Disclaimer: These characters, unfortunately, do not belong to me. If they did I'd be very rich and have no need to vent creative energy on fanfic. So the characters belong to their original creator. This story is not being written or posted for anything other than my own enjoyment…no profit.
Author's Notes: This is NOT a Michaela & Sully story. It is a Myra-based fanfiction speculating on what would have happened if Myra had seen Horace for what he really was. I am taking some things verbatim from the episode Man in the Moon, others are brand new scenes and I will begin to diverge from the original storyline eventually. Please read and review…I hope you enjoy, even if it isn't M&S.
Keep. No. No.
The door flung open, and it took every effort not to gasp. Myra had hoped to get this all done before he got impatient. Luck was not on her side. Brave. She had to be brave. Act like she didn't care. She threw the next item in the 'no' pile.
"What do ya think you're doin'?"
"Packin'." Keep it simple, keep working. He knew her. He knew her well enough to know that this was what she was going to do. He couldn't try to stop her.
"And goin' where?"
"Anywhere but here, Hank." She sighed, keeping up with the motions of packing when he drew closer. Her nerves started to kick in. He'd not hurt her, but she'd hurt him. No one else would believe it, but she knew. Much as he hid it, she knew.
"Who said you could go?"
"I did. Remember?" Looking up at him, she held her ground. "I tore up my contract. You can arrest me, jail me, whatever…I'm leavin'."
"So." His hand hit the headboard, venting a smidge of the pain that started to creep into his voice. "Am I ever gonna see ya again?"
It was a silly question, something to drag the confrontation out. To prolong it until it could blow up. That would make it easier for him. At least, that's what it always seemed like. "I suspect from time to time, we do live in the same town."
She had to finish this up. Her packing became more haphazard. If she didn't get out soon, she wouldn't get to keep one thing that was hers.
"What're ya doin' with this stuff?" He tossed a few of the items she'd decided to leave behind toward the suitcase.
It was times like this she could almost see how the anger was easier. She shoved aside the pile again, "These I'm leavin'. And these, I'm takin'."
He grabbed the bottle of perfume, the one he'd given her the year before. "I gave you this."
It was easy to remember that. So much of what she had was given to her by him. Including the impossible saddle of property. But the perfume, it had meant something – it had been special. They both knew it. That was why she had to leave it behind, no matter the pain she saw in his eyes. In fact, that was the point. He had to see this was real.
"I don't want it." Hardly anyone saw him like this, it broke her heart. But not enough to make her stay. Nothing could make her stay.
"It came all the way from Paris, France. It cost me ten dollars. You keep it."
He wanted to make it about the money, about this? All that could do was make her angry. Like he wanted to keep buying pieces of her affection. He'd never learn that wasn't what she wanted. He couldn't give her what she wanted. "If I live to be ninety I will not put this on and you can't make me! You can't make me do nothin'! Not ever again."
"Tell you what." He grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the suitcase. "How 'bout you just leave it all. It all belongs to me anyhow. Everything under this roof does."
She yanked her arm free, storming to the door. She'd wanted just a few things to claim as her own. Instead she was leaving with the only thing that mattered. Turning back to him she lifted her chin. "Except me."