whether you gave the order or not—you started all of this. You've set all these people on a rat race and now that they're all killing each other trying to climb to the top, it's not your problem?"

"I've never forced anyone to do anything, Cosima," he says rather calmly. "I present people with options—opportunities. They don't have to accept them, but they always do. Do you know why?"

"Enlighten me."

He smirks.

"Because they know that the path to the future is never straight or certain," he answers. "Progress has its price. You can pay it and press forward or turn back and get left behind."

Cosima glares at him from across the table, Delphine's sweaty hand on her knee the only thing tethering her. She's reminded of Evie Cho that night in the middle of that field where the duplicitous woman informed her that Delphine had been shot dead. Evie had likened herself to da Vinci, seeing herself as some sort of messiah while Kendall Malone's corpse was still burning behind them. As Cosima stares down Percival Westmoreland, she knows that his arrogance runs just as deep—perhaps even deeper; he's unwilling to acknowledge the terrible things he's done and she wonders if he's even aware of the atrocities he's committed, if he's ever stopped to think about the damage he's caused to others in his pursuit of knowledge.

"And what price have you paid?" she presses, her voice low and quaking with anger. "You keep talking about sacrifice, but it looks to me like every sacrifice that's been made has come at the expense of someone else."

"Cosima—"

"It's all right," Westmoreland interjects, raising his hand to dismiss Delphine as she tries to convince her girlfriend to settle down. He turns his head to look at the blonde, offering her a shrug. "She's entitled to her opinion… however flawed it may be."

"Just one more flaw for you to fix, right?" Cosima jabs.

The rest of their meal is a short, awkward affair with Westmoreland attempting to make conversation and Cosima shrugging him off. Delphine tries to mediate, acting as a buffer between the two opposing forces she's trapped in the middle of. When the servants arrive to begin clearing the table, Cosima excuses herself to retreat to their quarters. She pauses in the doorway of the dining room to look back and see if Delphine is following her lead. When the blonde rises from the table, Westmoreland reaches out to grab her arm, holding her in place.

"Delphine will join you momentarily," he explains. "We must have a few words in private."

Cosima plants her feet, preparing herself for another battle. Just as she's about to open her mouth and begin hurling jabs in his direction, she catches Delphine's eyes and the two share a wordless understanding that's emphasized by the very subtle nod of Delphine's head. Cosima's instincts scream for her to stay behind and defend Delphine, but she decides to respect whatever plan the blonde is concocting and trust her judgment.

"Don't be long," she says in a low voice, continuing on her way.

Westmoreland says nothing, his eyes following her as she departs. He sips at his wine, seemingly unmoved by Cosima's attitude.

"I-I'm sorry," Delphine stammers, immediately jumping on damage control. She bows her head submissively. "Cosima can be difficult. She doesn't mean to be so—"

"You don't have to apologize for her. I'm well aware of how difficult she can be," he dismisses her yet again. "They're all difficult in their own ways, I suppose. It can be rather frustrating."

She tries to conceal her panic as she reads his expression, attempting to decipher it. In the months that she's known him, he's always been a blank slate to her; there are times when he makes his feelings perfectly clear, but more often than not, he wears a mask of stoicism and maintains his composure. It's hard for her to know exactly what's going on inside his head, but she knows he's displeased with Cosima being here. The question is, just how displeased is he?

"I think it's probably best that she be on her way now."

Delphine looks up, her eyes widening in fear.

"Please—"

"She shouldn't have been brought to camp in the first place," he says more sternly. "I've done you both a kindness by letting her stay until she was feeling better, but it seems to me like she's been distracting you."

"She isn't!" Delphine shakes her head in disagreement.

"She is," he counters. "She'll always be a distraction."

Delphine's heart is slamming in her chest. She knows how he deals with distractions; they must be removed from the equation. She had wanted to prove to him that she was capable of both taking care of Cosima and shouldering her other responsibilities, but he doesn't seem to be buying it. She wonders just how much he knows, how much he's been able to pick up on; does he suspect that her feelings for Cosima far outweigh her allegiance to him? Is that why he had wanted them both to come to dinner—so he could witness their relationship for himself? Is that why he wants Cosima gone—because he knows she'll always choose her over him?

"That's why I'm going to let her return to her sisters."

His words strike her like truck, catching her off guard.

"What?"

Her eyes are full of confusion as she scans his face for more details.

"She can't stay here—that was never an option," he informs her. "I can't have her interfering with our business, but I also know if I were to have her terminated, you'd never be able to focus."

He's right about that.

If he had Cosima killed, she'd do everything in her power to crush him completely. The one thing Delphine does know is that he needs her. He hasn't exactly told her why she's so important to his plan, but she knows that he requires her cooperation moving forward.

"Cosima will go home and you will continue your work here."

It's a heavy blow. She doesn't want to be separated from her love—have Cosima ripped away again after they've just reunited—but she also knows that it's probably for the best. She needs to put the needs of Cosima and her sisters above her own—she needs Cosima to be somewhere that's safe. If she knows that Cosima is safe, that she's back with her sisters and working on some sort of plan, then she'll be able to rest easier.

"I…"

She doesn't know what to say.

Should she express her gratitude or disappointment? As she struggles with her mixed feelings, he rises from the table and takes the few steps over to her, standing behind her chair. He places his hands on her shoulders.

"We all have our part to play, Delphine," he says, speaking the very same words she's spoken to Cosima on multiple occasions. "The work you're doing is beyond you or me or Cosima. You have to remember that."

She nods.

"Yes."