((Bee Cave, Texas 1966))

"Dell Conagher, I swear to God if you go through with this, I'm leaving you."

It was a pretty common threat, coming from her; one Dell had begrudgingly heard dozens of times from his wife over the years, but it had never been acted upon before. She was still with him, after all. But right now, her voice was edging on hysterics, and she never used the Lord's name in vain. And given the circumstances of the current situation, with his old army footlocker open on the bed, full of dusty schematics, underwear and socks, he had no reason to doubt she was being very serious.

"Don't swear to God," he reminded her quietly, looking over his shoulder at her as he folded up a worn down pair of coveralls and tossed them into the trunk. "And get that look off your face. It ain't very becoming."

The woman bristled, keeping her ground at the doorway of the bedroom. "Don't you get smart with me! I only swear to God when I mean it, and right now Dell, you ain't leaving me much of a choice. You're just plain leaving me!" Her voice was getting higher as the reality began to set in, punctuated by Dell continuing to silently and calmly fold up his clothes and stash them into the footlocker. He wasn't going to be swayed by threats. It was time for a new tactic.

Her resolve waning, she crossed the room to stand behind her husband, clasping a hand over his arm to stop his folding. She was a good 5 inches taller than him without heels on, and her bouffant only accentuated her height even more. Right now, the usually pretty and prim Texan woman was starting to come undone at the seams. Her good breeding and good manners were giving way to breaking Commandments and using the word "ain't".

Girlfriends had asked her for years what a Southern Belle like her was doing with a BLU collar worker like him. She told them it was because she loved him, of course. She failed to mention the supposed fortune of Australium attached to his last name. She played her part well to convince Dell that she was the perfect housewife that any self respecting Texan man would want. She lived a life of leisure and luxury. She'd never worked a day in her life.

Which was why he couldn't leave.

"Dell, please," her voice strained, saturated with desperation. She wasn't below begging at this point. "You can't just pack up your things and abandon your family! Think about me, about your daughter! Who's going to take care of us if you're gone? You can't even tell me where you're going! What am I supposed to do?" Her hand was tight on his arm, her boney fingers trembling and digging into the thick flesh as she shook him urgently.

Dell closed his eyes and set his jaw as he listened to her yammer beside him, counting his breaths as he waited for her to run out of steam. Gently, but firmly, he reached over with his glove clad hand and plucked her wrist away from his arm. Opening his eyes, he looked over and up at her, his blue eyes narrowed, heavy brows pressed together, lips a thin, hard line as he pushed her hand away from him.

"Well, darlin', I suspect you're going to have to take care of yourself, for once." His voice was low and even, and though his face was hard with disgust, his voice held no malice, as easy going as ever. "And I already told you, I'm doing this for our daughter. Trust fund ain't gonna last forever, and I'm already on BLU's payroll. I can't let this opportunity pass up. Someone has to make some money around here and it sure as hell ain't you." He snapped the lid of the footlocker closed and flipped the latches shut. "And maybe you could try acting like a mom, for once. Since I know you're so good at acting and all."

His wife fell silent.

She stared down at him, her stomach churning with mixed emotions, somewhere between fear and rage. Her pretty face disappeared as it scrunched up into a sneer, crossing her arms over her chest defensively as she searched for any last ditch effort.

"I see how it is," she said coolly, turning her back on him and flicking her hand out to the side. "You can sleep on the couch tonight then. Don't bother coming in to say goodbye in the morning before you go. I'll have the door locked."

Dell's fists clenched, the rubber of his gloved hand squeaking before he released his grip. It wasn't worth it, he decided, to argue with her at this point. If she wanted a divorce, that was just fine by him. He wasn't doing this for her any way. He grabbed the handles on the trunk, hauled it off the bed and headed for the door.

She wanted him to stop and turn around and say he was sorry and that he wasn't going anywhere. She wanted him to crawl into bed with her, to kiss and make up and then fall asleep. She needed him so much more than he needed her, even though she had tried for the better part of seven years to convince him otherwise. Dell placed the footlocker on the floor just outside the door. Looking back at her with a hard glower, he punched in the lock button on the door handle, stepped into the hallway, and locked himself out.