Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Furiosa banged the coffee pot down as the new arrival came whistling through the door.

“Nux, what did I tell you about leaving your tools lying about the kitchen? I nearly broke my toe on this earlier.”

She gave her pilot’s toolbox a resentful kick with her steel-toed boot.

A meekly-mumbled ‘sorry boss’ was all she heard, but Furiosa could feel the sidelong glances being shared at the table. Which made her all the more cross.

Where the hell was Max anyway? Probably resting after his busy night, she thought sourly.

She spooned sugar into her black coffee and stirred like the mug had personally offended her. She didn’t even like the stuff, but this would have to be the first of many. Another sound of approaching feet make her glance up. She exhaled sharply, disappointed. She was full of barbs this morning and there was only one person they were aimed at.

“Mornin’ Shepherd” she drawled, without turning.

No reply. Furiosa frowned. Was everyone trying to get her hackles up today? Turning about, she saw the old preacher blink, surprised, then sag in relief. She reached up pulled two hanks of cotton out of her ears.

“I thought the Lord had saw fit to strike me deaf in the night!” she chuckled. “I always put these in when young Max has company. Doesn’t do for these ears to hear that sorta thing, not with my calling. Allus forget to take ‘em out, though.”

“You should give some to the boss there” Slit piped up, all innocent. “Don’t think she slept so good last night.”

Furiosa fixed the little shit with a death-stare, which only made him stretch his scarred fizzog into an even wider grin.

Right on cue, in sauntered Max; robe flapping loose, feet bare, hair all tufted up at back. He wore the dishevelled look aggravatingly well. Furiosa wondered how long it he spent getting it right.

She turned away to rummage for something or nothing.

“Morning, my son. See your young woman off okay?”

“Yes thank’ee, Shepherd” he replied. “Shuttled her planetside all safe.”

Yes thank’ee Shepherd; He sounded awful pious for a whore. Prob’ly touched his forelock too -

“Pro bono, this one?”

“Yup”

Oh

“Aye, New Melbourne got hit real bad.” Shepherd Giddy sighed. “No kids under ten years old at all now, folks say.”

“That’ll be fish stew for the foreseeable, then” Furiosa muttered into her coffee.

She’d meant it to come out more friendly that that, but a grim smile was all she could muster. That woman had been a pro bono client, then. True, she didn’t have the trappings of his typical Lady So-and-So. And New Melbourne was the closest colony. Repopulator rates are well beyond what fisherfolks can pay.

She bit her lip, her irritation ebbing away under the idea that Max had been keeping her awake through charity alone. Hmph. It wasn’t entirely convincing -

“ - the blindfold idea worked wonders. Made all the difference - ”

Wait, what?

Max was busy mixing up one of his disgusting morning concoctions -

- and he Giddy were deep in converse, on the most unlikely of topics.

“Blindfold?” Furiosa asked, weakly. Then she cursed herself. She’d swore never to betray any interest in Max’s doings. Never ask.

He’d turned, looking surprised, as well he might be at such a question from her - but said nothing.

It was the preacher who spoke.

“The young woman - she was uneasy layin’ with another man, even for procreation purposes. She’s real fond of her husband, y’see, and so I suggested to Max here that if a client wasn’t seein’ or bein’ seen, then they weren’t really doin’”

This was too much information; she been hearing them at it like knives all night. Three times. And now the image of them both blindfolded and god knew what else -

She pressed the heels of both hands to her eyes for a moment involuntarily, then shook her head -

But why should she move quarters? It was her own damn ship -

“Well, I’m guessin’ it works,” she retorted, looking up. “I’m guessin’ she got over her faintheartedness - ”

Furiosa knew her face was reddening by the second, and the knowledge was not helping her temper. She took a step forward, hands on hips. “Because she was barking like a dog after an hour!”

“Yes, well” Max bridled, folding his arms defensively. “Some folks are louder than others. Besides - they conceive better when they enjoy it.”

“Is that so?” Nux asked.

Max looked at him and shrugged “Well, I guess.”

“Yes. Well. I’ve got two words for you. SOUND PROOFING.” She jabbed an accusatory finger and turned on her heel, calling over her shoulder “So if you don’t mind, I’ve got some real work to do.”

As she marched down the corridor, she heard the bang of a box being slammed down onto the kitchen counter, and the angry pad of bare feet on the metal floor.

“Why do you always do this? Every time I have a client - ?” he paused for breath, likely arranging his arguments. It wasn’t often Max reacted to her jibes, but when he did, he usually made a thorough job of it.

“I don’t have TIME for this - ” she raised her hands dismissively and made to walk on. She did not want to get into this right now.

“I’m tired of you whaling on me, just because you don’t approve - ”

She stopped. Oh boy. That’s it.

“You’re tired?? I’ve barely slept because of your - ” she wagged a finger vaguely in the direction of his quarters “and you know we’ve got the Harvest run today, through Alliance territory no less - ”

“ - yeah. Well - ” he hesitated, subsiding. “If you want me outta your - hair - just say the word.”

Furiosa automatically rubbed the back of her freshly shorn head and regarded him coolly - his hesitation at that word had hit a nerve. Was it a dig? That woman had real nice hair, all long and wavy - kinda like hers had looked before. Before the wars, before this.

But she regretted mentioning the Alliance. It was a old wound between them, a whole mess of sore subjects that they would probably never talk about.

“There’s only about two hundred days left on the contract” he went on, quietly. “We can write ‘em off. If you want. Not like there ain’t other Fireflies out there I can hitch to.”

He concluded with a laugh that didn’t deserve the name.

Max was studying her face now, like he was waiting to hear her response. He was actually serious. No. No she did not want to terminate their contract.

Oh, why hadn’t she just used earplugs?

Furiosa cast her eyes to the ceiling and took a deep breath.

“Just - ” she raised her hands half-placating, half-concluding the conversation. “Just go drink your protein shake. Before it gets gross. And put some shoes on, for God’s sake. This is a working ship - !”

Chapter Text

Max made an exasperated gesture at her retreating back, spun on his heel for a dignified retreat and promptly stubbed his toe on a metal crate.

Ngggh. Fuck! This! Ship!

With tears in his eyes, he clutched at his foot til the pain ebbed, before glancing back over his shoulder. Thank Merciful Jesus, she’d gone. If she was to get all I-told-you-so at him -

Oh, real work. She’s got real work to do, has she? Yeah - Piracy! And she’s got the gall to get all moral at him - ?

He limped angrily past the kitchen door straight back to his quarters.

Forget breakfast. He wasn’t in the mood for blame. Or questions. Or even sympathy.

He was tired of this. Tired of the aggravation that always followed his entertaining a client. Tired of hearing a woman call out another man’s name while he fucked her. And just tired tired. He was getting too old for this.

But what else was there? He’d seen what else life had to offer, and it had been taken away again.

A lump formed in his throat.

It wasn’t fair.

He shut the door behind him in his quarters. He’d stripped and remade the bed, but the room still smelt of sex. He wished he had somewhere else to retreat to, but the Interceptor was small. It had to be, it was the price of being independently mobile. At least he had his own bunk. The bed was more comfortable, sure, but it’s best to keep work separate.

He retreated there, laying face down, his hand creeping under the mattress. His fingers felt the corner of their picture, but he didn’t take them out. It was normally a comfort to steal a look at them when he was feeling under the weather. But it felt wrong right now. He didn’t feel worthy.

He let out a ragged sigh. This didn’t make sense. Why did he feel so low? Was he ashamed? Angry? Wounded? Everything was just grey and sickening and worthless.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. If he couldn’t take comfort in them, he had to do something else. He rolled over, got out his meditation mat -

*

Afterwards, things looked - better. He’d done a good job. All being well, she would return a certificate of conception and there would be a child in their village again. And that child would grow up happy and cared for by good parents and a rejoicing community. And the only connection to him would be a number on their birth certificate; MFP4073.

He was doing good work. And it wasn’t exactly an unpleasant job. He could choose his clients, after all. But -

- no, don’t. Those days were brief, and they are over. He didn’t regret a thing, apart from having outlived them. God knows he’d done his best to rectify that point. But he couldn’t quite manage to drink himself to death, and he was too weak to attempt other ways to end himself.

No, it wasn’t a bad life. At least he was with people he could call friends. Who called him by name. That was important. On the job, Repopulators only had a number. And if you were too solitary, you could go for years without hearing your own name. No, this was all good. He’d been determined to start over and he’d done okay.

But his face burned at the memory of last night activities and Furiosa’s pained look this morning. The client had been very loud. He sighed and scrambled to his feet -

- rummaged in his toolbox for hammer and nails and got to work.

*

“Hey - ”

Max paused in his hammering and looked around at the hail from the door. Nux, with a sheepish expression and a mug of solidified protein shake.

“Thought you might want this. I knocked earlier but you had your music box playing so I figured you didn’t want disturbin’.” He grinned at Max’s efforts. “You want a hand with that?”

Max surveyed his work critically. “Hmmm. Yeah. Prob’ly a good idea.”

“You takin’ the Boss’s advice then?” Nux asked, sympathetically, as he proceeded to make short work of soundproofing the walls.

“Needed doin’ sometime. Either that or get kicked off the Rig.” Max folded his arms and forced a sociable laugh.

“Nah, she wouldn’t do that. She’s just cranky. ‘Taint never easy, the Harvest run. Plus - Boss radioed to say they’d be a while longer. No, no - it’s alright. They just got another job is all. Something you’d approve of, she said. We’re to pick ‘em up from the job at sixteen hundred hours - ” his face fell “ - ohgod, I better run or they’ll both have my hide!”

*

Max figured it’d be a good half hour before they touched down on Harvest, even with Nux’s flying. So he made a hurried job of finishing the soundproofing, just to be able to say it was done. Even if it was a cack-handed job (and it was), it would show willing. A peace offering, if you will.

Because he shouldn’t have lost his rag with Furiosa, even if she was being a royal pain in the ass. She had her reasons, after all. He’d found that out the first time he set foot on the Rig.

*

It had been his interview, and Nux had been very informative. He hadn’t meant to be, probably, but that kid was transparent. Not his paleness - he did look like he was knocking on Death’s door back then - but his readability. Not an obvious interrogator but, as Max soon found out, he got the task because he was the only man on board who wasn’t Slit.

“So - uh - Mr Rockatansky - it says here you’re a freelancer. You’re not Alliance then?”

“Not any more.” Max replied shortly, his gut clenching.

“But you used to be?” Nux’s brow furrowed as he made a note.

Definitely a Browncoat ship. Good. Although that meant he’d probably talked himself out of the contract already.

“How - how long ago?” Nux looked up abruptly and, seeing Max’s probably confused expression, added “When did you train? And where?”

Oh, that was going back a long while -

“That’d be about twenty, twenty one years ago - back on Verbena.” Max looked at his questioner, wondering if that would satisfy.

“Oh. So - before the war then?”

“Oh yeah, long before that - Prob’ly before you were even thought of.” Max made a nervous chuckle that sounded more like a grunt and a small part of him died of embarrassment.

But he’d been expecting a quizzing about more recent events, not this ancient history. Like why he’d quit, and what he’d been doing all these years. He was experiencing a rush of relief, which was probably extremely premature.

“Ever been to the POW camp on Hera?” Nux asked, the veiled nervousness in his voice replaced by a sternness that sat strangely on him. Max looked at him, a little startled.

“Ever worked there? Trained others?”

“No. No, I’ve never been there.” Max didn’t know why this was important, but it clearly was. He held the young man’s eye for an uncomfortably long time until Nux nodded and scrawled something on his notes.

“I’ve got to tell you, Mister Rockatansky - for your own health and safety - you should steer clear of this ship if you were. ‘Cos your time on board would be short and very colourful.”

Max’s imagination supplied a guess at what that colour was most likely to be. He had no desire to see the hues of his own innards and, fortunately, he had never been to Hera. Now definitely was not the time to second-guess his own flaky memory. He would’ve remembered that, surely. He’d seen pictures of the place.

So he merely nodded an acknowledgment and said no more. Nux seemed satisfied with his disclaimer, and scanned down his notes. Max’s stomach churned in anticipation of what question might come up next.

“Well this all seems fine. You got good references and your medical notes come up good. I just need to consult with the captain and crew - ”

Max twitched in his seat, poised to take his leave; but the young man seemed hesitant, like there was more he wanted to say. His face flushed red and he sat bolt upright on his seat,

“One other thing - the management does not take kindly on folks makin’ up to other folks’ wives. Got severe penalties for that sort of thing. You get my drift?”

Whatever grain of sentiment Max had left flared right up at this. Was this gangly spark a young newlywed? Well, he wouldn’t give him cause to fret.

He nodded approvingly. “Well, I sure am glad to hear it. And if I were to catch them at it, I’d assist you in givin’ them a sound hidin’. Repopulators are lookin’ to make families where needed, not break ‘em.”

Nux’s high colour dropped to a more healthful shade and he gave a relieved nod. He got to his feet and extended a friendly hand to Max, who shook it gratefully. Had he really dodged that bullet? Yes, they seemed to be done here.

*

Next day, he was offered a place on the War Rig; three year contract. He kinda wished he’d at least met the captain before throwing in his lot with an unknown ship but, if his young interviewer was anything to go by, it’d be alright.

He had his doubts when he arrived though. His welcoming committee was a guy who looked like he’d been on the wrong side of too many bar fights. He gave Max a nightmare grin, introduced himself as Slit and grabbed Max’s bag without so much as a by-your-leave.

By the time he’d chased the man down - he’d bolted off at full speed, none too concerned about whether Max could keep up - he’d already started unpacking his bag in some guest cabin or other.

Max didn’t stop to explain that ‘thankyou kind sir this is unnecessary since I’ve got my own accommodation arrangements’, because he couldn’t find words and this son of a hyena had his hands on their wedding picture and -

And instead he found it quicker and more effective to pin him to the wall by his throat and tell him, in no uncertain terms, that if he touched Max’s things again he would personally rip his head off and fill it with rattlesnakes.

Yep, safe to say him and Slit got off to a bad start.

*

He improved on you, given time. Granted, that would not be difficult. Both he and the mechanic - Cheedo, her name was - they were both fascinated by his profession. And although their incessant curiosity and questioning were unsettling, he’d got used to it. More or less.

Both of them seemed to have a one-track mind, each in their own way. While Slit would accompany every observation with an insinuating leer, young Cheedo would question Max with a wide-eyed innocence that contrasted oddly with her depth of knowledge on the subject. She did not seem to know what embarrassment was.

But he’d got accustomed to the Rig’s strange ways. Funny how time flies. He’d spent almost two and a half years on this ship, with its crew and passengers. Nine people, all crammed into such small quarters. Only two hundred days left and so much left unsaid. Well, he could hardly complain about that -

He was very fond of Nux and his wife. They were still on their honeymoon when Max joined the Rig. Capable was truly well-named. She was the Captain’s first mate, her right-hand woman. Young as she was, she had fought in the Battle of Serenity Valley in Furiosa’s unit. It seemed the crew - most of them anyway - had one thing in common: capture and eventual escape. Max had caught occasional mentions of a third comrade who hadn’t made it, but he didn’t know her name.

He had put the scraps of information together and pieced together a grim sketch of her - Furiosa’s - reasons for disliking his line of work. Not morality, as he’d originally assumed when they’d told him that it would be a tough ship to travel with. No -

Browncoat sympathies - prisoners of war - Repopulator training -

He didn’t need anyone to draw him a picture.

Max shivered, his stomach turning uncomfortably - not from anxiety as at his interview, but from the sickening scenarios his imagination was offering up.

It’d hadn’t been that like back in his day. They had no shortage of volunteers - women had been queuing up - there was a waiting list -

Yes, most of them probably needed the money. Certainly the trainees did; Max could attest to that. Work was hard to come by on Verbena, and it was probably a choice between sex or starvation. Max probably could have found other work, but he was tempted by the pay and the prospects.

The lucky few young men who made it through the program would get a shuttle, they’d be able to choose their own clients -

- best he could do on Verbena was a munitions job. He was healthy, but he probably wouldn’t stay so for long in that air -

Besides, if money wasn’t the motivation, babies were.

There were rules, you treated people right and everyone benefited -

He’d had many a disturbed night after putting two and two together. Horrible dreams. It was scanty comfort to remind himself, on waking, that he had never been to Hera.

Chapter Text

Capable crouched in the back of the covered river wagon and wished for the tenth time that she was taller. Then she’d be up front instead of being crammed into this musty crate. It was a big crate, as Furi had said, but what had they been transporting in it - live goats?

And now she was getting seasick. She always got seasick. Not her fault there wasn’t a word for it when you’re on a cart in a river. Still the same - the bobbing and dipping was just the same anyways.

Just then a smug voice rang out from the left bank -

“Pardon me for intruding, but I believe y'all are carrying something of mine!”

Game on. She tightened her grip on her pistol.

“‘Taint yourn - !” that was Slit’s voice, sounding extra aggravating. That’s probably the straw hat itching his bald melon. He’d objected to the hat.

“You talking words to me? You gonna mouth off? Did you think we wouldn't find out you changed your route? You're gonna give us what due us and every damn thing else on that boat, and I think maybe you're gonna give me a little one-on-one time with the missus!”

Slit chuckled disagreeably. “You might wanna reconsider that last part. I married me a powerful ugly creature.”

Capable grinned in spite of herself. There was gonna be a bit of to’ing and fro’ing here, and it was usually pretty darn amusing after a long day.

Furiosa - in the role of missus - gasped, outraged at her husband’s unmanly words.

“How can you say that? How can you shame me in front of new people?” she yelled shrilly, in full fishwife style. Probably raining blows too.

“If I could make you prettier, I would!” was her dear husband’s rejoinder.

“You're not the man I met a year ago!” Furi feigned a sob and the bandits were in evident confusion - some sniggers of amusement at this domestic, horses snorting and distracted -

- then the click of a safety being made unsafe. Alright, here we go -

Capable crept to the edge and raised the canvas an inch.

“Think very hard” Furi warned, her voice now hard and holdin’-her-gun-like. “You been birddoggin' this township a while now, and they wouldn't mind a corpse of you. Now you could luxuriate in a nice jail cell but if your hand touches metal, I swear by my pretty floral bonnet I will end you.”

Capable eyed the four bandits. What you gonna do, boys? You gonna be smart? You don’t look very smart.

One at the back raised his weapon, and promptly fell from his horse. One man, one bullet. Don’t make me do it again.
But they did. They always did.

*

She flapped her hair in front of the fire. Goddammit, it was gonna be all kinds of frizzy after that riverbath. She looked up at Nux smiling at her, and he smoothed her hair with his big hand. Hmmm, nice. She leaned into his shoulder and sighed contentedly. It was good to come home to a loving husband after a tough day.

The Harvest run, that was. Not the little extra job. That’d been small fry after a morning of dodging Alliance excisemen. Nux had dodged checkpoints and dropped the three of them to the surface for a two-hour schlep across scrubland on horseback to deliver the goods. Valuable contraband, to a ‘small trader’. Heh. A lucrative job, but dangerous with it. With great risk comes great pay, or was it the other way round? Probably.

But it was their last little adventure that had them raised up on high as heroes. This party had been laid on in their honour, and they were prepared to enjoy themselves. Frizzy rats’ tails notwithstanding.

Nux had joined them at the rendezvous point with Max in tow, who looked minded for a reconciliation with Furi. Thank God for that - she’d been cranky as all hell. That kind of cranky where she’s mainly mad at herself but won’t admit it. That was the worst kind.

But there she was, extending a hand to Max who took it eagerly. What was he saying? Oh come on - say they weren’t arguing over who was the most at fault! Well, hell, everyone’s got their own way of making up.

And now Furi was smiling - not at him, but at the party, the people. She could take a guess why. Capable had never been to Hera before the war had torn it all to shit but, from the few times Furi had talked about it, it looked like this place might be a fair approximation. Was she telling him about her people? Did he know already? She couldn’t tell for sure, but Furi was talking in a starry-eyed kinda way and Max was looking at her like he didn’t want to quit.

And then she snapped out of it - out of whatever daydream she’d been having - and laughed. To Capable’s surprise, Furi held out a hand to Max with a flourish, tried to draw him toward the dancers. He laughed in turn and disclaimed.

As he turned, she caught the words -

“ - enjoy yourself! You got hired to be a hero for once. It must be a nice change.”

And they parted, amicably; Furi to join the spinning whooping crowd, and Max to settle down in a quiet spot to watch the festivities. Probably still tired after his exertions the other night -

Oh, it was strange how things turned out, though. If someone had told her seven years ago that they would have a Breeder in their midst, as a crew member, a friend even, she would have happily shot them in the face. Now she was looking on, wondering if he would ever grow enough of a spine to ask her Captain to marry him.

No, that wasn’t fair. He’d done the unexpected before, she knew. Alliance Breeder marries Browncoat rebel? One who’d faked her papers and defrauded him into impregnating her? You couldn’t make that up. It confused her, but gave her a treacherous flutter in the heart regions at the same time.

“Do you think he misses his wife?” she murmured against Nux’s shoulder. “He never talks about her.”

“He never talks about much” Nux sighed, and kissed her head. “If anything had happened to you today, I wouldn’t want to talk much either.”

She felt the shiver run through him and fought down the urge to make a joke about how remarkable that would be. Instead she sat up straight “Oh Nux, baby - ”, took his face between her hands and kissed him.

When they were all kissed out, she resumed the subject. Nux probably knew Max best out of all of them, so he was the one to ask. “Does he know we know he was married?”

“Pff. Doubt it. Slit’s still got a head on his shoulders, ain’t he?”

“Hmmm, speaking of Slit - ” she smiled curiously and nodded towards the other side of the campfire with his new best friend. Elder Gommen, the grand matriarch of this hospitable settlement, was solemnly presenting him with a long tube.

“It makes the rain come when you turn it. The rain is scarce, and comes only when needed most. And such it is with men like you.”

Slit scrunched up his face like he was trying not to cry. “This is the most - ” he sniffed, clearly lost for words. He wrapped the little woman in a bear hug.

“ - you, friend. You're the best. I will treasure this.”

Capable grinned up at her husband, and kissed his laughing mouth. And that started them off all over again.

Chapter Text

Furiosa dropped down in the circle round the fire, her head in a whirl and her cheeks flaming with moonshine. Oh Mothers, it’d turned out to be one hell of a night. She couldn’t remember that last time she’d had such a one. Well, she could - but youth is half a lifetime ago. She hugged her knees and smiled stupidly around at the dancing villagers, the solemn old matriarch nodding in the prime spot by the fire, all the trappings of a community where the business of life was growing things -

Oh, it was just like home. Old Hera. Furiosa wondered if anyone else remembered the place as it was - not a churned-up battlefield, but a place of growth and plenty. Wholesome plenty, not the kind you got in Londinium and the other places with their empty showy wealth, parasiting off others -

She shook that thought out of her head. None of that. No, tonight was a night for merriment. Celebration. The day was over, they were still alive, and there was some good left in this shitty universe -

Furiosa’s eyes lit on Max, curled up asleep in an unregarded spot. He twitched occasionally in his sleep, but there was a faint smile on his lips. She looked away, towards the glowing embers and smiled a private smile. They were okay again. This morning she’d near wrecked the whole damn thing. But it was all made up now. He’d come over, all smiles and she’d said sorry and he’d said sorry and they were friends again.

She let out a little laugh that was too much like a sob. Was she welling up? Oh Mothers, no more drink for her. She was getting all maudlin and she had some kind of hat on her head with no idea how it got there. That’s never a good sign.

Right on cue, a young man handed her a cup of wine. ‘Kay, this is the last one.

‘S good to make up, she thought, taking a draught. Friends again. That’s good. Nothin’ complicated anymore. She’d thought she’d gone and made things complicated again.

But no, they were past that. She was past that, anyway. He’d probably never been at that. Silly really, good to keep things nice an’ simple, Furiosa thought, as she concentrated on not tripping over her own feet.

Because - hey, we’re dancin’ now! When’d that happen? She laughed as the beat caught her -

*

If Furiosa had not been drawn into the dance by the handsome young man who’d put a wreath of flowers on her head and given her wine in front of multiple witnesses - if she’d been free to follow where her train of thought had been headed prior to derailment - it would’ve gone something like -

- how she’d spent a whole year so preoccupied with getting over her ground-in revulsion of Breeders -

They’d needed one for access to the trickier trade routes. A Breeder pass would oil the bureaucratic wheels and get them waved through before the excise boys had time to check the cargo hold. He would have to stay away from her and Capable, that was the condition. And any funny business on her ship and she’d hang him up by his ballsack without a moment’s hesitation.

But it seemed that Max was just a man, doing a service. In demand. This was what Breeders - Repopulators, she should say - were meant to be, perhaps. Maybe what they always had been, what they were right now. Maybe she’d happened upon the very time and conditions for the Worst Kind of them. Maybe her crew’s own experience in the Women’s Camp had been nothing but a blot in the fine tradition of the trade. Well, anyway - this one seemed to be free of vice, not to mention quite personable.

That night - they were celebrating a big payout - it’d had taken an hour or two of friendly conversation and innumerable shots of bourbon to get her nerve up. She was not a drunkard, evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. Just a bit of Dutch courage. For months and months she’d heard those noises through the metal walls of her cabin and the adjoining Interceptor, and she’d observed the man himself in day-to-day life -

- and how could she not want a piece of that? She wasn’t made of stone, regardless of how convenient that reputation was.

And she liked him as a person too. Really did. Which was important. Essential, really, when she came to think of it. If he was an ass, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be interested in fucking him. Probably. Just a man. A crew member. Using the skills God gave him.

She knew he’d be all shaven downstairs, being a professional, but even that held a strange fascination for her. It should be off-putting, associated as it was with closed-off memories on one hand and grubby whorehouses on the other. But this would be altogether different - no, it was kind of tantalising, under the circumstances -

Of course he might say no. Of course she would pay - though preferably not the lords and ladies rate - and she did think he liked her well enough, but still she couldn’t afford to get too cocky -

But she sure as hell hadn’t been prepared for how he’d recoiled. Like he’d been shot.

He’d mumbled something about Guild Regulations and monthly quotas but she knew a knockback when she saw it. Her face flamed hot and she got to her feet, as if the conversation had never happened. As if she hadn’t drunkenly propositioned a Breeder - 

- propositioned Max -

She remembered getting to her feet - a casual escape - and calling out the door for someone to tell her if there were any good houses of ill-repute on their route.

Cheedo popped up like an excited jack-in-the-box with a cry of “Oh can we? We’re on a year now and I ain’t had nothing ‘twixt my nethers weren’t run on batteries!” She did a little skip before dashing off to check the Directory. Well, there was no backing out of it now.

Furiosa leaned on the doorframe and glanced back Max, emboldened now by her own thespian prowess.

She shrugged, “What can I say? If a body can’t afford steak, they gotta settle for meatloaf - ”

Cheedo reappeared at the door, breathless and probably ready to rhyme off a whole list of local establishments, regardless of whether they qualified as ‘good’ or no.

“Wait.”

They both looked at him, sitting slumped in the battered armchair. Had he changed his mind? Did he think she would just jump on him now, after that?

“Mrs Harrington’s” he looked up at her with an odd expression of resignation. “It’s a good place. Tell her Max sent you.”

Furiosa was lost for words.

“Thanks” she’d finally managed.

*

Mrs Harrington’s was a good place, at least according to Furiosa’s standards. For one thing, it was difficult to tell who were the clients and who were the whores. In a good way.

It was clean and comfortably furnished. She’d been expecting something ostentatious but, despite that, had flatly refused to dress up for the occasion.

In contrast, Cheedo looked like a walking lampshade. She’d got together her best fripperies on account of it being Max’s recommendation. Slit was even wearing a starched collar. They didn’t look overdressed as such, but neither did Furiosa’s clean shirt and leathers look much out of place. It seemed to be a place designed to put you at your ease. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

It being Max’s recommendation didn’t influence her wardrobe choices but it did make her a lot easier about the place. She knew he would never recommend anywhere the whores weren’t treated right. But still, she would be vigilant.

Slit nudged her and pointed to a sign. ENQUIRIES AT RECEPTION

Looking around for such a thing, she saw an elderly woman in half-moon glasses waving discreetly at them. Was this Mrs Harrington?

“Good evening ladies and sir. Welcome to our establishment. What can we do for you?” She smiled at them enquiringly.

Furiosa spoke quickly, realising that Cheedo or Slit might pipe up any moment.

“Max sent us. He recommended the place - ”

Furiosa blushed as she spoke, but that was to be expected. Thankfully the old lady didn’t seem to notice, or was used to bashful customers. Max’s name seemed to be quite the passkey to her goodwill.

“Oh, the dear boy - is he well?”

“I - I think so” Furiosa stammered. Was he? She didn’t really know. “He’s stationed on my ship. Doing well, as far as I understand these things.”

“Oh, that’s excellent news! I’m so glad he’s back on his feet.”

Cheedo disguised a giggle with a cough, and Furiosa sighed internally. Please no innuendos.

“He’s an excellent young man, and so good at his job. I should know,” she nodded to Furiosa, “ - I was a matron at the training facility back in my young days. And he was very popular while he was here. But of course, that was just a short sabbatical, he wasn’t working here as such, being overqualified. But listen to me rattle on - ! Are you young people here for some entertainment this fine evening?” presumably-Mrs-Harrington addressed Cheedo and Slit.

“Yes’m!” they chorused.

“Ladies or gentlemen?” she asked brightly.

“Man for me please’m!” Cheedo beamed.

Slit thought for a moment. “Lady for me, please.”

Mrs Harrington offered them each an arm and led them off, probably asking discerning questions.

Furiosa leaned against the reception desk, and tried to come to a decision. It could’ve gone either way but, at the precise moment Mrs Harrington returned alone, she had made a resolution.

“And what about you, Miss? Captain, I should say, begging your pardon.”

Furiosa waved her hand dismissively at the formalities. “I’d like to ask your advice, ma’am, if I may. You know Repopulator rules - protocols, that sort of thing?”

Mrs Harrington nodded diffidently. “Yes, that would be a fair statement. It’s rather a specialist area.”

“Well, as the Captain of a ship with an affiliated Repopulator - ”

“This being Max - ?”

“Yes - if a crew member were to uh - make a proposal to Max - to request his services, say - ” Furiosa was painfully conscious that she was choosing her words so carefully, there was a chance Mrs Harrington might die of old age before she was done - “How would this conflict with - uh, Guild Regulations or monthly, uh - quotas? I’m asking for a friend. A crew member” she corrected herself.

The old lady blinked at her behind her spectacles. She reflected a moment, then took a breath,

“I would say that, if a Repopulator - young Max, for example - were to tell your friend that their - congress - might be against Guild Regulations, then your friend shouldn’t take that amiss,” she shook her head, “indeed, knowing Max, she should see it as a token of respect.” She nodded at Furiosa.

“Respect” Furiosa echoed blankly.

“Oh yes” Mrs Harrington nodded sagely, her neatly plucked eyebrows aloft. “It’s a complicated business, Repopulating. Lots of rules and conventions. Took me years to understand them. Very dull. Professional and personal respect, that’s all you need to know. Nothing to concern yourself about.”

“Okay” Furiosa nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to pass it on.”

“Do you have any other questions?”

“No, no, I think that’s it. Thank you” Furiosa forced a smile. Respect. Well, she supposed that was better than nothing. She was the Captain, after all.

Mrs Harrington seemed to take a particularly long time to find an appropriate match for Furiosa among her staff. She was finally paired with a slim man, youngish, with brown eyes and clever hands. He did an excellent job and seemed hardly startled at all when she asked him - his head buried between her thighs - if he’d ever been married. She didn’t mean to ask such a nonsensical question, but she couldn’t quite concentrate on the business at hand. He’d stopped what he was doing - she was sorry enough for that - and they’d talked for twenty minutes about stuff. And then she’d climbed on top and there was no more talking. Nothing very coherent anyway.

*

She’d expected to be the last one out, but the others were making every cent count and still hadn’t been kicked out. Furiosa almost wished she hadn’t been so scrupulous. She might’ve had another half hour.

She checked the couch for stains and, finding none, sat down. A few people were milling around, but it was much quieter than earlier. Looking up, she saw Mrs Harrington step out of the back room and take up her station at reception. She smiled and nodded at Furiosa, who got up and joined her. Might as well chat with her while she waited. She might learn something.

Once she’d got over the formalities; complimenting Mrs Harrington on her house and assuring her, truthfully enough, that her young man had been everything she’d been hoping to find him; that all being got over, they exchanged idle chitchat on common matters. How difficult it was to get good staff, for example, and how it made one’s life easier to have a crew one can rely on to do a good job. She dangled Max on a hook for the old lady, and she took the bait.

Mrs Harrington had asked her what she knew about Max. It was common knowledge that he’d been married, thanks to Slit’s incurable habit of picking up every inanimate object in sight, but Max had never mentioned anything of the kind and Furiosa had forbidden any of them to ask. From her own limited knowledge, it was no minor matter for a Repopulator to marry. It was practically a taboo.

But still, this was too good an opportunity to pass up. So she took the plunge and admitted that it was known he’d been wed, but that Max didn’t know they knew. She didn’t mention how he’d threatened to rip Slit’s head off over the wedding album incident, but she did make it clear that, for the sake of both his feelings and crew morale, she’d rather Mrs Harrington didn’t mention to Max that they all knew his secrets.

Furiosa was playing with fire here, she knew that. But she was asking no questions and there was no harm in letting someone talk if they were minded to. And it’d clearly been playing on Mrs Harrington’s mind.

The old lady kindly filled in many of the blanks in Max’s history. How he had given up a rising career to run after a thieving hussy who had stolen Alliance money to get herself a baby, at the risk of an innocent Repopulator losing his license. The woman - Jessie, her name was - forged papers and passed herself off as a grand lady. But instead of reporting her to the authorities, what does he do but find her out, give her back the money she’d paid him, and marry her? And then where did they go and settle but in Carlton Brig? She looked mournfully at Furiosa.

Oh no. They hadn’t known that. They’d collectively assumed she was dead, although Slit still held that she’d run off with another man; why else would he be so very sore about it? That surmise had earned him a cuff from Capable. But, as unlikely as it seemed, it was possible.

But it seems they should be surprised Max himself had lived to not tell the tale. Carlton Brig had been wiped out. And when it was all over - Mrs Harrington crossed herself - Max had showed up on her doorstep half-mad with remorse that it was all his fault.

“As if the Alliance would bomb a whole city because one Repopulator had quit their job and settled there? It was riddled with Browncoats, that was why. She may have been a thief but the boy’s only crime was being a fool. I didn’t tell him that, of course. He needed picked up and dusted down, and that’s what I did, in a manner of speaking. It’d be dreadful to see him like that again. No no, Repopulators shouldn’t go getting wed. I’ve never known a case of it ending well.”

*

On the way back to the pick-up point, Slit was in a semi-catatonic state so Furiosa had Cheedo’s chatter all to herself - about her young man and how he’d compared to all the other men she’d ever been with. So she had no chance to even mull over her own experience or its implications until she could retreat to her own quarters.

Given time to think it all over, she concluded that it had all come good in the end. It was almost liberating to know there was no chance of anything else with Max. She would pack away any inclinations of the kind. Of course, it’s pretty easy to say that when you’ve just got laid. At a whorehouse that he’d recommended, too. It almost made logical sense, if you squinted. And, as for the awkwardness, a little mortification never killed anyone. Short-term pain for long-term gain.

So Furiosa was able to join them all in the kitchen, to laugh and be laughed at. The events of the last six hours - the ins and outs, as Cheedo put it - were dissected in minute detail. And, now that she knew where they stood, she no longer shied away from the innuendoes that were jabbed back and forth. Max seemed more comfortable too. It must’ve been a tricky task, having to put off your Captain’s advances. Though he didn’t have to answer to her. As Mrs Harrington said, Repopulators only answered to the Ministry and, she supposed, to their own personal preferences.

She understood him better now. He’d clearly been badly thrown by the turn his life had taken, and allowances would have to be made for any - eccentricity.

Armed with this knowledge, she felt confident that they could be friends. Friends was easier. Friends could joke about each other’s shenanigans, maybe even flirt a little. She knew that.

And obviously Max did too -

When it was her turn to tell her tale of Mrs Harrington’s - and there was no reason not to, now - he’d stopped her in mock-distress with a ‘don’t tell me! I don’t want to know who to be jealous of!’

Which had flurried her - even irritated her - for a moment, until she remembered - this was what friends did once they were comfortable around each other. Hadn’t Slit said much the same to Cheedo and they’d all laughed?

She’d be used to it in no time, no time at all. And she had, too. That’d been over five hundred days ago, and they’d settled into a comfortable way with each other. Of course, she did get a wee bit cranky when she didn’t get her six hours, but that’s why God in His Infinite Wisdom invented earplugs.

*

When the dance ended and they all parted ways and got back to their own beds somehow, the last thought to drift through Furiosa’s happily befuddled brain was

‘ - it’s all just fine’.

Chapter Text

Max sat on the ground, his attention divided between watching the corn ripple in the night breeze, and the warm weight of Furiosa’s head on his thigh as she slept. He could still hear the music and dancing, and feel the heat from the fire, but he watched the corn. And listened to the sound of Furiosa’s quiet breathing.

He looked up and smiled at the sound of rustling. There she was. It was always good to see her. And that was a real nice dress; the yellow just suited her dark, dark hair. It was probably his favourite.

“Hi baby. Having fun?” she greeted him with a smile.

“All the better now you’re here. Where’s the boy?”

“Playin’”

“Aww. That’s nice” Max smiled. “But, you know we talked about this. If you show up while I’m working, folks’ll think I’m crazy. Might take away my license.”

“Ah, but you’re not working though,” she nodded knowingly down at Furiosa’s sleeping form.

That was true. None of his usual clientele at this shindig. Max brushed Jessie’s cheek with a finger as she bent slightly to kiss him on his upturned forehead.

“Stay?” he asked, hopefully.

She shook her head regretfully and backed away towards the corn, pausing for a moment to call out, “But you take care now, y’hear?”

Max knew what she meant, but she didn’t need to worry. He called after her reassuringly, “She’s not dead, you know. Just sleeping!”

Because - look, Furiosa was stirring. She raised her head, looked up at the sky. What did she see? What was it?

He looked up. The sky was aflame, the corn was burning. Furiosa jumped to her feet, her gun in her hand. Before he could move - because he couldn’t move, he didn’t think he even wanted to - she’d charged into the corn and was gone.

*

Max woke and shivered. It was cold, sleeping on the bare ground. He rubbed at his arms and legs, and looked around. The party was in full swing, and there was Furiosa in the thick of it, a flower crown hanging rakishly from one ear. He watched for a few minutes as she danced with a fair-haired young guy, surrounded by cheering townspeople. Quite the hero of the hour, he thought, smiling. And very much alive and well, which was more to the point.

He tilted his head upward and scanned the night sky, just in case. As if he didn’t have the same dumb dream about once a week. Nothing to see but stars. There wasn’t even a cornfield here, just a bunch of fruit trees.

He climbed to his feet, took a last look back at the revellers and trudged off to bed.

*

Max slept long and well. All was quiet in the Rig, no crew banging about. He guessed they were all asleep or nursing their headaches in private. That was one good thing about his job - no hangovers. But he’d had enough personal experience of them to know it’s best to move very softly the morning after. And the unafflicted too, for that matter, unless they’re feeling vindictive.

Which he was not. It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do for a person’s state of mind. Yesterday morning he felt like the lowest form of crud; right now he could take on the world.

To his surprise, there was a faint hum and the vibration of the ship’s engine starting up. So folks were up and about after all. That soundproofing must’ve actually worked, he thought. Must be moving out already.

He yawned and swung his legs out of the bunk. Pulling on his clothes, he found the letter. The post had come yesterday and Nux had left one for him, but he’d been too busy with the soundproofing to read it.

Just then the comm system fired into life:

This is Capable. We need all personnel in the cargo bay!

Hah, Max grinned. Up and moving the crew might be, but it was a safe bet they were sorely hungover. They’d be looking some help today, he reckoned. He tucked the letter back into his pocket and headed for the stairs.

Chapter Text

The vibration of the Rig’s engine thrumming into life set Furiosa’s skull rattling. Once they got loaded up, they’d be off. Kind of a shame, really. The place had really struck a chord with her, but it was probably for the best. She doubted her liver would stand a longer stay.

Furiosa shook the matriarch’s hand warmly. “Elder Gommen, thank you for your hospitality.”

“We owe you a great debt,” the old woman bowed gravely. “I'm sorry we have so little to pay it with. Though I hope our gifts will show our regard.”

They both smiled as Slit wandered past, proudly holding his new toy. Furiosa didn’t think the elder could have much doubt of that. “I don't think Slit’s ever letting go of that stick,” she grinned.

Just then Capable appeared to hiss in Furiosa’s ear, “Alliance patrol boat is heading into atmo right now!”

Shit.

Furiosa nodded and smiled brightly at Elder Gommen. “Well, we gotta fly!”

She put a friendly hand on the matriarch’s shoulder and very respectfully steered her off the ramp.

“We will pray for a safe voyage, and hope to lay eyes on you again ere too long, my friend!” Elder Gommen called out, waving as the ramp began to close.

Furiosa waved back, yelling over the rush of engines,“Count on it! Bye now!”

Relieved to be well on their way, Furiosa let out a breath and got to work squaring up the boxes the villagers had stowed.

- !!!!!!

She leapt back in alarm as something moved. Someone. Furiosa grabbed her knife from her belt and brandished it warily as a figure crept out - looking more afraid of her than she was of him.

A stowaway? He sure don’t look like a shipjacker in that potato-sack shirt, but you can’t never know for sure. It was more the wide-eyed look of terror on his face that prompted Furiosa to lower her knife - cautiously - and ask, “Who the hell are you?”

He stood up and looked at her confusedly. “What do you mean?”

She squinted at him intently, through the pounding behind her eyes. He did look kinda familiar? Maybe? But how was the captain of a trading vessel expected to put a name to every damn face?

“I think I was pretty clear. What are you doing on my boat?”

Confused memories from last night swam into her mind’s eye. Drinking, dancing - oh. Wait. Was this the guy? The young guy with the wine and the flowers - ?

“But you know!” he urged, earnestly. “I'm to cleave to you.”

“You’re to what??” Furiosa was getting a horrible feeling that there was something going on she didn’t understand. She hated that.

“Did Elder Gommen not tell you - ?”

“Tell me what? Who are you?” Definitely getting seriously uneasy now.

“Captain Jobassa, ma’am - I am your husband.”

*

Furiosa was struck dumb for a good five seconds. “Could you repeat that please?”

“I'm your husband. That was your agreement with Elder Gommen, since she hadn't cash or livestock enough to -”

Furiosa interrupted him. “I’m sorry. Go back to the part where you're my husband.”

His shoulders sagged noticeably. “I don't please you.”

“You can't please me. You've never met me.”

She appealed to Capable, who came in just at that moment with Slit. “Capable, why do I have a husband?”

“You got a husband?” Slit asked

Capable frowned at the stowaway. “What's he doing here?”

“All I got was that dumb-ass stick that sounds like it's raining. How come you got a husband?” Slit complained.

“I didn't,” Furiosa protested, and turned to the young man. “We're not married.”

“I’m sorry if I shame you - ” he hung his head.

“You don't shame me!” Furiosa wailed. “Cape, get Nux down here.”

Capable hit the comm button; This is Capable. We need all personnel in the cargo bay!

“All - ? I said Nux!!”

“Captain, everyone should have a chance to congratulate you on your day of bliss.”

“There's no bliss! I don't know this guy!”

“Then can I know him?” Slit piped up hopefully.

Capable looked sharply at Slit. “Don’t sully this”, she warned him.

Goddammit, they’ve started. I’m never going to hear the end of this, Furiosa pinched the bridge of her nose in despair.

“Capable, you are gonna be cleaning the latrine with your face, you don't cut that out.”

She turned at the sound of footsteps. Lots of footsteps.

Oh - oh great, now everyone’s here.

“Who's the new recruit?” asked Shepherd Giddy.

Capable stepped towards the stowaway with a flourish. “Everybody, I want you to meet - Mr Jobassa.”

Furiosa shot a pained glance at Max, by the door. 

Cheedo whooped excitedly. “You got married?!”

“Well, that's - congratulations - ” Toast managed.

“We always hoped you two kids would get together!” cried Nux, looking askance at the young man and Furiosa, then added as an aside, “Who is he - ?”

“He’s no one!” Furiosa snapped, then reflected that a simple I don’t know would’ve done better.

Because the young man took a step back like he’d been struck, and sat down. Tears overflowed and trickled down his cheek.

“Captain!” Cheedo sounded appalled.

“Stop that” Furiosa appealed to him.

“I’m, sorry - ” he said again.

“You brute!” Nux exclaimed, with an amused smirk.

Cheedo went up to the young man - “Oh, sweetie, don't feel bad. She makes everybody cry. She’s like a monster.”

“I'm not a monster! Nux, turn the ship around.”

Giddy whispered something to Toast, who nodded and hurried off.

“Can't.” Nux folded his arms stubbornly.

Furiosa took a step towards him. “That's an order.”

“Yeah, but can't” was his only reply.

“What the hell is wrong with - ” Furiosa began, losing her temper.

“Alliance touched down the second we left. And there's already a bulletin on the cortex as to the murder of a prefect's nephew - that's right, one of our bandits had some family ties. So unless you feel like walking into a gallows, I suggest we continue on to Beaumonde and you enjoy your
honeymoon.”

“This isn't happening” Furiosa muttered, and turned impatiently to the young man who sat sniffing, hugging his knees. “Will you stop crying?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Furi, can you be a human being for thirty seconds?” cried Max.

Furiosa bit back a retort.

“Speaking as one married to another - ” Nux blurted out.

“I am not married!” she shouted, paused for composure and turned back to the young man. “I’m sorry. You don't shame me, you have very nice qualities but I didn't ever marry you.”

Giddy stepped forward, holding a large encyclopaedia. “I believe you did. Last night.”

That shut everybody up. Furiosa whispered to Slit, “How drunk was I last night?”

Slit shrugged desperately. “I don't know. I passed out.”

“It says here, the man lays the wreath upon his intended - which I do recall - which represents her sovereignty.”

Furiosa looked enquiringly at the young man, who nodded.

“And she drinks of his wine. This represents her obeisance to his life-giving seed -- I'll skip this part - and then there's a dance, with a joining of hands,” Giddy concluded, closing the book. “The marriage ceremony of the Harvest settlers, been so over eighty years. You, Captain, are a newlywed.”

Silence.

“So what does it say in there about divorce?”

At which point, the young man ran from the room.

Cheedo muttered in an underbreath, “You don't deserve him, you fink.”

Furiosa growled, “Mind your own business” and started after him, telling everyone to get back to work, or whatever.

She didn’t get far. Capable blocked the door. “Really think you're the one to talk to him, Furi?”

“Way I see it,” Furiosa retorted “me and him got a thing in common. We're the only ones who don't think this is funny.”

And, since she clearly couldn’t argue with that, Capable stepped aside.

Furiosa stormed out past them all, letting out a ragged sigh. Married? What kind of godawful mess had she gotten herself into?

Chapter Text

Furiosa scoured the Rig for the stowaway - she was not married, she didn’t care what anyone said. No sign in the passenger dorms -

Eventually she resorted to calling out, which would’ve been so much easier if he’d told her his name.

“Hello? Where’d you go? I’m sorry for yelling - !” she yelled, her voice echoing off the narrow walls. Goddammit, she thought, heading for the stairs. Try the upper levels -

A few likely spots later, Furiosa checked the engine room. Not a comfortable spot to hide out in, but there weren’t too many of them on this boat.

There he was, huddled up in the corner all pitiful-like. Not crying anymore, thank God. Furiosa never did know what to do when people turned on the taps like that.

“You all right?”

He looked up, regarded her with a mournful resignation. “I thought last night during the ceremony - you were pleased.”

“Well, yeah, last night I was,” Furiosa replied truthfully. “I had some mulled wine, a nice-looking lad gave me a hat made out of flowers - ” she sighed, “ - nobody said I was signing up to have and to hold - ”

“You don't have marriage where you're from?” he asked, curiously.

“Well, sure, we just - we do it different.”

“Are you going to kill me?” he blurted out, with no warning whatsoever.

Furiosa was startled out of her own musings on the holy state of matrimony.

“What? Kill you? Why would you think that?”

“Growing up, in the Sanctuary school, they’d tell us of wives who weren't pleased with their husbands, who - ”

“Well I ain't them,” she interrupted him before he could elaborate. If that was true, Harvest was not the place she thought it was; if they sold out their boys like that.

“And don't you ever stand for that sort of thing,” she added, indignantly. “Someone tries to kill you, you try to kill 'em right back. Wed or no, you're no one's property to be tossed aside. You got the right same as anyone to live and to try to kill people. I mean, you know. People trying to treat you like you’re just a thing - ” She shook her head “That's gotta be a really dumb planet.”

He looked relieved - it was painful to see. Did he really think - ? And then she remembered the knife she’d been waving around. Damn it.

“What will you do with me?” he asked, after a pause. Wasn’t that the tricky question? Can’t take him home, not yet anyway, damned Alliance -

“Not rightly sure. We're bound for Beaumonde, it's a decent kind of planet - might be able to set you up with some sorta work - ”

“I won’t be a Breeder!” he interjected, his face flushing red.

Furiosa put her hands up placatingly. “I don't mean whoring; there's - factories and the like. Some ranches, if you're more for the outdoors - don't know - near a week before we get there, we'll figure something.”

He looked like he was thinking hard. Maybe we’re getting somewhere. But no, he hadn’t given up on the idea, because next thing he said was,

“I'd be a good husband. I’d give you all you could wish.”

Oh no, don’t give me them puppy dog eyes. Gotta shut this down right now.

“Well, I'd be a terrible wife. You got five whole days to figure that out.”

“Five days, we'll be together?” His eyes - and they were pretty eyes too, when he wasn’t blubbing - well, they just lit right up. Furiosa despaired. How had he taken that statement as a good thing? She was really bad at this. Had she just encouraged him?

“We'll be together on the ship, not in any - ” she clarified, floundering a little.

He stood up, looking like something between Christmas and gallows-day. “That'll be fine. I'll do for you or not, as you choose.”

As I choose. Well, that ain’t so bad. Hadn’t she already chosen? They were getting somewhere. “Well, that’s just shiny,” she nodded, satisfied. “You hungry? Kitchen's just through there.”

He made straight for the direction she indicated, with Nux-like alacrity, but infinitely more grace. Well, he must be starving. Prob’ly didn’t feed them right in this Sanctuary, or whatever it’s called -

“I'll cook you something!” he cried, heading out the door.

What? No, that’s not what I meant -

“I'm a fine cook, everyone says!”

“Yeah, but - I’m not really hungry - ” Furiosa protested, following him.

“But you will be! Gimme a couple hours, there’ll be something real nice ready!” And he disappeared into the pantry, popping his head out to add, “My name’s Jacob.” And disappeared again. A rattle of pots and pans followed.

Jacob. So he has a name after all - Furiosa leaned against the chill metal wall and flapped at her collar; was it warm in here? Then she jumped as someone stepped out of the infirmary and startled her. Giddy, don’t do that to me.

The old preacher looked at Furiosa narrowly, making her feel guilty though she knew not why. She lifted her chin and got straight to the point. “Divorce is very rare and requires dispensation from his pastor. I can see what I can do.”

“I'd appreciate it.” Furiosa stood up straight and folded her arms, trying to look unflurried. She nodded toward the kitchen. “He’s a nice fella. Real kinda innocent, y’know?”

“Seems very anxious to please you” Giddy observed, raising a critical eyebrow.

Furiosa shrugged helplessly. Why was everyone judging her all of a sudden? “That's their way, I guess.”

“Well, I guess you’re right!” Giddy nodded brightly, then added in a confidential undertone, “You take sexual advantage of him, you're going to burn in a very special level of hell. A level they reserve for child molesters and people who crack their knuckles.”

Furiosa was shocked. “Wha - I'm not - Preacher, you got a smutty mind!”

Besides, he’s not a child, she thought - he’s a man grown! Gotta be at least twenty-five! Even if he was brought up as a kind of chattel - - to serve and bend to others will, to be used up - yeah, okay, Shepherd’s got a point there. Not that she needed to be warned off -

“Perhaps I spoke out of turn,” Giddy replied, pointedly. “You of all people would know that sort of thing never goes unpunished.”

Furiosa could only glare at her, taken aback. That was different. But no. No, she would never exploit someone who was in her power, as Jacob would appear to be. Did Giddy think she could? Well that’s just peachy! Thankyou very much. As if the thought had even crossed her mind!

Under her indignant stare, Giddy backed off. “I apologise. I'll make him up a room in the passenger dorm.”

“Good.” Furiosa nodded gruffly and rolled her eyes as Giddy turned and walked away. God Almi -

“A special hell - - ” the preacher’s singsong voice interrupted her profanity.

*

Well, at least she should be unmolested for a couple hours, that was something. Furiosa retreated to her quarters. There were those shipping logs she’d let get overdue. A bit of good honest paperwork would be a refuge from this craziness.

She opened up the rolltop writing desk that wasn’t her mother’s, but looked enough like it. Unfurled the papers that waited for her reproachfully. Took pen in hand.

She could hear Max moving around through the wall. Furiosa scrubbed at her head. He could help, if she would only ask. Didn’t matter what he thought of her, all she had to do was knock on the door and ask for advice. Could she do it? She took out the locket with her mother’s picture. And Angharad’s in the other side. They could help, they would’ve helped, if they were still here.

Then a knock at her door, followed by a brightly anxious “Food’s ready!”

She raised her chin from her hands. What, already? It’s only been - She looked at her pocket watch. Oh. How time does fly. So much for getting the paperwork cleared. She sighed and got to her feet.

*

Furiosa sat down as Jacob placed a plate in front of her; fish, but prepared in a way she’d never seen before.

“I couldn’t figure out how to work your stove at first, so I cured some fish. And here’s some bean paste.”

“Thank you.”

It looked - different. She picked up her fork and prodded it. Took a tentative mouthful. Oh my God, it’s soooo good -

Furiosa was too blissed out to notice Nux and Capable saunter in.

“Something smells good - ” Nux observed. Furiosa ignored him.

“Having yourself a little supper, Captain?” asked his lady wife. Okay, they weren’t just going to pass on. She would have to stop eating and chat. Explain herself. There was gonna be a lot of that, Furiosa felt. She lowered her fork.

“Well, Jacob insisted on - I didn't want to make him feel - ” she floundered. Oh what the hell, she thought, not knowing who to be careful around. “Look, it’s damn tasty!” she declared, and set to again.

“Any more where that came from?” Capable asked, looking around hopefully.

Jacob looked at Furiosa, downcast. “I didn't think to make enough for your friends.” He turned to Nux, “But I've everything laid out if you'd like to cook for your wife - ”

Capable and Furiosa snorted in laughter, and Nux folded his arms and looked offended.

“Oh no - you see, we’ve eaten Nux’s cooking,” Capable explained. “He has many many fine talents, but discerning the edible from the inedible is not one of them.”

“Bug Boy!” Furiosa’s shoulders shook as she chuckled round a mouthful. That was Nux’s old nickname, but he’d just about managed to live it down. His proclivity for snacking on creepy-crawlies was his defining feature back then; when the lot of them hightailed it out of the Hera camp. But, even at seventeen, he’d loomed over all of them; so the crunchy critters must have something going for them.

Furiosa definitely preferred this fish, though. It was amazing. Tangy and light and fresh-tasting; what was this wizardry? The experience was only slightly soured by the very vivid memory of how Max had earned it. But that was yesterday’s problem; she had new issues to deal with today. She glanced up, noticed Jacob’s confusion fade into satisfaction at her obvious enjoyment, and she blushed a little.

Capable and Nux both pulled up a chair and sat down. Jacob, to Furiosa’s guilty relief, retired to the pantry.

“So, are you enjoying your devoted little slave?” Nux asked, evidently still a little sore over the jibes about his cooking.

“Look, he wanted to make me dinner. At least he’s not crying - ” she sighed wearily. “Y'all are making a big deal and I would appreciate it if one person on this boat did not assume I was some kinda sexual predator.”

“Nobody's saying that, Furi,” Capable assured her.

“Yeah, we're mostly just giving each other significant glances and laughing incessantly. Is that cider?” Nux asked.

“Yeah, by the stove.” There was plenty more so Furiosa knocked back the remnant in her cup. Nux reached for the empty cup to refill it -

- and a hand snatched it from his. “That's for me to do” said Jacob pointedly. They watched him walk to the stove and fill Furiosa’s cup. He returned and placed it by her. And stood there. Waiting for her to finish eating. Awkward was not the word -

Furiosa broke the ensuing silence. “You know, you weren't lying about your cooking. If I only was hungrier - ?” 

“You don't want to finish?”

“No, I just, I have captain-y stuff I have to do, but truthfully, that's a fine meal. Thank you.” Furiosa got to her feet.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, no. You just, you eat something yourself, I'm gonna go, uh - captain.”

“If you're done with supper, would you like me to wash your feet?”

And, because he did not appear to be joking, she merely shook her head in a negative and fled, but composedly, like a Captain should.

Chapter Text

Max didn’t stay to hear the crew dissect this new piece of sensational news. He actually felt a little bit numb. He needed quiet, to close himself away, to figure out - what?

So many different thoughts were yelling to be heard that he could barely think at all. Suspicion. That was the loudest. Who was this guy? Why Furiosa? Max couldn’t shake the feeling that the stowaway wasn’t what he seemed.

But could he be - whisper it - jealous? And of whom? Of Furiosa for getting an instant husband? - and he knew she envied Capable and Nux, he’d seen how she looked at them. And a nice compliant husband too, happy to treat her with deference. Like a Captain. Someone who didn’t judge or question or challenge her. He sighed. It didn’t sound right, when he put it like that. It sounded dull. He shook his head.

And - yes, he had to admit feeling some pangs of loss. Max knew that any idea of a more intimate - exclusive - relationship with Furiosa was just an idle fantasy, and a dangerous one at that. But it was such a nice one. He’d miss it, if she couldn’t get out of this mess. Or chose not to.

This whole belonging business was sweet and beguiling and treacherous. To belong to someone, to wrap your whole being around them so that you can no longer tell where you end and they begin. He’d lost years to that idea, and he still hadn’t got the poison of it out of his system. And it was infectious too. That much was clear from the letter he’d just read.

He’d read it to distract himself, and it had been a bitter irony. On the contrary, it had set off the morning’s doings beautifully.

He looked up at a knock to his door.

“Can I come in?” came Furiosa’s voice, on the other side. Think of the devil -

He picked up a sheaf of forms and old tax returns. He’d told himself he was having a clearout, but in reality he was just making a mess. 

“No,” he replied, because she would anyway. Sure enough, door opened and she was there. “See, that's why I usually don't ask.”

“What is it?” He didn’t look up from his sheaf of paper.

“I just needed to, uh - hide.”

Somewhere he wouldn’t come looking. Yep, Max’s place would fit the bill.

“So I take it the honeymoon is over?” he asked, glancing up. She looked flushed and a little uncomfortable.

“He’s a lovely guy, don't get me wrong - hell of a cook too - you should try that cured fish - ”

“I'm sure he has many exciting talents.” Max observed dryly. Trying not to get irritated and failing miserably. So they’d all been enjoying New Melbourne’s finest catch? Be my guest.

“Do you ever, um, wash your client's feet?” she sat down on the bed with a bewildered laugh. Max narrowed his eyes. Was she equating this husband-for-sale situation to him? “It's my specialty,” he replied sarcastically. “We'll be on Beaumonde at least two weeks, right?”

“Can't be exactly sure, but - ” Furiosa frowned. Like someone with their mind on something other than ship itineraries. He followed her gaze, and sighed. Why - why couldn’t he leave that where it belonged? The picture of him and Jess lay right there, among the invoices and other scraps of triviality. Right there, right in her eyeline.

“Well, I need you to be exactly sure, Furi, I can't make commitments and then not keep them,” he replied, pointedly. And some serpent of jealousy or otherwise irritation added in an underbreath, “That's your specialty.”

“Oh, I’m sorry - are you tetchy 'cause I got myself a man or 'cause I don't plan to keep him?”

Max cursed himself for getting into this, but he’d done it. He sat up straight, “If you want to know what I think - ? I find the whole thing degrading.”

She turned to look him straight, all the better to fight with you. “Hah. That's just what Jacob said about your line of work.”

Actually I meant degrading for you, Max thought, but was too fired up to say. You should have better.

“Well, maybe you should think twice about letting go of ‘Jacob’. You two sound like quite a match.”

“Maybe you're right. Maybe we're soulmates.”

“Yes. Great. I wish you many happy years. Good thing too, because Mrs Harrington says you’re barred.” He leaned back and grabbed the letter.

“Huh? What did I do?”

“You tell me. Paul - remember him? You probably never asked his name - Paul has run off to be married. The storekeeper’s daughter, apparently. Mrs Harrington seems to think you might have something to do with that.”

Furiosa sat back, looking startled, and a little conscious. Like she’d been caught out. “How’s that my fault? I never suggested anything of the kind! I didn’t even know he had a storekeeper’s daughter!”

“Well, why would you?” he fired back airily. It was an easy shot, and it hit. He knew she had a guilty conscience over visiting whorehouses. Treating people as commodities didn’t sit easily with Furiosa. That was something he liked about her.

She put her hands up, “I didn’t come here looking for a fight - ” she replied stiffly and got up.

He cursed under his breath and looked back to say - what? But the door had closed and she was gone. He groaned.

Shit.

Fuckfuckfuck.

Goddammit.

Had he just made a complete ass of himself? It was probably just a total coincidence. Maybe she hadn’t gone shooting her mouth off, telling all and sundry about her sad-case Repopulator.

He knew they knew about Jessie. He’d overheard Slit talking. He’d described her to the others. ‘Cleopatra in a print dress’, he’d said. That wasn’t far off, to be fair. She could’ve been Cleopatra, with her dark eyes and hair, and she was proud enough when she felt inclined, but Jess was the first one who treated him like a person.

When he’d called her out on her fraud, on her second visit, she’d talked him round; she’d taken him on a date. They’d gone to dinner, dancing, they’d walked in the moonlight. And then he’d invited her in for coffee.

All a pretence, but he’d never been on a date before, and it showed. She’d seen his loneliness and knew what best to offer him. In return, he’d given her what she wanted.

And he couldn’t forget. Months later, he landed on her dusty farm, got a bullet in the Interceptor’s hull for his trouble. That was from May, Jessie’s loyal ‘retainer’ - actually her neighbour who’d given her half the money to pay him. He’d given the money back to May, and saw Jessie a little ways off, looking a little thicker round the middle. He went away satisfied. But no, he’d come back once more, saw her bigger, gave some chocolate and greens, some baby things.

When he returned, determined to be within call for the birth if she would allow it, she opened the door - holding a tiny infant. He’d almost fallen. She’d done it alone and early, and he was awestruck and sorry and begged her to forgive him for he knew not what, because she didn’t need him anyway. But she’d asked him to stay for always, if he wanted. And he had, gladly. But now she was gone, and he couldn’t - 

But lots of people lost their wives and husbands that day. And children.

Max groaned and flopped back onto the layers of paperwork and God knows what.

People did that. They got married. It was normal for normal folks. Way to make it all about you, Max.

Because maybe she’d been talking to Paul about marriage because that was what she really wanted, for herself. What was wrong with that? Lots of ships’ Captains had husbands or wives on board.

He let out a breath, and tried to put it behind him. Don’t go hanging onto the past, that was his mantra. One of them, rather. But sometimes it would just jump out and kick you right in the gut. He hadn’t thought about Paul in years, and now he was married, or going to be.

Max chuckled and then groaned in embarrassment, remembering how he’d asked Paul to run away with him, the first night they’d met. Granted, they’d just had some deliriously good sex and Max was a truly frazzled mess who couldn’t be held accountable for what he said, but still. He’d said it.

He’d found himself at Mrs Harrington’s place, somehow, and had been cleaned up and put into bed. It happened to be Paul’s bed, but no matter. It was big enough for two. Max had laid awake for what felt like hours til he heard a voice - the same voice that’d greeted him - ask ‘can’t sleep?’. No he could not sleep, he felt he hadn’t slept in a long time.

“Wanna talk?” the voice asked again. No he did not want to talk.

Silence.

“Wanna fool around?”

Something in him just snapped at that - next he knew, he was kissing someone, who let out a pleased kind of gasp and said ‘wait!’ - Max couldn’t wait but the light went on and that was fine because here was someone warm who wanted him, and he was lying on his face, with someone on him, in him, and everything was alright again.

Afterwards, he’d begged Paul - he didn’t know his name then - to come away with him. Somewhere far away, away from all this. Where they could be together and alone.

Paul had laughed, and then got scared. Said he wasn’t going back to that place; and he was standing by the bed with something in his hand. And that was when Max fled for the door, truly mortified.

The fact was, Max had been out of his mind with grief and loss and those had been the last words he remembered Jessie say before the sky darkened and his life of two years ended. He missed belonging. But Paul was the one who showed him there was no belonging, that this was the best life. After all, he’d said himself that - didn’t the scriptures say there were no married couples in heaven? Paul was enjoying his life, and that was good. So Max tried to pick himself up and put his back together again.

But Max knew even then that Paul was young - he’d only about now reached the age where Max had found that to belong could be everything. And so he’d actually left Mrs Harrington’s? That was remarkable in itself. He’d talked long about how her place was the best, how folks got treated right. Not like that scumbag Branford’s, where he’d been before. He’d thought that Max was trying to recruit, or forcibly remove him from his place. And now he’d left of his own accord, left the good life, to settle down with one woman. Furiosa, too, would keep her man. He was already getting under her skin, Max could see that. 

It stirred up questions, to say the least. Was it inevitable? Max had had his one chance, hadn’t he? Maybe there would be other chances. But he wished them well, his friends, in their married lives.

Chapter Text

Whether she had or had not gone to Max looking for a fight, she certainly found one when she stepped out of his door.

For there was Slit standing there with the meanest-looking shotgun she’d ever seen. Pointed right at her.

“Do I have your attention?” Slit glowered. He was a master at glowering, she would give him that.

Furiosa slowly raised her hands. “Whoa. We're kind of going to extremes here, ain't we?”

“There's times I think you don't take me seriously,” he growled. “And I think that oughta change.”

“Do you think that’s at all likely?” she replied, with a weary sigh. This day was not getting any better, and now Slit?

“You got something you don't deserve.”

Furiosa relaxed a little. So that’s what this is all about. She’d thought he was having another crack at mutiny.

“And it's brought me a whole galaxy o’fun, I can tell you.” She rolled her eyes, knowing where this conversation was going, but also that she’d have to hear him out. It would start with a tale -

“Six men came to kill me one time,” he began, true to form, “and the best of them carried this. It's a Callahan fullbore autolock, customised trigger and double cartridge thorough-gage.” He lowered the weapon and held it out to Furiosa. “It's my very favourite gun.”

She burst out laughing. “Are you offering me a trade?”

“A trade? Hell, it's theft! This is the best gun made by man, and its got extreme sentimental value! It's miles more worthy'n what you got.”

“‘What I got’? - he has got a name!”

“So does this! I call it Vera.”

“Well, my days of not taking you seriously are certainly coming to a middle.”

“Dammit, Furi, I'd treat him okay - ” Slit resorted to puppy eyes. He did not have Nux’s natural ability in that arena.

Jesus, Slit, you know not to be tryin’ this kind of thing - “He’s not to be bought. Nor bartered, nor borrowed or lent. You know the rules! He’s a human man - ‘sides, he doesn't know a damn thing about the world and needs our protection.”

“I'll protect him!” Slit squared his shoulders.

Okay, that’s enough. She was already dealing with a precariously tall stack of nonsense and one more word from Slit would bring it tumbling down about her ears. 

Furiosa simply turned away and headed for the stairs, with a stern order that he go and play with his rainstick. He didn’t follow, thank God, but went grumbling off.

Furiosa clumped wearily downstairs and walked right into Jacob.

“Gah! You do sneak about, don't you?” she cried, clutching at her chest probably overdramatically. Couldn’t people just leave her alone for ten minutes? She wanted to digest that weird conversation she’d just had with Max. Something just didn’t sit right.

“You're a good woman,” he said, earnestly, apropos of nothing. She blinked in surprise before the penny dropped. Huh, had he heard that little exchange with our good friend up there?

“Well” she muttered, “You clearly haven't been talking to anyone else on this boat - ”, a little pleased despite herself. It was the first nice thing anyone had said to her all day. 

She got the impression he had something to say. He had a determined set to his jaw, and looked a little flushed. 

“I don't wish to be ‘prenticed to that man.” He nodded up the stairs. “I'd rather - if I'm not to be yours, I'd rather have that work you spoke of. I - I’d like to work on a ship, like this one. See something of the galaxy.”

Apprenticed? That’s a good one - but then she mentally replayed her conversation with Slit. Sure, that could’ve sounded like he was applying for an apprentice, rather than a husband. That was probably a good thing.

Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere. Shipwork, eh? That would be alright.

“That’s good work. My family were traders, back on Hera. Greenstuff, fruit - they grew it themselves. Always folks needing hands to shift stuff. Can work your way up, might end up with your own ship someday.”

“That what you did?” he asked, looking interested.

“Uh, not quite. Got a kinda sidetracked along the way. War an’ stuff - anyway, Beaumonde’s got plenty docks. We’ll get you a place, no problem.”

He looked doubtful. “Unless - I could convince you to keep me? I’ve got good seed. I never left the Sanctuary til I was grown.”

What?

Seeing her bewildered look, he explained. “I was born there. My momma came there so I couldn’t catch the Affliction. Lots of folks did that.”

Oh. She’d wondered at the the time why he’d refused to be a ‘Breeder’. She thought he’d just meant regular whoring. So he was fertile? Jeez.

This all made sense now. How a community would wind up bartering their valuable Breeder boys. Not to make their own way in the galaxy, as their own man - like Max; but as a thing to be owned by one rich or powerful wife. And her.

But now she had an idea. It wasn’t something she spoke about, ever, for fear of questions. She didn’t even talk about the camp with Capable, let alone anyone else. But it could be her way out of this.

“But Jacob - then you really shouldn’t be with me,” she blurted out, before she could change her mind. “You’ll be wasted entirely. I can’t have kids, y’see?”

He looked at her wide eyed, “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you married before?”

“No - no, nothing like that,” she stammered. “I’ve - had tests.”

“Oh - doctor tests. I understand. But that’s no matter to me, if it ain’t to you. Besides, what do doctors know, eh?” he smiled shyly.

“So, that don’t put you off?” she asked, trying to hide her disappointment. She wished she hadn’t spoken, but it was the best chance she had to get out of this honourably. Shame it hadn’t answered. But at least he wasn’t inquisitive.

“Of course not!” he cried, enthusiastically. “You’re a space captain. I ain’t never been off Harvest before. Never been outside at all ‘til I was eighteen. I want to see the galaxy - with you. If you’d have me. And in return, I’d do all I could for you. I know all the ways to please a woman - we study theory, y’see. All the best books; Kama Sutra, Sappho, The Heptameron - I’ve even studied the Archive.”

He nodded at her, with hope smiling in his eyes, like that was his winning card. He wasn’t far wrong, too. For half a second, this did not sound like a dreadful prospect. 

Oh God. Furiosa watched a tiny cracked moon sail by, through the porthole. Up til now, she thought she was uncertain what to do with him. That was rock-solid certainty in comparison. Now she really was all at sea.

Chapter Text

Giddy stepped back and admired her handiwork. If she did have a knack at something, it was hospital corners. You could use those crisp folds as a ruler if you felt so inclined. Right, time for a well earned cup of tea -

And then little Dag wandered in, calm as you like, and pulled it all apart in an instant.

An exasperated Giddy watched her make off with a pillow under her arm. She followed her to the door, in time to see her turn back, leading her brother by the hand.

“What’s going on?” the young doctor asked, the question directed more to Giddy than to his sister.

“It seems Dag doesn't want me making up a bed for our young guest. Or she's starting a pillow collection,” Giddy shrugged. “I'm still collating data.”

“I'm sorry. I'll take care of the room - ”

Dag shook his arm impatiently. “It's not important! Tell her.”

“Tell her what?” he asked, completely bewildered.

The young girl turned to Giddy. “We want you to marry us.”

Toast spluttered, “What? We - no! What?”

“Two by two. Everyone has a mate, a match, a dopple. I love you,” Dag explained, matter-of-fact.

“No, Dag, mei-mei, of course I love you too, but we can't be married.” He looked at Giddy, mortified, apologetically. “She's - really crazy.”

Whereupon Dag kicked him in the shin.

“OW! I don't mean crazy - that's just not something brothers and sisters do. I mean on some planets, but only pretty bad ones.”

“The Captain took a husband - ” she protested.

Giddy finally felt like she could make a contribution. “Well, that's also complicated.”

Toast looked inquiringly at his sister. “I don't know where this is coming from - ”

“We'll take care of each other. I'll knit. You don't love me,” she wailed.

At this juncture, in came Furiosa with her young man, presumably looking for somewhere to put him. She stopped, took in the unexpected scene of a confused doctor and pillow-wielding Dag, and asked “What's going on?”

Toast replied, truthfully enough, “I really couldn't say.”

“I was gonna show Jacob his quarters; did they get squared away?”

“Once upon a time - ” Giddy looked mournfully at the wrecked bed.

“I don't need anything, I'm really just fine - ” protested the young man.

Dag turned on him. “You’re a Breeder like the other one. The mad one. And you’re a thief.”

The lad - Jacob - recoiled a little at the accusation, shrinking toward Furiosa, who put a hand on him protectively. Hmm, interesting. The Captain stepped forward, between the parties. “Well, ho, let's play nice here,” then looked to Toast a little accusingly. “Your sister's got some funny notions.”

“That's not untrue,” Toast agreed, helplessly.

Giddy saw Furiosa’s young fella, red faced, reach into his pocket and produce a small packet. “I'm sorry - ” he murmured, handing the packet to her. “I didn't know when I was to be fed, and I was afraid - ”

The Captain took it, frowning. “You made that fine meal, didn't eat nothing yourself?”

“That was for you. Weren't but pot lickings left, so I took this for later, I didn't know she saw me,” he nodded to Dag, who now had the pillow stuffed up her shirt.

“Didn't see you - ” she mumbled.

Great, just a misunderstanding, thought Giddy. “Well, there's certainly no harm done - ” she piped up, keen to disperse the tension.

But it wasn’t to be, for the Captain burst out with, “And I'd say there is. Good deal a'harm, and it’s starting to tick me off.”

She took the frighted-looking Jacob by the shoulders, and turned him to face her. “Now, I got no use for people sneak around taking what ain't theirs.”

“Yes, we frown on that here,” Giddy muttered, with a smirk.

“But what I got even less use for is someone who won't stand up for himself. Five days hence we're puttin' you out in the world, and you won't last a day by bowing and sniffing for handouts. You want something, you take it, or ask for it. You don't wait to be told when to breathe, you don't take orders from anyone. Except me - and that's just 'cause I'm the Captain, and people take orders from captains even in the world. But for the rest, damnit, be like a man is. Not no petrified child. There's more'n seventy little earths spinning about the galaxy, and the meek have inherited not a one. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?”

“I do,” the lad nodded solemnly, looking much impressed by her words.

She tossed the food back to him and looked to Giddy with a “Shepherd, would you get Jacob settled in, please?”, before leaving. Toast led Dag the other direction. Giddy heard her say,

“Now we have to be married. Look, he’s got me in the family way!”

*

Obviously Dag was referring to Jacob in that last comment because, cultural norms aside, Toast could not get his little sister in the family way, even without the cursed Affliction.

They were a strange pair, that brother and sister. They too had arrived as stowaways; a haughty young woman in men’s clothes, and a crazy witch of a creature. How they’d become part of the Rig family was anyone’s guess, because they hadn’t had the finest of introductions.

Toast was now ‘he’ to Giddy and the rest of the crew, despite his petite frame and visible curves where no man was wont to have them. He had never asked to be addressed as such, but it was so. And the reason? Dag’s Word. She referred to Toast as ‘he’ and ‘brother’, and Toast never once corrected her. That kind of rock-solid certainty kind of rubbed off on others, even provoking parties like Slit and old farts like Giddy.

Toast had once confided to the priest how he had been raised as a girl on Osiris. He had kind and affluent parents, had a good education and everything a privileged young woman could want; but he had never been truly happy until the day his baby sister had spoken and called him brother.

Dag was a gifted child, spoke rarely but when she did it was with uncanny insight; the ancient Greeks and Romans would’ve called her an oracle, the Church would probably have burned her. She was as mad as a box of frogs but she saw what folks were.

Which is why Giddy made mental note to keep an eye on Jacob here. She was on a whole ship full of thieves and rogues, but there was no harm in being vigilant. She might even speak to the Captain about it in the morning.

Chapter Text

Having handed Jacob over to a responsible adult, Furiosa escaped to the furthest corner of the ship with an armful of mending. It tended to accumulate until a crisis. In this case, a crisis unrelated to a lack of socks and shirts.

Thank God, some silence. Although she spent more time listening anxiously for footsteps than actual stitching. And then there was Max.

Why was he so sore over this Paul guy getting married? Furiosa was almost certain that it was the general notion of marriage. It would be a thorny issue for Max. And no wonder.

She’d finally caught a glimpse of the wedding picture Slit had described. She had definitely been a fine-looking woman, with her striking cats’ eyes and the little dimple in her chin. She’d looked proud and happy; she’d carried her point, won her prize. Furiosa hoped she’d been happy. And Max? He looked so different, somehow. Peaceful, looking straight at the camera. Furiosa couldn’t imagine him sitting for a picture now. He wasn’t fidgety as such, but there was a constant restlessness under the surface.

She shook her head to dislodge the image of the two of them. Maybe that was the problem. Most likely it was that. Two people he knew, two friends, announcing marriage - although very much a fake one for her - on the same day? Probably a shock to the system. Poor guy.

But - it’d seemed more personal, the way he’d told her about Paul’s news. Like she was to blame somehow? Certainly she’d offended Mrs Harrington, if Max wasn’t making that up. What had she done? She thought back -

She’d asked Paul about how the management treated their staff - general enough question - and if he enjoyed his work, in a roundabout way of course. She’d asked him if he had family - oh yes, she’d asked him if he’d ever been married or something ridiculous like that. She’d had Max on her mind at the time; had she actually mentioned him? Surely not. Honestly, she didn’t know how she could possibly have precipitated the dreadful catastrophe.

It was Mrs Harrington who’d brought up Max’s marital history. Afterwards, when Furiosa was dressed and ready to go. It’d almost been like she’d wanted to make a real point about how marriage was an unhealthy choice for a Repopulator. Had - had she and Paul been talking? Was there any connection there or was that just a coincidence? Did Max think she’d been talking about him?

Or there was the third option. Maybe Max was upset simply because Paul was getting married. Jealous. Because he wanted Paul himself. That wasn’t unlikely. It had been hinted that the whores at Mrs Harrington’s place were a pretty friendly bunch, and probably hooked up with each other all the time.

That was an idea that wouldn’t be dislodged. She knew Max entertained men. It was usually for educational purposes - husbands of satisfied customers who wished to learn - but sometimes it was a pleasure customer. Those nights were particularly interesting to listen in on - not that she did it deliberately of course. And now she thought about it, it was a near certainty that she and Max had had the same man, the one who had chosen to marry the storekeeper’s daughter.

It was a curious thought. Definitely very arousing in itself. It made her feel closer to him, obviously. Kind of a connection.

But, on the other hand, the idea that he’d had a lover, someone he’d had a less-than-professional interest in, was actually quite painful -

*

This was Furiosa’s particular train of thought as she descended the ladder, into her quarters. She unbuckled her prosthetic in the lamplight and laid it down carefully, rubbing her shoulder, turning to see -

Furiosa yelped, reached for her gun “Wah! Fuck! What in the hell - ?”

*

Seeing the bonds around his wrists, Furiosa relaxed a little, though not much. She’d sometimes idly wondered what it’d be like to find a naked man in her bed, but it seemed the reality was more alarming than anything. Lucky he’d tied himself up before she’d found him. Things could’ve got a bit awkward, else. There was definitely a special hell for folks who shot other folks who were tied to their bed.

“I've made the bed warm for you,” he pointed out, rather redundantly.

Oh Goddddddddd.

“It, uh, looks warm,” Furiosa stammered. It was warm in here, wasn’t it?

“And I've - made myself ready for you.”

“I can see that. Um. Didn't you see you got a room of your own?”

“And - I'm to sleep there?” he looked plaintive, and also very, very - no, no. Special hell, remember?

“That's the notion. Assuming you're, yeah, sleepy - ”

Furiosa tailed off, noticing that he didn’t look particularly interested in sleep. She hadn’t intended to look, but her eye had followed the fair hair on his chest that trailed downward to his naval and beyond - and he was tattooed with - what was that? - twining all down his chest and disappearing below the sheet -

“But we've been wed. Aren't we to become one flesh?

Oh Goddddddd. She was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. She was only human, after all -

- but still she rallied.

“Well, no, I think we're still two fleshes here. And that your flesh oughta sleep somewhere else.”

“I'm sorry. When we talked, I'd hoped - but I don't please you.”

He looked so very mortified that she sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him earnestly. “Look Jacob, it ain't a question of pleasing me. It's a question of what's - uh - morally right.”

“I do know my bible, ma’am. ‘On the night of their betrothal, the husband shall submit to his wife’ - ” Jacob indicated his bonds, “‘he shall be as the Hummingbird and drink her nectar, and her joyful cries shall rise to Heaven, praising God - ‘”

“Whoa. Good bible,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes tracing the little dancing clusters of - were they stars? - on his skin. She wanted to touch them.

“I'm not skilled, ma’am, nor a pleasure to look upon, but -“

She jumped as if caught. “Jacob. You're pleasing. You're - hell, you're all kinds of pleasing and it's been a while - a long damn while since anybody drank my nectar so don't think for a second that I ain't interested. But you and me, we’re not married. Just 'cause you got handed to me by someone couldn't pay her debts, don't make you beholden to me. I keep trying to explain - ”

He stopped her, his tone suddenly all masterful -

“No; Let me explain. I lived my life in the Sanctuary, waiting to be married off for trade. I seen my brothers paired off with ugly-souled women, vicious or cruel, women who would have them broken on a whim. And I've wept for those friends, but not half so much as the night they gave me to you.”

“Well, what - you think - ugly-souled?” She felt strangely rebuffed at this, which was odd.

“I wept for I'd not dreamed to have a woman so strong, so kind and beautiful. I got them to mark me all over with starflies, to give thanks.” Jacob sat up straighter, leaned forward a little. “Because, had I to choose, I'd choose you from all the women on all the planets the night sky could show me. If I'm wed, I'll take your leave to be bold. I want this. I can think of nothing but how you might taste, if only - ”

“Well, that's very - ” she floundered, not knowing what she said.

“Leave me at the nearest port,” he went on urgently, “never look on me again, I'll make my way with the strength you've taught me - only let me have my wedding night.”

Furiosa looked up at the ladder mournfully. “I'm gonna go to the special hell - ”

And there was a kiss, warm and slow and sweet. She pulled away, took a breath - “I really wish it was that simple, but I just - ”

He stopped her words with another kiss; one to take her breath away, to bypass her brain entirely and shoot straight to her libido. There were definitely tongues, and she was completely fine with that.

But -

Oh, that’s not good -

She raised her hand to her lips, and looked at his rapidly blurring face.

“Son of a - ”

Furiosa made a stumble for her gun but found only the floor.

As she fought the sleep that was enveloping her, she remembered Dag’s Word. And you’re a thief -

“Night, sweetie.”

Chapter Text

Nux stared out over the blankness of space and fretted. It was this whole Captain-getting-married situation. As a joke, it was wearing really thin now.

When they’d left the kitchen, Capable was already freaked out by the guy’s weird way of going-on. She complained about Furiosa babysitting a damn groupie, getting distracted. Even Nux’s anecdotes about the curious habits of remote planets - the goose-juggling one being his favourite - had failed to raise a smile. In the end, she went off to bed in a huff, and all he did was suggest she was annoyed because she wasn’t ‘first mate’ anymore. Kidding!

Nux was a bit cheesed off himself, and for good reason. Blaming him for failing to take the guy back to Harvest? When she knew herself that the place was swarming with Alliance? And Alliance with a grudge, which was not something he wanted to be dealing with. Sometimes Capable has a little bit too much faith in her shooter. No, they’d be having this argument in gaol if Nux hadn’t stood up to Furi. Or getting their necks stretched one and all, which was more likely.

Hmph. He should be the one flouncing off in a huff. Makin’ fun of his cooking in front of a stranger like that -

Ugh, but they were all out of sorts. Captain didn’t know if she was coming or going, Dag had been acting weird(er) all day and Max had basically barricaded himself in his room.

It was hard not to resent the newcomer for mucking everything up like this, especially when he’s so weird -

Aaaannnd think of the devil - for the door had opened and Furiosa’s new lapdog came creeping in.

Nux greeted him rather sarcastically. “Well, if it isn't the master chef! Not sleepy?”

Whatsisname - Jacob - jumped, startled-like, and let out a sigh. “Am I let to be up here?” he asked. Sounded tired. Prob’ly been polishing the silverware -

“Well, sure, why not. Not like anyone else is taking up space,” Nux replied, a little huffily, putting his boots on the console. Capable was supposed to be doing the night shift with him. He’d saved some strawberries specially. So much for that.

Fella made straight for the window, and just stood there for a long while, looking out, saying nothing. Just taking it all in. Not bothering him. Nux didn’t mind that, not really. Company was fine, as long as there was no strife and no weirdness. Finally the guy spoke up,

“I’ve never been off world before.”

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Nux got up and wandered over. Time to stretch the ol’ legs anyway. “Endless. You stare at it long enough, as long as I have, it becomes almost - preternaturally boring.”

Jacob let out a laugh. “I don't think you're serious.”

Nux grinned and leaned against the wall. “Nah. Well, ‘bout half. You stop seein’ em after a spell, but they are your very first charts. Time and again, you look up from your screens and remember it’s them that leads the way.”

“It's like a dream.” Jacob leaned his forehead against the window and gazed out, unblinking.

Nux looked at the guy’s literally starry-eyed reflection in the quadruple-paned glass. He thought it’d be a good picture for Max to draw. Not that Max would, and Nux wouldn’t be such a bastard as to suggest it.

He turned back towards the console.

“Planet I'm from, you couldn't see a one, pollution's so thick,” he chuckled. “Sometimes I think I entered flight school just so I could see what the hell everyone was talking about.”

When he looked up again, the door was closed. He looked at Jacob, back at his station by the window.

“It’s quieter closed. You don’t mind? It’s so nice to be alone with the stars, not to have to please. Just for a little while - Come look - ”

Hmph. Nux knew that feeling. He kinda felt a bit sorry for Jacob, now he came to think about it. Must be wearisome, tryin’ to ingratiate all the time. He went and stood next to him, to stare out at the brilliant black.

“Do you know the myth about Earth-that-was?” Jacob murmured dreamily.

“Not so much.”

“That when he was born, he had no sky, and he was open, inviting and the stars would rush into him, through the skin of him, making the oceans boil with sensation, and when he could endure no more ecstasy, he puffed up his cheeks and blew out the sky, to keep him warm and safe, 'til he had rest some, and that we had to leave 'cause he was strong enough to suck them in once more.”

“Whoa. Good myth.” Gonna have to tell Cape that one. But he doubted he’d tell it so well. Nux couldn’t help but notice how different Jacob’s voice was when he wasn’t being the model husband. A little deeper, quite musical really. Made him more like a real person. Nux wondered what he was really like, in himself. Shame, having to act a part the whole time. He was glad he could be himself, even if he did get yelled at betimes.

“My whole life, I saw nothing but roofs and steeples and the cellar door. Few days I'll be back to that life and gone from yours - ” Jacob mused.

Ah - no wonder he’d been tryin’ so hard to kiss up to the Captain. Nux found himself wondering whether Furiosa oughtn’t to keep him around after all. He’s a good looking fella, and talks real pretty - and he’s hers, which counts for a lot. She don’t love him though - not yet anyways.

Nux was just thinking how, if Jacob would just be himself, he might truly win Furiosa round. After all, he had won Capable - if a hopeless gangly boy could do it, Jacob could - to be honest, the guy could almost give Nux a boner -

“ - it should be my wedding night, but that’s not to be - Maybe you - ?” he moved closer, with a meaningful look. “You - could show me the stars?”

Oh. You mean - Nux stepped back a little. Not that he wouldn’t, necessarily, y’know, if he was unaccounted for, but -

“Oh pal, buddy, friend, I’m not the one you’re looking for. You want somebody not married, not madly in love with a beautiful woman who could kill him with her pinky.”

Jacob sagged, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, that was too forward.”

“No. Well, yes. But I actually like that? That's part of why Capable and I are, as previously mentioned, married.”

Nux blushed hotly, now the moment was past. How’d he found himself getting hit on here?

“I thought - she didn't seem to respect you,” Jacob glanced up at him, questioning.

“Not everybody gets me and Cape at first glance. You wouldn’t think it, but she’s actually smiling inside, y’know? Did it get very hot in here? I need airflow.” He moved to the door.

“You love her very much.”

“Yeah!” He turned to open the door, relieved that Jacob seemed to be getting the message. “I never did meet a woman quite like her. The first time we - ”

*

Rude, thought Nux as he gingerly touched the back of head. Tsssst, ow. His fingers felt unpleasantly sticky. Could’ve just asked me to shut up, but noooo -

Well, it’s dark, the door won’t open and there’s a whole lot of brooms and shit. That’ll be me locked in the closet then.

Banging and yelling wouldn’t improve his headache, but someone was running around clearly up to no good, so sitting quiet wasn’t an option.

Nux just hoped there was someone else still awake who’d have better luck than him.

Chapter Text

Nggggh - it’s cooooold.

Max sat up stiffly and looked around for something warm to put on. That definitely had not been a short nap. What time was it?

He blinked at his watch with carpet-eyes; really? That late?

Ordinarily he hated waking up in the dead of night when everyone was asleep - it always had an unpleasant nightmarish quality to it, like the ship belonged to some other entity and he was an interloper -

- but tonight it did have its advantages. He’d been hiding away in here all day, avoiding folks - moping like a whiny baby, he had to admit - and now he was starving.

He paused on the threshold of the Interceptor’s airlock door. A very real reason why he’d not wanted to come out - was the minor matter of Furiosa’s room being right there, a cabin tucked away below the shuttle bay and airlock where the Interceptor was hitched on, its edges fitting neatly to the walls of the Rig.

He’d been incredibly glad he’d soundproofed the shuttle. It was selfish, but he did not want to hear Furiosa and this Jacob consummating their union. Because, after all, why wouldn’t she?

But all was quiet. He couldn’t quite place the warm glow that gave him - maybe he was tucked away in the passenger dorm and Furiosa was fast asleep in there and everything could go on as before; comfortable and uncomfortable as it was. Again, selfish - he knew it.

Max walked as quietly along the corridor as he could in his boots - it was a working ship, after all - and turned toward the kitchen. He paused, hearing someone come down the stairs. Someone else was up after all. Ah well, bit of company might be no bad thing -

Oh. Great. Jacob. He stopped with a surprised Oh! and looked at Max uncertainly.

“Are you lost?” Max asked, with the sinking feeling that Jacob knew exactly where he was going. To Furiosa’s room - perhaps they had a secret knock -

“I - couldn’t sleep. Stuff on my mind.”

Max grunted acknowledgement but made no encouragement to elaborate. He probably should get to know this guy, to see if his suspicions were in any way valid. Could he bring himself to make nice? Guess so. 

“I was headed to the kitchens. Want some tea?”

“Oh, thank you but no. I should get back to my room.”

He tried to get past Max, who put a detaining hand on his shoulder. “Dorms are that way. This place is a maze, huh?”

“Hah, you’re right. Thanks. Guess I was lost!” Jacob smiled winningly and took the direction Max pointed out. “G’night,” he called over his shoulder.

“‘Night - ”

Max made tea and settled down in the kitchen. On a chair facing the open door. The corridor to the dorms was a dead-end. He could wait.

Sure enough, about ten minutes later, Jacob appeared at the door, all shy-looking. “I was kinda hoping you’d still be here,” he said.

Is that right? thought Max. “Still can’t settle?” he asked.

Jacob shook his head. He looked liked he had something on his mind. And Max was a willing ear enough.

“You’re Max, right? You been on this ship long?” Jacob asked.

“Long enough,” Max replied, with a smile. He could interpret that however he pleased.

“I can’t stay here. I’m not wanted,” Jacob glanced up from the table to Max. “But before I go, I’d like to get something off my conscience. I’m not who I let on to be. I’m a fake.”

Max raised his eyebrows. Where was he going to go with this? Nowhere truthful, he suspected.

“I - was raised to be a husband. And I’m fine with that. One person, your whole life long - it’s how it should be, right? But I don’t want a wife, do you understand?” he blurted out desperately, looking at Max with a whole world of meaning. “I want to belong to someone who can feel what I feel.”

Oh boy. If it’d been a few years ago, Max would’ve been a lost man. But he wasn’t lost, and there was something wrong here, he could feel it. Jacob was too perfect to be real.

Max nodded understandingly, got to his feet and stretched out a hand. “Come away with me, then. I’ll take care of you. I have a shuttle of my own.”

Jacob’s eyes - God they were green, like Furi’s - they just shone at those words. “You would take me away from here? Just you and me?”

“Come with me,” Max repeated.

Just then the banging and thumping on the edge of Max’s hearing became very obviously not the sound of an engine overdue a service.

Hey!! Gemmeouttahere!!!

Jacob looked around in innocent alarm, then back to Max, who shook his head reprovingly, “I guess we've lied enough.”

Jacob broke into a smile. “Ohhoho. You're good. There’s hope for you yet, Maxie Boy.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Max frowned. “Who the fuck are you?”

By way of answer, Jacob kicked out at the kitchen chair and fled. Max bolted after him, almost tripping over the obstacle. Back towards the shuttle bay they ran, Max gaining ever so slightly. This was his home, and he knew the twists and turns. This little shit didn’t.

“Who am I?” Jacob yelled, fumbling at the internal airlock door. “I'm Furiosa Jobassa’s widower! Go see for yourself!”

Max’s stomach dropped like rocks, he felt sick all over. He skidded to a halt by Furi’s door, metres from the grinning bastard who was now disappearing into the shuttle bay. Fuck the shuttle, fuck everything - what had he done?

Max got Furiosa’s door open and slid down the ladder, dreading what he would find -

“Furi - ? Nonono - ”

There she lay on the floor. He dropped down beside her. No blood, no wound, she’s breathing -

“Oh thank God,” he moaned, lifting her head little; he sobbed a laugh as she shifted in his arms with a comfortable-sounding mmmmmmm.

She’s not dead, y’know - only sleeping

And he bent his head and kissed her, just once, because he had to run and get a doctor, get help -

Max laid her head down carefully, sprang to his feet and the room span -

“Oh no - ” he groaned, wiping at his lips, “ - not the - ”

He made it up three rungs of the ladder before it took effect.

Thud

Chapter Text

Furi! Wake up! Wakeup!!

“Mmmmpgh wazzappnin?” she protested, trying to turn onto her side. Nnngh not comfy -

*

That’d been something of a rude awakening. And she’d been having such a nice dream too. Jacob was a fairy or elf or something - all shiny and butt-naked - and he’d put a spell on her. Put her to sleep for a hundred years. And then Max showed up and saved her, and they’d kissed - and no, she wouldn’t be telling anyone about that one -

But she woke up on the floor, everyone gawping down at her like she was on show at New Barnums. And now they were all trying their damnedest not to die like flies in a bug zapper. Note to self - never ever say, even in jest, ‘what else could possibly go wrong?’

*

There was Toast, with his doctor bag. Capable looking furious. Nux sitting on her bed with a big bandage round his head - and Max - ? Max was laying on her bed, looking very groggy.

Furiosa frowned, thought hard and then gave up. “I’m confused. Hey. What happened to you two? You been fightin’?”

“Never mind that - we’ve got a problem. Hubby dearest has fried our navcom and fucked off in the shuttle. Yours, not mine.”

“Jacob? What’s he done?”

“Took the three of you out! Smacked Nux on the head, locked him up and shut us all outta the bridge. And you? - well - tell her, doc.”

“A narcotic compound, probably spread over a seal on his lips. You get it on yours and pow.” Toast explained. “We used to get a lotta folks brought in on the night shift at the E.R. - usually robbed and very groggy. Called it the ‘goodnight kiss’.”

“Good kisser, is he?” Capable folded her arms and looked accusingly.

“Well, ain’t that special - ?” Giddy smiled.

“Hey, he tried to seduce me too,” Max put his hands up, and rubbed his shoulder with a grimace.

“And me!” Nux raised a hand. “Dint work, of course. Though, to be honest, my head wishes it had.”

“And Max found you in here, getting well rested.”

“I fell off of the ladder. On my head.”

“I don't get any of this.”

“I only fell is all,” Max repeated.

*

“He didn't just lock it,” Cheedo explained, as Slit fired up the blowtorch. “He fused it to something. Both entrances. We want back onto the bridge, we gotta cut our way through.”

“Why the big act? What the hell was he after?” Furiosa wailed.

“Besides molesting innocent captains?” Giddy appeared at her elbow as if by magic.

“You wanna stow it, preacher? We appear to be in some peril here.”

“I told you. He’s a thief.” Dag piped up.

There was a crunch of metal as Slit’s shoulder won that particular battle. Although it was to be only one of many.

*

“He’s a pro,” Cheedo tutted, surveying the console wiring.

“This is a masterful job of muck-up. See how he crossed the drive feeds - ?”

“Yuh-huh - ”

“So we even try to reroute it'll lock down.”

“And he went straight for the thermal cap!”

“I know, right? We’re so fucked!” Nux almost sounded pleased at this feat of genius.

“I'm glad you two are having a good time under there, but you wanna progress to the making it right?”

They poked their heads out.

“That's not gonna happen for a good long while, Cap'n.”

“We don't have a good long while. We could be headed straight into a nice big solid moon for all we know so how about you get to work?”

“Hey! You're the one whose big make-out session got us into this!” Cheedo rarely resorted to recriminations but she was evidently feeling the pressure.

“I was poisoned!” cried Furiosa.

“You were drugged,” Max corrected.

“That's why I never kiss 'em on the mouth,” Slit added, sagely.

“Well, what can you do?” Furiosa asked them, not giving that mental image time to form. “What about steering?”

“What about stopping?” Max asked.

“He’s fucked us hard. We're gonna have to do a lot of - ”

“Do it! No point seeing where we’re going if we can't change course.”

“That boy really knows his ships,” Cheedo sighed.

“That's not all he’s knows. He’s well schooled,” Max pointed out.

“You mean the sedative? The Goodnight Kiss?” Toast asked.

“Yes - no, I mean - seduction, body language, signals - he had training. As in Repopulator training. Advanced,” he added, in response to Furiosa’s look.

“He - uh - tried it on you too?” she asked, wide-eyed.

Max shrugged. “It was sloppy of him to try it, but I think he was in a rush.”

“Well, then I guess I’m vindicated! Y’hear, Giddy? You would’ve kissed him too, in my position!”

“Nux didn't,” Capable pointed, rather smugly.

Nux has you, thought Furiosa. Easy enough then. “Yes. But. Consider that he was extremely naked, and saying - well, all the right things, and - ”

“Okay!” Nux interrupted. “Everyone NOT talking about their sex lives, in here. Everyone else, elsewhere!”

*

No denying it, she had a good team. It’d taken valuable time, but now they actually knew where they were headed.

Cape was right - it certainly wasn’t Beaumonde.

They’d been sailing under new orders for some time now. And the co-ordinates were leading them right to that.

Furiosa shared a look with the Shepherd, whose pale face showed she recognised it too.

“I don't get it. Where are we headed?” asked Slit, looking at the vast circle.

The end of the line,” Giddy replied, flatly. “It's a Carrion House. Scrap shop, takes ships, pulls 'em apart or fixes 'em up.”

“Doesn't sound that scary - ” Nux pointed out warily.

Furiosa traced the circle with her finger, as the electricity crackled and flared. “That pattern you're looking at is a net. We fly into that, we're more than helpless. It'll turn the ship into one big electrical conduit, burn us all from the inside out.”

“Some of the newer ones'll just hold you, then the scrappers'll override the airlocks, pull the O2, or just gas you. They're not looking to deal with survivors.” Giddy added, darkly.

“One day you're gonna tell us all how a preacher knows so damn much about crime,” Slit muttered.

*

So, no, it wasn’t looking good. Jacob had sold them all down the river and it’d be a miracle if they’d be alive tomorrow.

But! Cheedo spoke the tongue of sparks and wires better’n anyone Furiosa had ever met. She was Plan A.

And Furiosa had just thought of a Plan B. It was ridiculous, it was crazy, but it just might work.

Chapter Text

Unless something went spectacularly well for Cheedo in the next few minutes, they would drift into that net, sure as you die. And then they would be completely at the mercy of the Carrion crew, which was nowhere at all.

They had to retaliate first. Could they disable the net? That’s the where the danger lay - the electric tendrils that would hold them still to be grilled alive, or suffocated.

But the Rig had no big guns -

Furiosa grinned. They did have Vera. She was pretty damn big. And Slit had suit training. Just hang out the side and shoot -

She slammed the comm button, before she had time to have second thoughts; “Cape! Prep a couple of suits! Slit, bring Vera to the shuttle airlock, right now!”

* 

Plan B had hit a bump with the information that Vera, having needs like all of us - Slit’s words - couldn’t be used to her full potential in a vacuum on account of requiring air to fire. Probably the result of some damnfool modification or other, thought Furiosa, but that was okay, as long as she was still capable of piercing armour.

Because what would they be doing for air? Wearing suits! There you go then. They had a couple spares.

*

Furiosa paused for a moment; she watched her crew in action, feeling like the eye of the storm

Slit’s all kitted up, loading Vera with those huge bullets with ferocious concentration, while Capable makes the necessary modifications to a third suit.

Toast’s over there intent on improving their knowledge of the Carrion net’s weak spots; leafing through his huge encyclopaedia hurriedly, with Giddy’s help.

And on the bridge, Cheedo probably still frantically trying to sort out the world of hurt Jacob inflicted on the Rig’s controls - 

Right on cue, Furiosa’s heart leapt as Nux’s voice came crackling over the comm, tense and resigned: “We are two minutes out - ”

- and sank again. No miraculous breakthrough then -

“Here. We got it!” Toast called triumphantly, holding the book open at a schematic of the Carrion ring. Furiosa peered at it - where, where, where - ?

“What am I aiming for? The window?” asked Slit, spotting the structure sitting atop the ring like a huge crab. Presumably where the Carrion crew were watching their newest prey at this very moment. Tempting, but no.

“That might kill some folk, but it won't disrupt the net - ” There! She pointed - “See these six points where it's brightest? Those are the breakers. Hit one and it should short it out.”

“What do you mean, should?”

* 

Furiosa opened the airlock to where the stolen shuttle should be, fuck Jacob -

Slit eased himself carefully down to sitting, Furiosa keeping a tight hold on him despite the tether. It’s a cumbersome process, wearing a clumsy suit plus holding another on your shoulder. Thankfully its considerable weight is no longer an issue.

He held the gun through the legs of its suit, duct-taped to his, the barrel pointing out through the helmet. With no sight in sight, as it were, he levelled the suit’s crotch at eyeline. It looked kinda like one astronaut performing some gynaecological examination on a legless colleague. 

Even more so when you know this was Slit and his beloved Vera.

He braced the butt of the gun up against containers fixed to the floor just inside the airlock doors.

Ready.

They watched the ring through the doors.

“You see it?”

“Clear as day,” he replied, then whispered to the gun, “You see, Vera? You dress yourself up, you get taken out somewhere fun.”

Great, her imagination wasn’t far off, after all.

Oh God damn that thing is big. Just at that moment, the net flared into life, electricity leaping from point to point. Furiosa shaded her eyes for a moment against the sudden brightness.

There was a flash of light up close, but it came from the Rig, right next to her. Slit had fired, a silent burst blowing through the helmet of his ballistic darling’s suit. Furiosa looked back to the net in wild hope.

Yes! Slit and Vera were a fine team; the breaker exploded, the net unravelling, disintegrating -

And as the Rig sailed up close - within what would’ve been, only a few seconds ago, an extremely fatal range - Slit continued to fire -

He’d set his sights on that office window, and he was determined to take it out as a bonus. Two, three, four bullets raked across the reinforced plexiglass. Was it beginning to crack?

And the window and all the contents of the office within blew right out into space -- just as the War Rig drifted through the sparking but harmless ring, and out the other side.

Chapter Text

The situation was probably tougher on those who didn’t have an official role in the Rig; Toast, Giddy and Max had nothing to do but fret while the actual crew were flying round getting kitted up and talking technical details. And when Toast got called on for his encyclopaedia and Giddy tagged along, Max was left twiddling his thumbs anxiously.

Of course, there was Dag - she didn’t appear to fretting a great deal, but it was hard to tell. She’d been doing a kind of yoga-slash-tai-chi at the far end of the rec room. Max couldn’t decide whether to be reassured by her lack of concern or worried that she was simply limbering up for the expected ship invasion.

The only contribution he’d been able to make was the idea that they should all pile into the Interceptor and leave the War Rig to its fate. That suggestion was received with a hurried but uniform ‘thanks but no can do’ from Capable and Nux when he’d finally managed to get their attention;

- but that was a great idea and he should certainly round up the passengers and take them to safety. The crew couldn’t abandon ship, not to pirates. Even if they went down with her.

He sighed and went to find Giddy and Toast, to offer them the keys to the shuttle.

They didn’t take them. 

Seemed they were all of one mind. We die in this ship or we don’t, but we stick together.

Beyond that, all Max could do was dissect the different levels of stupidity that had let Jacob escape. If only he’d made the right decision. Stopped him getting on that shuttle. Pretty sure he would’ve fixed the problem readily enough if he was trapped on the sinking ship along with them. Stupid, stupid - if she was dead she was dead. She would be soon enough anyway.

He was a liability and he’d got them all killed.

Just then Cheedo ran in and asked for the conductor cap from the Interceptor. He ran after her gratefully. There was something he could do, even if only that.

Chapter Text

Furiosa and Slit hurried back to the bridge, still buzzing from the remarkable success of Plan B. Slit kept going on about how he’d seen one of the Carrion crew fly out the window holding a sandwich. Furiosa was just focused on the next stage of the plan - Plan B2? - before the adrenaline wore off and hysterical relief kicked in. Cheedo and Nux were waiting, having seen much of the action from the bridge windows. A frazzled-looking Cheedo wrung her hands and blurted out -

“We got it. It's not pretty, but we can steer enough to turn the hell around.” 

“Nice work, Cheedo,” Furiosa gave her an appreciative nod.

“Weren't soon enough to help,” she replied mournfully.

“Hey. Lot easier to pull things apart than to put 'em right. You're still the best mechanic floating.” Furiosa stepped over to her and kissed her on the top of her head.

Cheedo disclaimed and waved her away with a pleased smile.

“Captain, have you forgotten?” Nux piped up innocently, hopefully not wanting a kiss himself. “That kissing makes you sleepy?”

Uhhh she’ll never hear the end of this - 

“Sometimes I just can't help myself. Come on. Let's go visiting.”

So Nux brought up the charts of the immediate area, checked the shuttle refuelling log and set their course for their next destination. Furiosa had planned a hot date with her dear husband. She had little surprise for him.

*

Furiosa made her way silently along the corridor of the fanciest five-star hotel in town. This is the room. Not wasting any time listening for sounds of occupation, she drew her gun and kicked in the door.

Five minutes later, Jacob came around again. She’d only pistol-whipped him a little bit, no lasting damage. The cuffs around his wrists would be more of an inconvenience. 

He quickly realised his situation; he let out an exasperated breath and smiled up at her from the bed. “You gonna kill me?”

“Can you conjure up a terribly compelling reason for me not to?” she asked, not lowering her gun. She did not trust this little shit, not one mite.

“I didn't kill you - ”

“You turned me and my crew over to those that would kill us - that buys you nothing.”

“I made you dinner - ” 

She sighed. This whole thing had been unspeakably ridiculous, but she wasn’t laughing. “But why the act?? All the seduction games, the dancing about folk - ? Me, Nux, Max? There has to be an easier way to steal.”

“Ah, you’re assuming the payoff is the point,” he raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not assuming anything at this juncture,” she retorted, gun still trained on him. This was the second time she’d pointed a gun at Jacob while he was tied to bedposts. This time she’d feel considerably less remorse at shooting him.

He shuffled so he could sit up a little more. “How'd you find me?” 

“Only a few places that shuttle could make it to from where you left. Happy to find it still intact. You always work for Elder Gommen?”

He shrugged. “I work with lots of folk. She’s thrown me a few choice fish. What'll become of the dear Elder?” 

“Oh, she'll be laying eyes on me soon enough. And to think I saved her town from vicious bandits.”

He looked at her appraisingly. “You're quite a woman, Furiosa Jobassa. I’ve waited a long while for someone good enough to take me down.” He jangled the restraints knowingly. “You never did get to sample the goods. Just once, for old time’s sake?”

“Oh please - “ she replied, with withering scorn. Who knew what else he had coated with that sleeping potion? She’d had the Goodnight Kiss; you didn’t have to be a genius to know a Goodnight Fuck was also an option. “Jacob, you even think about playing me again I will riddle you with holes.”

“Hey. Everybody plays each other. That's all anybody ever does. We play parts.”

Furiosa was not gonna stand around listening to that ‘we’re not so different, you and I’ bullcrap. She knew different.

“Consider this: You got all kinds of learnin' and you made me look the fool without trying - yet here I am with a gun to your head. That's 'cause I got people with me, people who trust each other, who do for each other and ain't always looking for the advantage. There's good people in the 'verse. Not many, lord knows, but you only need a few.” 

He flopped back on the bed with an exaggerated groan, “Promise me you're gonna kill me soon.”

“You already know I ain't gonna,” she shook her head.

“You know, you did pretty well,” he smiled. “Most women, hell, they're on me inside of ten minutes. Not trying to teach me to be all strong and the like.”

She’d heard enough. But for one thing; “I got one question for you. Just one thing I'd like to know straight up.”

“Ask me.”

She moved closer. “What's your real name?”

He looked at her - looked away, considering the question -

-- and she slammed the butt of her gun into his chin, knocking him out cold.

She looked down at him for what she sincerely hoped was the last time, and tossed the keys onto his shirt front.

“You'd only've lied anyhow.”

Chapter Text

And so, Furiosa had saved her ship and crew from destruction, and had gone off to exact revenge on the man who crossed her. A pretty normal day for a Firefly Captain, Max thought.

He hadn’t spoken with her at all since Nux had kicked them off the bridge. Only a brief nod in passing, after she and Slit returned from taking out the Carrion net and it’s crew. She’d looked pretty damn wired, so he let her be. But she did acknowledge him with the aforementioned nod, which he returned. That was enough.

Within three hours the Rig had landed on the nearest moon, and off went the landing crew to do what they had to do. Max wondered if she would kill him, if she found him. It wouldn’t be unreasonable, given the circumstances, but it wouldn’t be very Furiosa.

And now they were back on board, the stolen shuttle reclaimed. He’d stayed at the edge of the curious crowd that clustered around the landing party - who looked satisfactorily unbloodied. Furiosa walked tall, like she’d got the upper hand; a little sombre but not like someone who was troubled overmuch by their conscience.

He’d heard Capable complain to Nux that he - Jacob, presumably - hadn’t got half of what was coming to him, and if she ever saw him again she’d show him what he could do with his ‘goods’.

Hmph, he’s a tryer, no doubt, thought Max with a frown.

*

So Max had retreated, curious but much relieved, to the Interceptor. He was at his console, beginning to tackle the backlog of messages when he heard a familiar knock at the airlock door.

“Come in!”, he called.

“Hey,” she stepped in. “We're back on course, should be on Beaumonde just a day or two late. Hope that's all right.” 

“That’s fine.” He looked at her narrowly, “Not quite bloody revenge, then?”

“Nah, I just gave him a bit of a headache. A little something to remember us by. I reckon he could get out of those cuffs without the keys, but I left ‘em anyway.”

“Not much use to you without the cuffs,” he smiled. 

“That’s true,” she nodded, a little absently, and pulled up a chair. “Hey, look, I meant to say when I saw you earlier - I’m glad you’re still here. But if anything like that happens again, I’d feel better if you did go.” 

Oh, great. She’s heard about his Grand Escape Plan. Their escape plan. He wondered if that minor detail had been made clear.

He shook his head. “Not without y-y’all. Wasn’t meanin’ to go without everyone.” 

“No, but - y’know, you’re not crew, and - ” 

He tried not to look crushed, but -

“Well damn, that came out wrong. I just mean - well, you’re not obligated - you never took an oath to go down with the Rig like the others. I’d rather you didn’t go getting killed on this boat. You never signed up for that.” 

“Lotsa things I never signed up for on this Rig.” He didn’t feel like smiling, but he did it anyway. 

Falling for you like a damn fool bein’ one of them. He knew that for sure, now.

“I don’t doubt it.” Furiosa looked at him appraisingly. He turned back to the console, feeling self-conscious under the scrutiny. “How’s your head?” she asked.

“Hm? Oh - it’s alright, thanks.” Max put his hand up, touched it gingerly. Maybe made a face for good effect.

“Good. Toast didn’t seem to be too concerned about it, so I figured it couldn’t be that bad.”

“Just a bump.”

“Hmm. Sure there’s no lasting effects, though? Memory loss perhaps?” 

He glanced up at her in trepidation, and went hot and cold all over. She knows.

“‘Cos you were holding the other side yesterday - ?” 

He scratched his ear and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He could hear the eyebrow lift that accompanied her words.

“Oh, but - yeah, I actually - ” Max floundered for an explanation.

And she clearly wasn’t buying it, for she leaned into his eyeline. He glanced back at her, couldn’t help it. “Come on, Max,” she spoke low. “How’s about we don't play. You didn't hit your head at all, did you?”

He felt his face burn but he couldn’t look away. He was pinned by her gaze like a bug. It was a relief, for all that he felt so very out of control. He licked his dry lips and shook his head with a barely audible ‘no’.

Furiosa dropped her eyelids and nodded, a dimple deepening ever so slightly. “I thought so.” She looked up at him again and his heart almost certainly stopped. Then she shook her head and smiled knowingly.

“I knew you let him kiss you.”

He let out a breath in disbelief. Off the hook but feeling perversely ungrateful for it, he gaped like a beached fish and could say nothing.

She laughed outright at his reaction and took her exit muttering ‘Oh Jacob, you little slut’.

Chapter Text

As they watched the Interceptor sail off into the wide black yonder, Capable felt she could speak for all of them in saying - she hadn’t seen that coming.

Three years were up. Max had said his goodbyes and cleared out for his next gig. Guess he wasn’t done saving the world for infinite pussy and substantial pay. And she’d really thought he’d had a hankering for being ‘proper crew’, as he’d sometimes refer to the four of them.

There’d been times - not so long ago - where the rec-room conversation had drifted very close to a serious ‘should I stay or should I go?’

Moments when they’d all look up from their cards or their time-out oranges, catch each others’ eye with brows aloft. But always somehow it was steered within the safe bounds of banter.

Even Toast had tried his hand one night when they were engaged in a game of darts - Slit’s favourite, because he could beat everyone’s ass at it - 

Toast tested the waters, very much in his own way, by asking how long Max had been in the Repopulating business.

Max silently counted out the years on his fingers; twelve years, including training and novitiate - then another four. Sixteen years in total.

Toast didn’t ask his success rate - he didn’t have to; that information was in the public domain by law, even for a freelance. A few quick calculations on the score pad and -

 “Hmm, I’d say there’s about an eighty percent chance you’ve already hit your lifetime quota,” Toast raised his cup in a mock-salute. “For the sake of the gene pool, you should probably consider retirement.”

“Oh haha” Max rolled his eyes. “Lemme see those figures - ” And then followed a goodnatured scuffle by the card table.

“But Max, you can’t do this forever, surely?!” Cheedo protested a few minutes later, seeing that he and Furi were casually resuming their game. “Boss, can’t we find a job for him here? I’ve been teaching him stuff and I’m soooo busy - can I have an assistant, pleeeeease?” 

“Captain’s looking for a personal assistant, ain’t ya?” Slit volunteered. He did his best but subtlety wasn’t his strong suit and earned a hard look from Furi, who’d been lining up for a bullseye.

“Guys! Stop it! You know I can’t afford him,” Furi quieted them with that parental-sounding response, without taking her eyes off the board. That shut them up, more or less. It was hard to argue with the only one who actually did the accounts. 

Max said nothing but fidgeted with his dart and looked a bit awkward. Capable wondered if they’d actually had that conversation and he’d declined the job. It was true they probably couldn’t afford him. Max earned a small fortune at Repopulating, especially recently, and they could only offer him buttons in comparison. 

The conversation descended into a debate over whose assistant Max ought to be, should he ever decide a life of haulage and light piracy was one for him -

Funnily, every one of them made a case. Even Dag seemed not to object to Max, Capable remembered realising once. Which was was a pretty good vote of confidence.

“Jack of all trades, master of none - of’times better’n a master of one!” rhymed Giddy.

Versatile, that’s the word she’d been scrabbling for. Max was versatile.

Guess you have to be, in his line of work.

For one thing, if his poker face was anything to go by, they should take him on as a negotiator. Or an inside man. Definite skills there. He’d cleaned up at the first game, and proceeded to lose for the next few weeks til Furi got suspicious and threatened to throw him off the Rig if he kept letting other folks win. Hell, they’d paid for that rash act ever since. 

Plus, soft hands notwithstanding - Cheedo and Slit’s observation, not hers - Max knew how to handle himself. At least, he’d had Slit shitting his pants at their first meeting and that was no mean feat.

The crew could do with another hardass. Furi had gravitas and a commanding air, for sure; and Slit had bulk and a face you wouldn’t want to encounter in a dark alley. Capable had the disadvantage of being the ‘pretty’ one of the trio and shortest by half a head, but folks took her seriously enough after her first shot.

Cheedo, on the other hand, was far too gentle for premeditated violence and Nux - well, if it weren’t for those big baby blues, he’d be real scary, but those he had and they were just too adorable for him to be a hardass. Besides, his sweet piloting was a bit of a prerequisite to landing a landing party in the first place.

Max would be a valuable addition. He had a good glare and looked like he could go off like a rocket if provoked. And he could shoot respectable enough; she’d seen that much the time they were ambushed in Isis Canyon by those bike-bandits.

Yep, he’d be useful enough. 

If only he could be their Max-of-all-trades, and Furi’s very own man to boot - 

*

Well, it hadn’t happened, and he’d moved on to other things. Dare say she and Nux had been wrong all along.

For one thing, Furi was fully convinced Max had no interest in her, not in that way. But then, Furi was kind of an idiot.

And what Max thought was anyone’s guess. Not even Nux could offer a firm opinion on his plans and projections, or even whether he was happy in his job, for all they were good pals. But then, Max was a Breeder. They weren’t really like normal people. Nobody on board really had any insight into a Repopulator’s ways of thinking.

Furi was more transparent. For three years, she’d oscillated between her interest in the man and her dislike of his profession. It all made perfect sense to Capable but she did wonder what Max made of Furi’s way of going on.

But surely three years would be long enough for two people to iron out their differences and figure out if they really ought to be together.

So maybe Furi and Max actually knew their own minds? It was possible, after all. But, as they watched the Interceptor become a tiny pinprick and disappear entirely then silently dispersed to go about their business, Capable thought of Angharad and how she would’ve managed it all better. 

Chapter Text

Furiosa collapsed onto her bed, aching and thoroughly exhausted. She’d worked like it was her last day breathing, and she hoped to God she would be rewarded with a good night’s sleep. She did not want to spend six hours staring at the ceiling thinking of how there was nothing beyond the wall of her cabin but empty space.

Turning on her side, her eye fell on Max’s parting gift. He’d given them all drawings of some kind or other. Furiosa’s was the only landscape; the others were given portraits or caricatures.

It was beautiful. Not any particular place that she knew, but it felt like Hera, as it used to be. She remembered a tipsy conversation that evening on Harvest - she’d talked about how that planet reminded her of home. He’d painted an old gnarled apple tree, the kind that looked like it’d had been growing for hundreds of years and would be there for hundreds more. Maybe there was a tree just like that still, looking out over a billowing sea of corn -

Furiosa looked away and gave a ragged sigh that had nothing to do with nostalgia. She would miss him. Prickly and combative as their relationship was, there was an aching void where it had been. And it’d only been twelve hours since he left.

But it would get easier. It’s not like she hadn’t been prepared. It’s not like he’d even mentioned renewing his contract -

It was bound to be more convenient to be on some fancy cruise ship. All those fine folks had travelled ridiculous distances to get an appointment with Max recently, so he was clearly in big demand. He’d probably be in his element. She could see him in that velvet suit of his, all white shirt and shiny shoes. All polished up. Not bad for a boy from the Verbena slums. Good for him.

She preferred him in his workaday pants and battered jacket, but Furiosa knew she was no judge, on account of having no class to speak of. Max had no business slumming it on this old rust bucket. But it was his business to fit in wherever he went. Furiosa knew that. For all his talk about joining the crew, he had no real inclination to do that. He was just being charming and endearing and -

No, it wasn’t real. Was it? Had she even asked him to stay? But it would be ridiculous -

She rolled over with an exasperated huff and hugged her pillow. Her fingers found something unexpected. Paper. She pulled it out from under the pillow. An envelope. Furiosa - that was Max’s writing -

She tore it open hungrily.

Dear Furiosa

I cannot begin to express my gratitude for the time I have spent on board the War Rig. The friendships I have made here will stay with me forever, should I not have the good fortune to see you again. I was welcomed with a warmth and acceptance such that I have never experienced before. I congratulate you on your ship and crew; they do your leadership credit.

I could not possibly aspire to the level of judgement and professionalism that I have seen your crew demonstrate over the past three years. You will see that for yourself when I confess to you what really happened the night that worthless [illegible blot] - apologies, I am ashamed that a Repopulator would [another blot] well, I digress. Suffice to say, if I ever have the misfortune to see him again, he will know my feelings on the matter.

In brief, were it not for my poor judgment that night, Jacob would have been captured and my dearest friends’ lives not put in jeopardy. I pursued him to the very door of the second shuttle, but was stopped short by an impulsive act that almost meant the end for us all. He declared he had killed you and, instead of seizing him, I did the thing that could help nobody. And, finding you unharmed I, fool that I am, secured his escape - I must tell all - by losing my wits entirely and kissing you. I have no excuse but that relief overwhelmed my faculties and I can only hope you and the rest of the crew will some day forgive me for my unprofessional behaviour.

I wish you all that is good in life, and remain,

Yours affectionately

Max Rockatansky

If Max had been on board ship, had still been as much her Max as he’d ever been, Furiosa may have found herself laughing at his formal letter writing style, and his fancy curly cursed cursive scrawl. But with him gone, Furiosa was half blinded by tears before she’d got to the end of the first paragraph.

But she blinked them away and read on eagerly, seeing that this was no ordinary Thank You letter. The second paragraph was incoherent enough to make her almost think he was confessing acting as an accomplice in Jacob’s  scam. But no, he’d chased him -  ? And then he’d - ?

He’d -

Furiosa got to her feet. And sat down again. Looking around her cabin, she saw where she’d fallen, where she’d come to, with half the crew looking on.

Her face flamed hot as she remembered the dream she’d been so sorry to wake from.

He’d kissed her.

He’d kissed her, not Jacob. And she never knew.

Ohhhh, you idiot.

Chapter Text

Nux twiddled the knobs of the long-distance tracking system glumly. He’d really thought that there’d be a last-minute change of plan and he was pissed at everyone on the Rig, including himself.

Max liked it here; he had friends and – well, whatever it was he had with the Captain. What would he have now? All alone - nothing but lots of money and glamorous women to keep him company?

No, but seriously - what kind of life was that? Nux could joke about it - he had joked about it plenty - but in his heart of hearts, he had no idea how someone like Max had lived like that for sixteen years. From what he had said, it was his business to be literally nameless, not a real person at all but a walking turkey-baster. Okay, he didn’t exactly put it like that, but that's how it sounded. Sure, you might enjoy it for a while, getting paid big bucks, women queuing up for you to take your pick. Fine, you’d probably enjoy it quite a lot. But it would be like living off nothing but candy and fat things. Presumably folks in his profession took precautions against the cock rot, but soul rot was a different matter. Not in a Shepherdy kinda way, but just through lack of – he didn’t know – nourishment?

Soul scurvy.

But Max was a stubborn bastard and would - not - talk - about - it. It was frustrating, this whole stupid situation. Whether or not he had a crippling crush on the Captain was neither here nor there. Things just weren’t right. He shouldn’t be leaving.

And, as he watched the Interceptor blip away on his new and highly illegal tracking device, Nux sighed.

Come on, make a U-turn, willya? Don’t be an idiot.

Just then Furiosa came careering through the door, something clearly on her mind.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid- ” she wailed.

Nux looked up in surprise and alarm. Oh man, what had gone wrong now? But there she was, holding her head as if it was like to fly clean off  – he reckoned she’d just smacked it off something. He’d done that often enough. The doors were inconveniently low on this boat, but he didn’t think the Captain was quite tall enough -

“Aw, didya hit your head?” he tutted sympathetically.

“Is he out of hailing range?” she demanded, as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Who? Max? Yeah, but - ”

“Oh God - ” she groaned, she spun on one heel rather overdramatically. “Which way was he going? Did he tell you?”

“Well, y'know - funny you should ask - I just happen to have a nifty little device here - got it just after that Jacob debacle. The guy in the market recommended - ”

He stopped short as Furiosa got right up in his face with a growl of “WHERE IS HE GOING?!”

Nux leaned back from the glaring nose of his boss, and turned to the tracker output. Okay, okay, jeez -

“Looks like he’s headed - uh, nowhere much. None of the major routes anyway. Why? - what’s the matter?”

She stared at the moving blip on the screen as if she hadn’t heard him. Then she came back to herself, in less of a flap, definitely, but still pretty dazed-looking. “What? Uhh - he’s - he’s - ”

Nux squinted at her appraisingly. Damnation, had she hit her head? He looked round at the sound of more running feet, just in time to see Cheedo appear in the doorway, her arms wrapped round a large folio. “He’s forgot his sketchbook!!!”

“Yes! That! Forgot his - ” Furiosa snapped her fingers and pointed at the mechanic, who looked at her, startled.

But Nux sprang to his feet eagerly, forgetting all other details. Was this really Max’s mysterious sketchbook? Strange that he’d leave that behind. “Ooh can I see?" he asked, "Where’d you find it?”

“Slit found it in the rec room! Down the back of the sofa, he said. I know, weird, right?” she shrugged, looking positively delighted.

“Never mind that,” Furiosa stepped between them impatiently. “Just get after him, full speed! NOW!”

“Right you are, boss!” Nux replied with a cheerful and not remotely sarcastic salute. Okay, FINALLY, a positive development here!

Coordinates set for the Interceptor’s current location, engines fired up to maximum, Nux got up and joined the other two where they stood carefully turning the pages like it was an ancient relic that might crumble with rough handling.

“Aww, look Nux - don’t you look sweet?” Cheedo cooed over a hasty sketch of him and Capable, in the kitchen looking all cosy over coffee. Just a few dashed-off lines but it was so very them. Was that what they looked like? You never do get a chance to see yourself from the outside. Capable was way prettier than that though, but Nux was grateful he didn’t look worse.

“And ooh it’s me!!” Cheedo pointed at the next one, of her in her overalls posing happily surrounded by compression block parts. That one was a lot more detailed, but then, she would’ve posed for as long as it took if Max had asked.

They both squealed in delight at one of Slit in his woolly hat, playing his harp in the laundry room. Presumably taken by stealth, but, hey, maybe not. He was real proud of that hat, ear flaps and all. And then Giddy, nodding over a book in her favourite easy chair, every wrinkle and tattoo as clear as you like. Max was awful good, Cheedo and Nux could agree on that.

The Captain, on the other hand, wasn’t saying very much at all. She’d fidgeted impatiently while Nux reconfigured the navcom, only settling down when Cheedo opened Max’s sketchbook.

To be honest, once the novelty wore off of seeing himself and the others outlined in unguarded moments by Max’s deft pencil, he was surprised how few drawings there were of Furiosa. He’d expected the book to be full of them, but there were only two or three. There were these strange pictures of shadowy figures where you could only see the eyes. All in different situations; on a cliff, aiming a rifle; walking through a cornfield; wrapped in a blanket in what looked like a moonlit desert. They all did look like the same person, now he thought about it. Could well be the Captain, but it was hard to tell for sure. They were artistic.

The ones that were definitely of her were amazing. Should be in a frame. He'd actually caught her smiling in one of them. Must’ve been from his imagination though – Nux couldn’t imagine her looking like that for long enough to do something so detailed.

Awww. Nice. Nux was real glad they were going to get him back.

*

Nux worried at the inside of his cheek at the sight of Max approaching that unpopulated moon. It didn’t even have a name – what was he going there for? It would be a real bumpy landing; shitty terrain most likely, and Nux certainly wouldn’t be taking it at that angle. What was Max thinking? Nux hoped that wasn't his normal style of flying. His heart was in his mouth until the Interceptor came to rest on the moon’s surface. The tracker had a built-in crash alert – hope it works – and it hadn’t made a peep. Probably alright then, and Max was a sensible guy - he'd check his craft for damage and do the necessary repairs, no problem.

Okay, they’d made good time. Only three hours away now. Presumably Max would have the courtesy to stay put for that long.

*

But Nux was restless and not a little bored, the excitement having been replaced by necessity and watchfulness. They were on course to catch up with Max but they were still a solid two hours away. Captain had told him in no uncertain terms not to take his eyes off the screen, and she was right. The tracker had done its job well so far, but it could fail or anything, and he could give them the slip. But it’d been an hour and there was nothing to see. A very good thing that was, but dull.

Bored Bored Bored.

*

Nux stood up suddenly and swore under his breath as the dot became a moving blip again. Shit, where you off to now, buddy? Max’s shuttle re-emerged from the moon’s atmosphere – took up a steady course, heading in their own direction -  

Maybe he’d noticed that his album was missing? Or he’d decided to come back - ? Either way, it looked like they’d be able to intercept the Interceptor (ha) sooner than he’d thought!

*

But there was something very wrong –

Nux’s stomach clenched as he watched the shuttle perceptibly begin to drift – nonono, that's still way too close for to go having a power failure, not good, Max, shit –

He watched helplessly as it inevitably crept back into the moon’s atmosphere - at a truly horrendous trajectory -

Nux's eyes were dragged toward the LED light that he knew would flash red any second -

Oh God. Oh shit –

His hand hovered uncertainly over the comm button. He didn’t want anyone to know about this yet but Cape – not yet. This was very probably very very bad.

*

So he walked, didn’t run. It seemed like forever before he found her. Thankfully she was alone. Walking up stiffly, feeling strangely numb in his extremities, he took her by the elbow and led her into a dark corner.

She stared up at him. “Oh babe, what’s the matter? You’re white as a sheet! Wait, didn’t Furi say to - ?”

“I did – I was – oh Cape, I think he’s crashed! He has crashed, the tracker says so. What’ll we tell her?”

“Show me.”

*

“We’re gonna be there in – forty minutes. We need to tell them what we’re gonna find – “ Nux moaned, pacing the floor. Capable stood with her arms folded, pale and blinking rapidly. Trying not to cry. As was Nux. He felt sick.

“I’ll tell her. She’s in her quarters I think - " She squeezed his outstretched hand and walked off as if she was wading through mud.

*

The Rig cruised slowly, following the trail of wreckage. It took a while. The flight recorder had to be here somewhere – the signal was getting stronger. The crew looked on in silence; Cheedo clutching Slit’s arm, her eyes red with crying; Toast visibly poised to provide medical assistance but surely knowing that it would not be needed. Giddy hovered near the Captain, who stood rigid, watching the screen with eyes that were painful to see.

Finally, they came to the end. The last of the wreck. The flight recorder was here somewhere. Nux took the controls and guided the Rig to a careful landing a few metres away from the blackened trail. In his peripheral vision, he saw Furiosa leave the bridge, Capable and Giddy following at a respectful distance.

*

They hung back as Furiosa hurried ahead. She approached the first piece of twisted metal, and glanced down at her feet. She bent down and picked something up, stood staring at it blankly. And dropped to her knees in the grit. Nux and Capable exchanged a glance and stepped forward uncertainly. As Capable joined Furiosa quietly, Nux cautiously searched the wreck. It wasn’t difficult. There wasn’t much left to hide even - parts of a person. But that didn’t offer much of a consolation.

He licked dry lips and called out over his shoulder, “No sign of him.”

“He would’ve been vapourised. You know that,” the Captain replied dully without looking up – the very thought that Nux didn’t want to give utterance to. Of course they wouldn’t find a body.

Cheedo choked out a cry and buried her head in Slit’s shoulder.

Slit looked stunned. He kept saying, “It wasn’t meant to go like this - ”

Nux heard Toast speak in a low voice that still carried in the dead silence. “Did you hide the sketchbook?”

Slit nodded dumbly, and Toast patted him on other shoulder with an approving nod. So their insensitive jerk of a Slit had tried to engineer a reunion. Either Max would come back for it or – more likely – the Captain would decide to return it to him. And Max would join the crew and everything would be sensible. Good initiative there. Guess it had worked, up to a point.

Nux sighed and looked over at where Giddy stood muttering prayers under her breath. Dag was close by, staring up at the sky. She was the only one who didn’t look greatly moved by the signs of death and destruction strewn around. No, she smiled up at the heavens, and turned to Giddy.

“He’s in a better place now" Dag said, with a nod. "His torment’s all over. A hand reached out and - ”

She clenched her fist and opened it to the sky.

Giddy turned away, covered her face and sobbed audibly.

Well, that’s all very nice and comforting, Dag, but – too soon, thought Nux. Just then the bright red of the flight recorder caught his eye and he clutched at it with all the relief he could muster. At least now they could figure out what the hell happened. He caught Capable's eye and nodded, moving toward the group. Time to go. They'd got what they came for - but no, they really hadn't - 

Capable straightened up and held out a hand to the Captain, who still crouched over the tiny relic, a little jade ornament - maybe an owl. She didn't move at first, but when her eye caught the flash of colour in Nux's hands, she nodded resignedly. It was time to move out.

By now Toast was standing by to his sister and talking to her in a low voice. Nux heard him ask, “What do you mean, mei-mei? A hand? – what hand? Do you mean like – angels?” 

She stared down at him a moment, smiled and shook her head. “Nope. Nope-nope-nope. That weren't no angel - " Then she broke into a delighted grin and whirled round to the Shepherd, as if struck by an idea.

"Giddy, can fallen angels rise again?”

Chapter Text

Max sat in the doorway of his shuttle, his feet dangling over the edge. He drew the black fabric between his fingers for the thousandth time and raised it to his lips. Oh, it smelled like her.

He looked around at the dusty wasteland. So quiet. There was probably no-one else on this entire moon. Time to think, now the conflicting voices in his head were no longer clamouring for his attention. He'd been so busy lately. So many clients. So many preparations. No time to think.

Let me stay. Can I stay? I want to stay.

So many ways to say it, but the words had stopped up his tongue with their sheer urgency. He’d already said goodbye to the others – given them their gifts one by one – that had been okay. But then he’d sheepishly handed over the painting of her home planet. She’d looked at it for a long time, and he squirmed with the thought that he’d offended, or done it wrong.

She looked up suddenly, looking flustered, embarrassed but not displeased. “I don’t have anything like - ” then she reached up and tugged at the fine black scarf she wore at her throat, and held it out to him. He’d always admired the rich colour of it. It was the finest Hera cotton muslin, dyed a rich blue-black, like ravens’ feathers. He took it between his fingers with a nod. It was warm. 

He had to go right now or he wouldn’t go at all. So he did, without another word. He hated himself for that. He’d thought it would be easier than staying, and it was a kind of a relief to be free and alone again. But only for a short while, barely any time at all really. By the time he was out in open space he knew in his bones that he’d made a terrible mistake. But he couldn’t afford to think, he had to focus on flying his shuttle. To get somewhere.

It was the equivalent of pulling over at a rest stop on a long road. He just needed somewhere to stop and think. Space and quiet and no people. He’d found the nearest moon and by the time he’d landed he was shaking.

Half an hour later, by his shiny gold pocket watch– a ‘retirement gift’ from Lady Honoria on her last visit - he could breathe easier.

He’d fretted about retiring, despite the rumour that had seemingly spread somehow among his usual clients. He was too much of a coward to take that step lightly, no matter how stretched and transparent he felt after so many years in the job. Couldn’t talk about it to the others. If he said how he felt, they would keep him around out of pity. He’d end up a hanger-on, dead weight. Which is why he hadn’t made any plans about what to do next. He would just let his time run out and leave without saying a damn thing.

But out here, less than twenty-four hours after sailing off into the void, his priorities had caught up with him. What did it matter what he did for a living? It didn’t matter what he did – it only mattered where he was, and who he was with. The rest would take care of itself. He would sweep floors and polish boots if it meant he could stay on the Rig. Because Furiosa was there, and he was already feeling the lack of her presence. It would be enough to just be where she was. He could at least earn his keep, if he worked hard enough.

There was the problem that he had confessed to kissing her when she was out cold on the floor of her own bedroom. She might be a little pissed at that, and with justice.

But, if he could remember anything of that garbled letter, it was that he’d made a real point to explain how it had happened - his relief at her not being actually dead. Extenuating circumstances? Up to a point.

But maybe she's not mad at him at all, Max thought, hopefully. After all, she’d propositioned him pretty early on, so perhaps she wasn’t actually repulsed by the idea of him kissing her, especially under those very unique and dramatic circumstances. Maybe, since he’d quit the Repopulating, she might approve of him after a while. Maybe, if he was patient - ? He sighed. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Max.

Alternatively, he wondered - if she asked - could he be her private concubine? She was well aware of where his skills lay. He would be doing the same work, but for one woman only - that would be - good. Very good.

But to just be an object to someone you love? came one treacherous voice.

Max shook his head at such nonsense. They'd have to do better than that. No, he would never just be an object to her. This was Furiosa. People were always people. It would be an arrangement between friends. It would be strange - he couldn't do it before, when she asked, but now things were different. It wasn’t quite what he dreamed of, obviously - but it would be infinitely better than not being near her at all. There wasn't even a question. But he shouldn't even think of that. It had been years since she'd asked to have him. Likely just a spur-of-the-moment thing, a momentary whim. But it didn't matter. There would always be floors to be swept, boxes moved.

He laughed at his own absurdity. What the hell was he doing here?

Max could juggle hypothetical scenarios all he liked, but it all boiled down to one thing: he belonged to her and there was no running away from that. And it felt so good to cast off the uncertainty and doubt that had plagued him so long. It barely made any sense now. He was happy on the War Rig, and he would do anything to be one of them. What had he been thinking with all this ridiculous insufferable angst?

Riding this glorious wave of positive thinking and high on the sense of a decision well made, he scrambled to his feet and started the Interceptor’s ignition sequence. In his excitement he never thought to check the shuttle for damage.

* 

Of course, this was with the benefit of hindsight. He was too focused on getting his stupid ass back to the War Rig’s flight path to even think about it at the time. He very nearly ignored the SOS signal that his comm picked up. Good fucking job he didn’t. Hindsight again. Fortunately, he knew he couldn’t rejoin the Rig crew with a clear conscience knowing he’d left some stranger to their fate. Bloody conscience.

“Shuttle 76JKSS, I read you.”

“Oh thank God! My second engine’s about to fail and I have my wife and - please help!” came a frantic-sounding man over the radio.

“Just stay calm, I’ll be docking with you in – four minutes.”

“Thank you! Thank you - ”

Max adjusted his coordinate to engage with the stricken craft, hoping that the guy didn’t have his whole extended family with him. Not a lot of room on this thing. A Repopulator’s shuttle was not built for mass transport. He would have to find a buyer for it as soon as –

A whole array of warning lights flashed - oxygen leak detected, life support system failure - ? He thumped at the console. This was some weird nightmare, he knew – he would wake up in his bunk and laugh - but his vision was greying at the edges and the hand that reached out to steady himself missed its target completely.

He struggled to get up off the floor, but his limbs were heavy and his heart pounded like a runaway engine. What could he even do? He didn’t know how to fix this.

So much for your grand plans. Gone got yourself killed, you dumbass.

And he was hallucinating now. There was a white-clad figure looming over him. A big shiny head, that reflected his own stupid face back at him like a rebuke for being such a useless asshole. Was that the last thing he would see? As the figure reached out mockingly with its great sausage fingers, Max gave up on consciousness. It really wasn’t worth the effort.

Chapter Text

Furiosa wandered the halls of the Rig, wrapped in her warmest blanket to keep off the chill. She should be in bed, but her cabin was intolerable. It used to be her place of quiet, somewhere to nestle down in a slightly rank cave of blankets and get away from it all. Now it was where she’d had her eyes opened – he’d kissed her there, not that she could remember it – and where poor Cape had broken the news. Tranquility certainly no longer lived there. And of course she couldn’t sleep. Who could sleep after today? Her throat ached and her eyes burned but she couldn’t even cry and let it out. 

Because he wasn’t dead, she knew it.

The flight recorder had given up its secrets. The outer casing was half-melted but, once Cheedo and Nux extracted the inner workings and transferred them to a host chassis, they found the data intact. But the questions it answered only open up further mystery.

There had been a hull breach. The heat shielding had been compromised, and the life support systems had failed. Logic would suggest that he had passed out from lack of oxygen before he had a chance to do anything. Did he even have a suit? They didn’t know. The shuttle would have drifted, no hand at the tiller, and been quickly drawn back into the moon’s atmosphere to burn.

Wanting to hear the worst all at once, Furiosa asked Nux to check the comms logs for an SOS. She didn’t know if she could withstand seeing his last panicked words on the screen but maintaining her dignity was no longer a priority. She had to know, otherwise she'd go crazy.

But there were none. None outgoing, anyway.

It had to be a mistake – scrambled circuits or something – but the flight recorder claimed a single SOS message had been received by the Interceptor, exactly two minutes before the shuttle logged its first systems failure. Incoming. Had there been another craft somewhere nearby? This was a whole new torture. Her mind raced, tuning out the more vocal speculations of the rest of the crew.

Had two shuttles gone down? There had only been signs of one, and that had been Max’s. If the other craft had been close by and failed, wouldn’t it have had shared the Interceptor’s fate?

Or was it a trick? A feigned cry for help from a shuttlejacker, to take advantage of some Good Samaritan? The message seemed innocuous enough, but that meant nothing. Perhaps the Carrion crew had changed their methods.

Had Max’s shuttle been deliberately brought down? But no - Nux was staking a years’ salary on it being caused by Max’s less-than-elegant landing. Some subtle damage to the Interceptor. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed? Maybe he was injured somehow? Besides, there were no indications from the log that the Interceptor had been fired upon.

Of course, there was the other possibility. She didn’t want to think about it but, in some ways, she’d prefer it if Max was a cold-hearted bastard who’d faked his own death. She’d rather be angry at a living Max than mourning a dead one. Especially when she’d been the one who sent him away.

Besides, he might have his reasons. 

And all the theories that Nux kept stored away in that bald melon of his – they all came spilling out. How Max was crumbling, how he really wanted out although he would never admit it.

Maybe it wasn’t as easy as just quitting. After all, the last time he handed in his notice to the Alliance, they’d bombed his town. She could almost make allowances for his being a bit more circumspect this time round. She hadn’t thought he was under Alliance control anymore, but perhaps even a freelance Repopulator couldn’t be as free with his choices as he’d like. But why hadn’t he trusted them? Trusted her? Did he think she would talk? Didn’t he know her better than that?

No, he’d been picked up from the stricken shuttle just in time – somehow. She had to believe that. Maybe he intended to come back. She fished out the letter from her pocket. Would it make any more sense in hindsight?

- should I not have the good fortune to see you again -

It wasn’t much of a comfort – a little too conditional, negative, vague, polite –

Perhaps she was wrong. What if he had gone down in flames? His flight path looked like he would be back within hailing distance in a short time. If he was coming back to them – to her - and this happened, and he didn’t make it – ?

It was unbearable. Her eyes stung afresh and the lump in her throat hurt, but still she couldn’t cry. What was wrong with her?

He’s not dead.

But they had to find out for sure. Had another craft been there? Ace would know.

*

It was raining hard when they found Ace’s place, a forbidding-looking portal in a disreputable part of town. At least she hoped Ace was still there. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms and she didn’t imagine he would send her a forwarding address.

She pounded on the door with her metal hand, and waited.

Nothing. Her resolved quailed. Maybe this wouldn’t be as easy as all that. But they wouldn’t leave this planet til they found out where he’d taken his wrinkled old ass. She raised her arm to thump on the reinforced door again - and lowered it quickly as a hatch slammed open.

“Who’s there?”

“You know who it is. You got cameras,” she sighed. “It’s Furiosa. I need your help.”

“Are you alone?”

“No. Crew’s here. You know them, most of them anyway. Trustworthy.”

Silence. “Oh come on, Ace – it’s pouring down out here!” she wailed, losing her patience. The door swung open and there he was. Same old Ace, goggles and all.

“Furiosa,” he acknowledged her gruffly. “Well, come in then! And wipe your feet. No – “ he amended, noticing her dripping oilskin. “Just stand on the rug. I just cleaned this floor.”

She complied meekly, not wanting to start a ruckus over something as trivial as Ace’s houseproud ways, which were not unknown. “You can all come in!” she called out, then turned to Ace. “Can they all come in?”

“Nuthin’ else for it I suppose,” he nodded, as they all trooped in, each bringing their own puddle with them. “Well?”

“Air traffic. Long-range. You still monitor it?”

“Does the Prime fuck his own mother?”

Ah, genteel as ever. Take that as a yes, then. She nodded to her pilot. “Nux – give Ace the co-ordinates.”

Nux stepped forward, giving the old man a familiar but respectful nod. “It’s – uh – wrote down here.” And proceeded to jiggle on the balls of his feet in a distracting way for the duration. Furiosa would’ve done the same, had she not been a Captain.

Ace sat down stiffly at his workstation and rattled off a series of characters on his keyboard. He peered atbthe screen and grunted. “We got - one shuttle heading from the lunar surface. A second holding position to starboard - within hailing range. Then it moves in close. Really close.”

Furiosa’s heart beat fast. “Docking range? Could they have docked? People moved from one to the other?”

“Looks like it. What’s this all about, anyway?” he looked at her narrowly.

Furiosa ignored the question – no time to go into explanations, there was so much more she needed to find out. “Any idea which way the other shuttle went afterwards?”

“Not until you tell me. Just call me Mister Nosy. I don’t want to get drawn into one of your messes. Again.”

She sighed and glanced at the others, who all nodded at her encouragingly. Great help, you lot. But it was probably for the best. God knows how they would spin it.

“We’re trying to find a former crew-member. Passenger. It’s complicated. His shuttle crashed but – but we don’t know if he was on it.”

“He rip you off? Stole something?” he attempted to raise an eyebrow but his googles were too tight for it to be convincing 

Slit coughed, sounding  remarkably like ‘Kinda’.

“Nothing like that. Honestly.” Furiosa assured him, knowing damn well what Slit meant and knowing that gossip was inevitable once her back was turned. “He’s a friend. We just want to know he’s alive. And to find him, if we can. Can you help us?” She looked at him imploringly, and he folded.

“Uhh puppy eyes - ” he grumbled. “Okay okay, let’s see where this shuttle went, shall we?” He turned back to his complicated array of keyboards and monitors. “It looks like it made for the Blue Sun system – don’t touch that!” he snapped as Dag picked up an overflowing ashtray and upended it on the floor. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Toast – please - ” Furiosa murmured at the doctor, who mumbled an apology to Ace and led his sister away from the shelves of tempting playthings. Dag growled at Ace as she passed, and he leaned back, unnerved.

“Who’s that? Weird girl.”

“Don’t mind Dag, she’s probably harmless.” Furiosa remembered what the girl had said about not-angels or fallen angels, or whatever it was. She’d been kind of preoccupied at the time. But what if she did know something? If someone had helped Max from the shuttle, who might it have been? Who did he know? She had no idea. Presumably not Mrs Harrington. She felt an almost irresistible urge to giggle at the image. Was this how she was going to crack?

Furiosa took a deep breath. Calm down, woman. Don’t get ahead of yourself. What’s the next step? Blue Sun system. Well, that narrowed it down a little. Only eight planets to choose from. They didn’t have much scheduled for this quarter anyway.

Chapter Text

He leaned against a tree and watched the prize land in a clearing by the edge of the orchard. Phew – he wouldn’t bother trying for a junkheap like that if it were up to him, but Corbin seemed to think it was worth something. The crew looked fairly typical. A scar-faced meathead, a stone-faced redhead and a tall woman with a metal arm and a buzzcut. Pirates, the usual sort. But this time, Gommen had recommended the ingenue method. The mark? Metal-arm buzzcut there. The Captain.

He wouldn’t have put her down as the sentimental type, but the old woman knew her business. Jacob watched, and it wasn’t long ‘til he was convinced it was so. Metal-arm stood and surveyed Gommen’s ‘village’ setup. Positively misty-eyed, she was. Well, he could appeal to that. Play it innocent, helpless, wide-eyed. He could still do that, even now – he still had a baby-face, probably the only reason the crew kept a hold of him. How was he gonna do this - ?

The arrival of others caught his eye, distracted him from his strategising. The rest of the crew. Hm, a motley bunch. Now they looked less like a straight-outta-the-mould pirate crew of cutthroat assholes, and more of a - well, he didn’t know what, really. Here was a tall kid with a shaved head leaping out of the ship, who bounded up to Ginger and engulfed her in a bearhug. An old woman – a preacher? – all over tattoos, and – hey what’s this? A brother in service, after a fashion. Well, whaddya know?

He watched the man’s easy walk, his eyes scanning the crowd – and he’d found what he’d been looking for. Jacob followed the man’s gaze, and saw the buzzcut captain nod and half-smile. The man made a beeline for her, and they talked between themselves very cosily for a while. The captain had lit up at sight of the guy, as well she might –

So, she was definitely a man’s woman, good to know. Kind of essential to the plan, really. Plus, an extra challenge provided the thrill that had been decidedly lacking up until now.

*

The night was spent, the party coming to an end. His mark had staggered off to her ship, having put away an impressive quantity of moonshine. She would have a fine headache in the morning, as would Scarface over there. He checked there were no watchers – no, Tall Boy and Ginger had gone off together some time back, Scarface was fast asleep hugging his new toy, and Max– he’d overheard Ginger and Tall Boy call him that – he’d woken up from his twitchy nap and gone off to bed before anyone else. Satisfied there was no-one around to tell tales, Jacob clambered up the ramp to the vessel and made himself as comfortable as was possible ‘til morning.

*

This crew were as good as a circus – they all seemed to find the whole thing hilarious. Apart from mister Max the Breeder there, who looked on from the doorway like someone had just slapped him. Not a barrel of laughs, this guy – clearly the moody broody type. But how the mark looked at him when Ginger announced she’d got wed. Oh dear - it was always awkward when clients got attached. This was all very amusing, but he really needed to get the mark alone to work his magic. Thankfully, her mention of D.I.V.O.R.C.E gave him a fine excuse to flounce off in a huff for a brief respite in the engine room before she showed up all remorseful and concerned-like. He would crank up the kicked-puppy act, and then hit her right between the eyes with a charm offensive. And cooking. The way to a woman’s heart, and all that.

*

God damn, these people lived like animals. Jacob couldn’t find a damn thing to prepare but a big bucket of raw fish and a pot of beans. Well, his winter in Stig’s restaurant won’t have been wasted. Shame the place got busted. Why the damn mob-lords can’t just meet up in some basement or other, and let nice eateries alone was a regular lament of Jacob’s. He liked that job, and the ceviche was to die for. Lucky captain, eh?

Jacob frowned at the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Last meal for the condemned? Yeah well, everyone had to take their chance. Life sure wasn’t fair, didn’t he know that well enough? But this was not the usual brand of job.

* 

Uhhh this woman was going to be trickier than he’d anticipated. Definitely some major moral issues to get around – not helped by the old preacher putting on an inconvenient guilt trip about ‘taking advantage’, but Furiosa herself seemed to be extremely unwilling to use Jacob or let him be used by anyone else. He knew well enough by now that he had zero interest in drinking any woman’s nectar but, when that woman is so very obviously aching to be fucked but yet determined not to be, well – it almost makes a man want what he can’t have. So, with a grim determination, he surpassed himself.

And it was working. There were definite cracks in her resolve. She was beginning to use her imagination – and get protective, too. She’d made him a fine speech about how he ought to fight his way in the world – wasn’t that what he was doing right now? But that pang of uncertainty kept cropping up. These people were so earnest, and harmless – it was almost a shame, really -

Enough. It’s time to go for the full offensive. Get this thing done, get the payoff. This was the last time, Corbin had promised. He was tired of this shit. Time to move on, but to what? Maybe join a crew, try to be a better person – what? All this preaching’s going to your head, stupid.

He let himself into her cabin, stripped, tied himself to the bedstead. And waited.

* 

The moral wrangling continued, and it might have held out if – well, she clearly hadn’t been seen to in a long time. Guess she couldn’t afford the Breeder after all? Well, anyway, she’d cracked in the end, like he knew she would - but it’d taken too goddamn long. He’d have to get a move on – if he didn’t get this rustbucket steered to the rightabout soon, folks’d have more time to twig what was happening and – hah, no, he grinned as he jogged to the bridge - it’d take them days to fix the kind of mess he was gonna make.

He might even get lucky, and find the bridge empty – nope, here’s Tall Boy, wearing a discontented look. The ‘just had a row with the wife’ face, which was always useful. He could take a different tack, maybe pull out the old ‘Earth-That-Was’ yarn. This would be easy, and a nice change to boot.

*

Ugh, what was wrong with these people? Was Gommen messing with him, putting him on a shipful of happily married moral crusaders? Jacob ran down the stairs to the shuttle – there would only be a couple of hours before the ship hit the net and he wanted to be well away before that happened –

And ran straight into Max.

Oh

*

He knows. He’s in the kitchen, waiting for him to try and get past the door. Shit, running out of time. Jacob paced the floor of the passenger dorm in indecision.

Fuck it. No lies like the truth, right? Or as close to the truth as was safe. So he walked into that kitchen, looked Max in his suspicious eye and came as close to unburdening himself as he ever had.

“I’m not who I let on to be. I’m a fake- I want - someone who can feel what I feel.”

Well, if you take out all the extraneous bits about belonging and being married, that was the god’s honest truth.

Come with me – I’ll take care of you.

For one thrilling moment, he thought Max was offering to join him. But nope, life ain't never that easy. When that thick-skulled pilot started hollering, he knew Max’s allegiance was with the crew. He saw that Jacob was a threat to them – though presumably not how – and he would’ve taken him to his shuttle and got rid of him. Knocked him out, tied him up, killed him – 

So Jacob bolted, and Max chased. And he ran pretty fast for a guy who walked with a bit of a limp. This was one pissed-off dude. He would’ve caught up with him too, before he would have the chance to secure the airlock door behind him and, not much relishing the idea of being beaten to a pulp, Jacob tested his wild theory -

It’d been increasingly obvious that this Breeder wasn’t servicing the captain. He’d assumed that Max drove too high a bargain, or that she didn’t appeal to him, but – could it be that he’d gone and got attached? They’d heard of such things in college, but never really believed it. Folks who were touched with that kind of affliction lost their minds, it was whispered. So, with Max bearing down on him like an enraged rhino, Jacob grinned as evil a grin as he could muster -

“Who am I? I’m Furiosa Jobassa’s widower! Go see for yourself!”

Jacob had just had time to see the guy’s face go grey. All thoughts of pursuit were gone - Max darted through the hatch to the captain’s quarters, and Jacob didn’t hang around to see what happened next.

*

He'd got himself a nice clear escape, unhindered, got well away before they got anywhere close to the Net –

On top of the disconcerting nature of his escape – it was disturbing to see a Breeder make such an unBreederlike decision, kinda like watching a duck drown - Jacob felt that old familiar uncomfortableness about the whole thing. That was the only part that spoiled the fun of the escapade – the nagging, insistent prod prod prod from his damned useless conscience. This was the worst one yet, because – unlike the previous crews, these folks did not appear to be the actual literal scum of the earth. But the co-ordinates were set, and not even he could fix the mess he’d made of the console in time.

No - just get away, get paid, forget the whole sorry mess.

* 

He knew something had gone wrong (right) when a full twelve hours passed without a message from Corbin. And when he woke with a bloodied mouth, a headache and a tiny cuff key glinting in the midday sun, he smiled, and then he laughed and laughed. The lot of ‘em had survived, saved their ship – somehow – and he was glad of it. Furiosa had the look of someone who had won a very particular argument, and Jacob was prepared to bet a year’s payouts that the Carrion Crew were no more.

And he was free. He had no home, no crew, no-one who had any claim on him, and it felt good. A fresh start.

“You turned me and my crew over to those that would kill us - ”

Her words echoed in his bruised head, and he had no comeback but that he wouldn’t do it again.

How had they even got out of it? He would probably never know. No, he was glad they were still alive, because he had a grudging admiration for the whole damned lot of them. Furiosa’s morals, Tall Boy’s thick skull and goddamn niceness, Ginger’s ginger, Weird Girl’s uncanniness, Cute Girl’s cuteness – and even Scarface probably had some redeeming qualities, excellent taste being among them. And then there was Max, strange strange Max.

He realised that he had nowhere to go, and no money or transport to get there. But a hardworking, resourceful boy who could get out of two pair of cuffs in under five minutes, even with possible concussion and a loose tooth – well, he would always find alternative employment. He would have to, because he certainly wasn’t going to be trying that trick again, even if Corbin and his Carrion pricks were still alive to ask him.

*

No, he hadn’t exactly gone straight. Jacob couldn’t imagine himself doing the old nine to five, not without a personality transplant or at least some major changes in his life. But he did begin to think – what would it be like to lead a crew? Like Furiosa there. She seemed to have a high opinion of the merits of teamwork. He could always join a crew, but that wasn’t the same. He’d seen the options out there, and there weren’t none of them he felt like signing up to. But he’d seen how it could be done. How would a person go about such a thing? Start small, presumably. One trusted other, and build from there. Hell, for all he knew, he didn’t work so well with other people. Hadn’t never really given it a try. Weren’t nobody he knew who knew what it was like to be him. Trained up for the wrong job and unfit for anything else.

And then he thought of Max. He didn’t know why – it’s not like he’d exchanged more’n a dozen words with the guy. But he seemed like a fish out of water, neither one thing nor the other. And such strange behaviour from a Breeder stuck in his mind like a pip between his teeth. It haunted him. The idea simply would not be dislodged. One trusted other. It was ridiculous but, the more Jacob thought about what he knew, the more he fitted the bill. Older, something of a moral compass. And not someone one would kick out of bed, given the chance. They’d be a fine team, if the opportunity arose.

So, he dug around, investigated a little. And ended up not a little starstruck.

Shit – Max is MFP4073? The celebrated MFP4073, aka Mohair Sam, the Breeder that Lady Honoria and her aristocratic It Girls never shut up about? Damn.

Chicks are makin’ reservations for his lovin' so fine
Screamin' and shoutin' he's got 'em all waitin' in line
Who is the coolest guy, what is, what am?
That's fast-talkin' - slow walkin' - good-lookin' Mohair Sam

Well, he’s not exactly fast-talkin’ but Jacob guessed the rest of it was true enough.

Seemed Max had a rather checkered history as a Repopulator. Very successful – Jacob thought, a little bitterly – so presumably he didn’t have any problem with the requirements of the job. No-one was that good an actor. And then a mysterious sabbatical. Last client was a Madame Jessamine Lacroix, a wealthy widow from some little scrub of a planet. Probably a young widow of a rich old landowner, looking for a bit of fun now she was free.

Or not - He could find no record of a Lacroix. Nobody on the Social Register of that name. Bit of a mystery there. And then he appeared back on the radar again four, five years later as a Repopulator on Furiosa’s ship. What had he been doing betweentimes? Whatever it was, it had marked him out as a renegade, something exotic that piqued Jacob’s curiosity.

Jacob had contacts, a network among the high life who were the regular clients of Repopulators. Not that he had any reason to be in cahoots with Lady Honoria’s set, but he had spent a year as her brother Lord Montelimar’s main squeeze, before his family married him to someone suitably well-born. Ah, poor Monty – no, fuck that, poor Jacob. If only men were the ones to have the babies, he would be set for life. Not rolling around the galaxy as a part-time conman and occasional whore. It never paid as well as the Breeding though, which is why he had to supplement his income with this sort of nefarious activity. A boy’s gotta do. Holding up unsuspecting shuttlecraft was his trick for a while. See where that got him. You go and hold up the wrong shuttle, boom, you’re an indentured honeypot for a bunch of murderous scavengers.

Anyway -

Seemingly, Max’s contract was almost up. Had he arranged another elsewhere? Not as far as Jacob could tell. Was he planning to quit? Let’s see what a bit of interference can do – 

So, he spread a little rumour that MFP4073 was planning to retire. Just to see what would come of it. Seemingly a flurry of interest from high society, getting their last chance to experience a highly-ranked Repopulator. Hell, it would do no harm, and it’d be good pay for him, if he took the business. And he did. Jacob heard the news on the grapevine – Max was seeing all the clients he could, but there was no report of a new contract on another ship, or anywhere else for that matter. He was a little disappointed but not much surprised – the guy probably intended to stay with Furiosa on the War Rig, but there was no way of knowing for sure. 

Which is why Jacob waited around in his new – newish- shuttle. Waited and watched as Max left the War Rig, flew off to – that shitty-looking little moon? Okaaaaay - 

Jacob waited in orbit, to see if any other craft would appear, but no. It was well off the main routes, like some tiny Pacific island back on Earth-That-Was. Hah - maybe Max had his own little hideaway down there, a little shack where he took solitary vacations. He really should go down there, meet him, try and convince him to join his crew-of-one. Jacob wouldn't insist on leading – Max was older, very likely wiser, when he wasn’t having unfortunate rushes of blood to the heart – it would be an equal partnership.

But he couldn’t do it. Why would Max just sit there and listen to what he had to say? He’d probably shoot him down as soon as look at him. Furiosa wouldn’t kill him, but Max certainly might. But – on the other hand, he’d left the War Rig. Maybe there had been a falling-out? Maybe if he knew that Jacob had got him all that extra business, and would watch his back like a brother – 

Jacob was loyal, he knew it. Just hadn’t had the opportunity to prove it yet –

But no, Max wasn't gonna come quietly. If he was going to get his undivided attention, he might have to use a bit of trickery. A disguise probably wouldn’t be necessary – between the new beard and the ornamental eyepatch, he looked pretty different to the clean-cut boy Max would know and almost certainly want to punch ten bells out of. 

Oh shit, he’s on the move again. Well, that decides it. Time to try the old Help Help –

*

“Shuttle 76JKSS, I read you,” came a husky voice over the comm. Okay, time to do his old acting coach proud -

“Oh thank God!” Jacob cried shrilly into the comm. “My second engine’s about to fail and I have my wife and - please help!”

“Just stay calm, I’ll be docking with you in – four minutes.”

“Thank you! Thank you - ”

Jacob cut off the transmission abruptly and scrambled for the items he would need. The ether bottle, a clean rag – remember to flip down the eyepatch – just got to wait for his rescuer to dock and come on board, and then - sleepy time.

*

He didn’t know whether to laugh or shudder at how that whole thing had gone down. What if he hadn’t been lurking nearby, waiting to politely abduct this lucky dumbass? Jacob shook his head incredulously, replaying the whole scene in his head for the twentieth time, as his prize snored peacefully in the shack’s only bed.

Chapter Text

Max hugged the blanket and rolled over. Hnnnngh, what a weird dream. It was usually the same blend of fire-from-the-sky shrieking horror and an all-too-brief cornfield rendezvous with Jess or the boy.

It was nightmarish enough, Jesus Christ – all systems failing, suffocation, a looming angel of death in a – a spacesuit? He blinked – and blinked again, unfamiliar colours and textures coming into focus. Wha - ?

He sat up abruptly and looked around. There was an awful lot of wood here - ? – wood walls, wood ceiling, wooden bench with a man - he squinted into the shadows - looking like some kind of pirate lumberjack, who looked up and put down the book he was holding.

“Wh – where am I?” Max asked, warily. He was beginning to suspect that that had not been a dream. But it must’ve been, his brain offered helpfully, since he wasn’t dead.

Unless this was some kind of rustic afterlife. He looked around. Maybe Jess was here –

“You had a bit of shuttle trouble,” the man replied, not getting up. Mess of light-coloured hair, beard. Was that an eyepatch? Definitely an eyepatch.

“’M not dead, am I?”

“Came fuckin’ near it,” the man grumbled. “What the hell’d you do to that shuttle anyways? Damn thing’s life support was shot all to hell. Steering too. Couldn’t do nuthin’, just had to let her drift into the atmosphere and burn up.”

Max thought back. That whole day had felt foggy, full of emotion and very little actual thinking. Plus, he hadn’t really slept for days – weeks maybe. Not in a fit state to be flying and it had really showed in his landing. Had he even checked for damage? He couldn’t remember. He’d been in too much of a rush –

He groaned. Furiosa. Where would they be by now? Where was he, even? He clambered out of bed and his head span.

Thump.

“Goddammit - ” he heard the man muttering over him. “You wanna stay lying down for a bit – you been asleep for twelve hours, can’t go runnin’ around straight off.”

That voice –

He sat up, slid his ass backwards ‘til he hit the wall. Peered up at the man, who’d backed off with his hands up placatingly. Oh tell me it isn’t –

“You!” Max growled, recognising the snake that’d tricked and lied and betrayed- sold them all out for a paycheck. He’d sworn he’d make him very sorry he’d picked Furiosa as his patsy, if he ever saw him again. He got to his feet more slowly, keeping his eyes on Jacob. Very aware that he was woozy and probably unarmed and –

Okay, maybe sit down again. That was better. Head felt funny. Drugged again, bound to be. Dammit.

“What’d you give me?” he demanded, glaring at the man, who hadn’t made a move.

“Give you? Ohhh. Still a bit fuzzy, eh? Nuthin’ really - just gave you a little waft of ether to keep you from coming to in the shuttle and making me crash the damn thing. It shouldn’t have kept you under this long though - You’ve been sleeping like a baby.”

Then he waggled his eyebrows a little too knowingly. “Busy couple of weeks, huh?”

What the hell is going on here? Max took a deep breath, tried to clear his thoughts. He’d damaged his shuttle, nearly died, and was taken off by – Jacob?

No. No no no. You can’t fool me again. You damaged my shuttle! You were the fake SOS call! What the hell is this?? Probably some revenge thing – hold him hostage, or sell him, or something. Well fuck that.

Jacob cut in before Max had time to actually vocalise this very scathing riposte -

“Hey look, don’t be looking at me like that! Listen! Listen-to-me! I did NOT damage your shuttle. I don’t know what the hell happened to it, but it was fucked up good. You’re lucky I just happened to be passing by. And saw you were there and thought – just maybe – it’d be nice to have a little chat, clear the air. See if we could come to a mutual understanding. Yeah? I’m the good guy here, ok?”

“Whaaat?” Max spluttered. “The good guy? You fucking - !”

“I’m telling you, there weren’t nobody happier than me when you guys got outta that little dilemma back there, okay?” Jacob made a face, like maybe he heard what he was saying, but went on regardless. “And I regret that, and I can only say that it will - not - happen - again. Yeah? No more scamming. Swear.”

Pfft. You fucking expect me to believe that? Max glared suspiciously at the fake-innocent face that, weirdly, looked more sincere now Max knew he was a fake than when he only suspected it.

And then he went from fake-innocent to fake-scared all in a moment, took a step back  

“Unless – unless I’m the one being scammed. Ohoho – you’re good, Maxie boy. I said it before and I’ll say it again. Faking your ship going down so I’d rescue you and you and your Captain could get your revenge? I knew she wouldn’t let me off that easy. How long were you following me? I can’t believe I trusted you!!”

Max gaped at him. This was too much. “Look! STOP TALKING!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Could we just rewind a bit. I want to get back to the War Rig. That is all. Will you allow me to do that?”

Jacob looked at him narrowly, suspiciously, even. “Okay – we can do that. Where is it?”

Max blinked, thought a moment. “I don’t know.”

*

“Wait – you’re telling me that they’re really not trackable?”

“Well, they’re kind of – they move stuff around in a way that – that they don’t really want the authorities to know about - ” Max paced the floor. His head felt numb.

“Yeah, I get that – but I thought they’d have a private comms channel or something -?”

Max shook his head. If they did, he didn’t know it.

“And you left the ship, not knowing how you would find them again?”

“Yes – I know. I’m an idiot.”

“There’s got to be some way of figuring out where they are. Do they have a set schedule? Regular routes?”

Max rubbed his temples in an effort to reduce the rushing in his head. He couldn’t think anymore. He’d fucked up.

“Can we stop – this – for a bit? I can’t – I don’t know how to fix this.”

So Jacob stopped quizzing him, thank fuck. He would figure this out, but he wasn’t thinking right. He needed a distraction. He stopped pacing and glanced at his supposed rescuer, who’d resumed his lounge on the wooden bench.

“‘Fuck happened to your eye?” he asked, not really wanting to hear the answer but it was the first thing that popped into his mind.

To his horror, Jacob grinned and made to flip up the eyepatch – to reveal a perfectly healthy-looking eye, same as the other. Phew.

“Nuthin, just going for a new look. It’s to go with the tooth. You can’t really see it, it’s on the bottom - ” he tilted his head back and pulled down his lip to show a glint of gold. “Probably a waste of money really, but it seemed fitting. Your Furiosa knocked it out, y’see,” he concluded, more cheerfully than might’ve been expected.

That brought Max’s mind back to less recent events, flooding him with a mixture of irritation and curiosity. Under the current circumstances, he chose to focus on the curiosity.

“You were a Repopulator” he stated flatly, in an effort to clear his mind of the buzzing and the frustration and the why why why are you so stupid, you stupid fuck. The idea of having this rather sensitive conversation so casually a few weeks back would’ve been unthinkable, at least without a few very specific props. Like a cudgel.

Jacob glanced up, with a flicker of surprise, which was swiftly replaced by a determinedly neutral expression. “I did the training, yes. And the novitiate. The whole thing kinda went belly-up after that, though. You could say it’s what made me the man I am today, “ he added, with a smile that looked more than a little forced.

Max frowned, nodded, trying hard to concentrate on anything other than his own torturous thoughts. He didn’t talk to many Repopulators. It was something of a solitary profession, once folks were trained up, and it would be something to hear someone else’s story, even this asshole’s. Distraction, distraction.

“Go on?” he prompted, since Jacob seemed content to stop there. Gonna be all lies, of course, but a tale was a tale. See what the kid can come up with.

“Well, I signed up to the program when I was sixteen. Yeah, I know. I lied - what can I say, I was tall for my age. Training was fine – good. Really good. I was top of my class. Languages, diplomacy, physical ed, theatre studies, you name it. Practicals were - trickier – but I knew it’d be easier as soon as I made it through the novitiate and was able to pick and choose my clients. That what everyone says, right? Yeah, well. It was kinda disappointing to find that that wasn’t to be so in my case.”

He looked up hopefully, which was wasted since Max still wasn’t quite following. “Jeez, do I have to spell it out? There is no woman alive that I actually want to fuck.”

Max blinked. He hadn’t expected that. “Wait, not at all?”

Jacob shook his head. “I tried to keep my quotas up. All the boner drugs that I could get my hands on. But the motivation wasn’t there – and they know when a man’s not into them, right? Besides, I just didn’t want to do it anymore. I always preferred boys, but I didn’t realise – I thought that I just hadn’t met the right women.”

Wow. Max tried to wrap his head round the implications – to do this job without actually enjoying it, even slightly? Year after year? It would be impossible.

But then, the training and the costs – the Ministry would not be happy – Max shook his head and looked at Jacob, feeling a spark of pity, despite himself. “And they let you quit?”

Jacob hesitated, picking his words carefully. “If I fulfilled certain conditions, yes. It didn’t exactly work out as it should’ve, so I’ve kinda been keeping a low profile ever since. But it’s been a few years now and – and I’m guessing they’ve got bored looking for me by now,” he concluded with a smile bright and brittle as glass. “What about you? You really gonna retire?”

The question brought Max out of his troubled reverie. Sixteen. Someone really let this kid down. Or would have, if it was true. Where was the duty of care here? How can anyone sign away so many years of their life at sixteen?

He shook himself. What had Jacob asked him? Retire? Well, that’s easy. He nodded, distractedly. “Yep. Done. Too old for this nonsense.”

“Aye, aye – I see you want to settle down. Well, the War Rig ain’t exactly a fancy cruise ship, but I can see it has its charms. Don’t fret, we’ll get you back there in no time. Just gonna take a bit of thinkin’ out is all.”

Max nodded and let out a slow breath, focusing on the positives. He might be lost, stuck here with someone who he could trust as far as he could kick. But he was alive, and he would be back on the Rig in no time.

*

Max hadn’t shared a bed with anyone for years, not since Mrs Harrington’s. He was in a half-doze, musing on whether Jacob’s ‘I won’t kill you in your sleep if you don’t kill me’ was a sufficiently comforting goodnight or not. But he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, by the looks of things.

So, this is what nightmares look like from the outside. Jacob twitched and writhed, a pained keening coming from him. Max reached out tentatively for his shoulder, to try and wake him up gently. And leapt back as the kid lashed out at the touch.

“Hey, hey – it’s only Max. Nobody gonna hurt you.”

Jacob let out a shuddering breath and tucked his feet up under him. “Thought you were - ugh.” He shivered and hugged his knees.

“Nobody gonna hurt you, ‘s okay” Max repeated and, noticing how Jacob’s throat spasmed and recognised the feeling. “You gonna throw up?”

Jacob shook his head, and eventually managed to regain control of himself. “That’s not it. Ain’t nobody hurt me. It’s what I done. For the Ministry. Not thought about it much in a while, is all.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Not that he had ever tried such a thing, but Jacob was the chatty sort.

“Hah, no,” he groaned. “But I prob’ly should. 

“Go on, then.”

“Uhhhhhh" he scrubbed at his eyes. "You know Hera? They got this prison camp there - ”

Max went cold. Oh, no – not that – but he only nodded.

“They said they’d let me go if I did a thing for them. It was either that or thirty years of filing in the sub-basement for pennies. All very hush-hush, the Deputy’s assistant had me sign a confidentiality agreement, all that kinda thing. What they told me was – in this camp, they’d started to – use prisoners. For Repopulator training. They’d drug ‘em and let the trainees – practice on them. Fucked up, man. They said this went on even after the war ended – they kept back a lot of the women prisoners and kept ‘em there ‘til they all bust out one day. The boss guy, the warden, I guess – he was killed and so were a lot of the Breeders, but some of ‘em weren’t accounted for. And the Deputy said they couldn’t let these men – who had tainted the good name of the MFP – couldn’t let ‘em run around unpunished.” He paused for breath. “You see where I’m going with this?”

“They wanted – you – to go after them?”

“They’d tracked them all down. They just wanted them outta the picture. Accidents, suicides – if I took care of it, they’d tear up my contract, give me a shuttle, wave me off happy as you like.”

Jacob shivered, his stomach made that unpleasant churning sound again. Max looked around the dim room for something that might serve as a bucket.

“It wasn’t even that hard. Got them to trust me, one way or another - ” he glanced up a little guiltily, “ – drugged ‘em. Made it so they died peaceful. Different way each time – drowned, wagon off a cliff, falling down stairs, - ” he counted them off on his fingers.

Better’n they deserved, Max thought.

“But the fifth guy – he caught me puttin’ it in his drink. We were in his apartment, a fifteenth-floor balcony. I was gonna make it look like he’d jumped. Real asshole this one,” he said through gritted teeth. “He fuckin’ deserved it, even if he hadn’t done what they said. There was a scuffle and he went over but he caught the edge - ” Jacob shut his eyes tight, “ – and I prised his fingers away one by one.”

“Jesus” Max murmured, imagining the scene.

“Of course, none of this happened quietly,” Jacob went on, coldly. “And suspicious death was not part of the deal. The Ministry had a warrant put out for me, and I’ve been running ever since. Great, huh? Should’ve gone for the filing job. But I’d probably have hanged myself by now if I had. Saved them the trouble.”

He tried to laugh but it came out as a sob, and he rubbed at his eyes. “Wouldn’t bother me but for the dreamin’ about it. Been five, six years and I’m still dreamin’ about it.” He looked up suddenly. “Max! What if - what if they didn’t do any of what they said? What if it wasn’t even true- ?”

He choked on the words and flung himself down on his side, curled up in a ball, shoulders shaking. “Fuuuck” came a muffled croak.

Max cast his eyes to the ceiling and patted him on the shoulder. “No, no, it’s all true,” he sighed. “You’re not the bad guy in this one, yeah?”

“Just sayin’ that,” Jacob hiccuped, but his breathing hitched a little less and he seemed to relax some. Then came the slow breathing of sleep. Well, presumably.

Max lay awake and stared at the shadowy knotholes in the pitched roof. He’d slept for so long that day, he doubted he would be able to drop off before sunrise anyway. So he pondered the absurd situation he had found himself in. Sharing a bunk with the enemy, someone he had fully intended to beat to a stringy pulp the next time their paths crossed – Max wasn’t a particularly violent person, but he would be prepared to make an exception  - but, no, he’d just patted the guy on the shoulder with a there, there and was actually feeling sorry for him.

If any of this was true, some pity would not be out of place, even after everything Jacob had done. If it was true, he was an unfortunate kid who’d been put in an impossible situation that had ruined his life. If it was true. Fuck. It sounded true. It made sense – Max could see exactly how all of that would play out, knowing the Ministry of Fertility and Procreation. Damn right they would take advantage of someone if they could. Damn right they would cover up a scandal instead of bringing themselves into disrepute. And the crimes committed on Hera – none of which he had known anything about until he’d met Nux – they had happened.

But the kid was a lying little shit, a confidence trickster, one who would appeal to anyone’s credulity and sympathy. Max had to take anything he said with a whole bushel of salt. But forewarned is forearmed – if he was vigilant, he might be able to get some benefit from this supposed alliance. After all, he was stuck here in the Blue Sun system, no shuttle, no shelter, no nothing. He had his pay, sure, but he wouldn’t be able get a hold of anything for days, even if he did find an MFP office. No, it was either this or sleeping rough on an unfamilar planet.

No, tomorrow he would figure out a way to find the Rig again, and Jacob would take him there. It was the least he could do, if he really did want to redeem himself.

He glanced at the sleeping figure next to him, who snuffled thickly but didn’t stir, and frowned to himself. What would he have done if Jacob had confessed to – raping prisoners? Even if he’d been forced to do it? Would he have killed him? God knows he would want to. But perhaps it wasn’t his revenge to take. Furiosa and Capable should be the ones to deal that out. What would’ve been the right thing to do?

Max sighed. He was glad he hadn’t had to make that decision.

Chapter Text

Max woke to the sound of birds scrabbling in the eaves, and light streaming through the knotholes in the walls. He sat up muzzily and rubbed his face. Hmmph, no Jacob. He listened. Silence. He got up, pulled on his boots and jacket and made for the stairs, his bladder making its demands felt. A scrap of paper on the bench caught his eye.

Gone out. Coffee on the stove. Food in the box by the door.

His stomach growled as if called. He’d refused any offers of food last night, his suspicion of his host outvoting any hunger that he felt. But this morning was a different matter. He was starving. He climbed carefully down the creaky stairs – just steeply-stacked wooden planks embedded in the wall. Stove, table, wooden bench same as upstairs, box by the door.

He stepped outside and gasped.

He hadn’t smelt air like this in – ever? The shack was on the slope of a hill, evergreen trees stretching in every direction. A space was cleared for a shuttle, and a wide path led downhill. It wasn’t exactly the middle of nowhere though, he could see a town in the distance. It was – quite majestic really. He almost forgot what he came outside for, but spotted a ramshackle structure set apart from the building. Oh, the privy! He darted for it.

The privy wall offered a less picturesque view, but Max barely saw it while he stood and reflected. He actually felt pretty upbeat - he’d felt it as soon as he woke, so it couldn't be the unexpected landscape or the alpine air. Could it be – ?

This was the first time in years that he knew where he was and what he wanted. He knew where he belonged, who he belonged to. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know that, or that she might have no thoughts of him in that way. He belonged to her and that was enough. Okay, it mattered some, and he would do everything in his power to – well, he would try his best to win her round. Not sure how, exactly, but that wasn’t the immediate problem. He was no longer a Breeder – that had to count for something.

He just had to find her – find the Rig. That sobered him a little though – he hoped that some solutions would present themselves today. He’d drawn a blank yesterday evening, but he was disoriented then. He'd do better today.

*

He divided his attention between breakfast and the little notebook he kept in his jacket pocket. He eagerly scribbled down anything he could think of – locations, jobs, names, dates – there wasn’t a lot, but he hoped that, once he’d begun, the answers would come flooding in.

Then came the quiet whoosh of a shuttle landing outside. He tensed, wary. Boots on hardpacked mud, the door opening in such a way as spoke of someone entering quietly but not secretly. A host, not wanting to disturb a guest. And indeed it was Jacob who stepped inside, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. But there were few enough items of furnishing in that room so that an adult man sitting at the table could not go unnoticed. “Hey, you’re up!” he cried cheerfully. “Good sleep?”

Better than yours, Max thought, remembering Jacob’s apparent nightmares. He grunted assent. “Thanks for the coffee,” he added, as an afterthought. It was pretty good.

“I went out,” Jacob called over his shoulder, as he opened the stove door and built up the fire. “Tryin’ to see if anyone had heard of the Rig’s whereabouts? Just subtle-like. Might’ve got some leads, but gotta follow them up.”

Max nodded, glad that someone was on the case – for he was none the wiser even after an hour’s heavy thinking. He was also a little relieved that the revelations of last night were being passed by unremarked. Jacob seemed as if nothing had happened, although Max thought he detected an unwillingness to meet his eye. And, indeed, he did look a bit puffy around the eyes. Although that could be faked easy enough, he reminded himself.

But, overall, the kid did seem like someone who regretted his past misdemeanours. But he would, though, wouldn’t he?

Opting not to ask if he was alright, Max said no more. Which was fine, since Jacob disappeared outside again, lugging in a couple of boxes which he emptied into the foodstore. Disappearing again, Max looked back at the page and tapped the pencil against the table in building frustration. He would have to start thinking about this logically.

Clang-Clang-Doiiiing-Clang

And the door opened, Jacob dragging a tin bath behind him. He placed it before the stove, grabbed a kettle that had escaped Max’s notice hitherto, and disappeared outside again. Max heard the clunk-clunk-squeak of a pump handle being worked, and felt uneasily like he should be helping instead of sitting here on his useless ass racking his brains. He’d run out ideas and his pencil had been occupied with doodles for the last five minutes anyway. He sighed and got to his feet, stuck his head out the door and saw Jacob filling a pair of buckets.

“Need any help?”

*

Max sat at the table and scribbled notes as Jacob recounted his doings of the morning. He’d met up with an old smuggler associate, who’d had recent dealings with the Rig crew, and had made an arrangement to meet up with him again in a few hours. Hence bathtime. Max hoped that something genuinely useful would come of the evening’s assignation. Though it was probably just an excuse for Jacob to get laid. Max felt a little guilty for that thought, however. If he was helping him, and he had no evidence yet to suggest otherwise, he was grateful.

“ – so if you’re sure you don’t want to come, there’s plenty food in the box there,” Jacob nodded at the recently refilled crate as he dried himself off. He had these little tattoos all down his side and – Max leaned forward for a better angle – yes, all down his leg too. Hm, so that’s what Furiosa saw. No wonder she didn’t turn him down in the end.

“I’ll probably be late, so don't wait up - ” he went on, and turned, rubbing at his head with the towel. “Unless, of course, I get a better offer - ?” he stopped short with a smirk, having caught Max staring.

Max sat back again and folded his arms across his chest. "Nuh-huh, I'm still pissed at you, don't forget."

And there was another thing. He knew he would get such a ribbing for this, but if they were both going to share such close quarters, he'd have to just lay it out. Uhhh this is gonna sound ridiculous –

He cleared his throat, “Besides. I’m – - I’m going to abstain for a while. I want a change – a proper change. ‘Til I get back home.”

Hearing himself say it out loud begged the question – what exactly did he plan to do when he got back ‘home’? Not like she was going to suddenly leap at him -

Jacob's grin at Max's refusal faded a little, was replaced by an look of incredulous curiosity. Like how you'd look at a person who declared their intention of wearing a shrubbery on their head. “You know, that actually doesn't surprise me?" Shaking his head in great amusement, he reached for the pile of clean clothes on the bench. "Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed but, on the other hand, I don’t want to be catching whatever kind of crazy it is you’ve got.”

Clearly more amused by the idea than shocked. Max was hugely relieved – he would much prefer ridicule to reasoned argument. He didn’t know if he could really do it, but he had to set himself the challenge. As long as there was hope, he would save himself for her, even if it killed him. So, Max glared back stubbornly as Jacob continued to regard him with narrow scrutiny, probably waiting for the punchline. There was no punchline.

“You really are one crazy bastard – you really are serious, aren’t you? You do realise you can ease yourself out of the job, right? Gradually? You don’t have to go straight from - from full time Repopulating to a vow of chastity! Hah - you might as well be getting married!” he hooted with laughter and turned away, buttoning his shirt. 

Max was the one to smirk now. What was it with these kids? They clearly knew nothing about marriage. Why, when he married Jess –

Just then, a cold shiver went down his spine. Oh no. Please no –

He forced himself to speak calmly.

“Jacob. When you took me onto your shuttle, did you bring anything with you?”

“Well, I didn’t stop to pack you a bag,” he retorted. Then turning, he added more seriously, “No. No, I didn’t bring anything. Was there something important?”

But Max wasn't listening, he was frantically outlining the lines of Jessie’s face on a blank page, his head buzzing and his shaking hand desperately trying to put down all his memories before they abandoned him forever.

Chapter Text

Furiosa leaned back in her chair and rubbed at her temples in an attempt to ease the headache that’d been crippling her all day. She’d been doing the books and, no matter how she spun it, they couldn’t keep on like this. Almost three months had passed. They’d scoured the Blue Sun system, used their fuel budget for the next two quarters and had turned down enough jobs to risk seriously undermining their reputation. She had her crew’s futures to think of. They’d been searching long enough.

Would it hurt any less to go back to their usual business, their usual jobs? Probably not. She was painfully aware that, every time they went from place to place, the further they could be moving away from where he was. They might have just missed him a thousand times over.

Because she was still sure that he was alive. Despite the Ministry of Fertility and Procreation’s notification of the death of MFP4073 in a shuttle crash. They’d got an automatic notification from their own tagging system, apparently. So much for freelance – did Max even know they were still keeping tabs on him? Sure he did, an exulting voice assured her. That’s why he’d faked his own death. Because it was this easy. Crash his shuttle, job done. Start new life. But it wasn't so easy on the people left behind. Would he really have put them all through this?

But they’d said goodbye. For all he knew, they went on their merry way and knew nothing of any shuttle crash. Perhaps he would breeze up in a disguise, a new name, new job, looking for their congratulations. Looking to join them, perhaps.

There had been no sightings – they’d had a single photograph, a copy of his official MFP ID card that Ace had gotten off the Ministry records – nobody fitting that description. But again, what did that mean? Like the official declaration of death, it meant nothing. Several people had said that there had been a man asking for the Rig, some man in an eyepatch. Her hopes – irrationally enough – soared at this. Regardless of the fact that it could be anyone – and she could name at least three of her associates who wore an eyepatch – she felt that it must be Max. But when Nux had asked about the height of the man, he seemed to be a good two or three inches too tall. And definitely not the man in the picture, eyepatch or no.

No, they’d covered the entire system twice over. There was nothing more they could do to find a man that quite possibly didn’t even want to be found, even if he was alive. Perhaps if they stopped looking, he would just turn up.

Or – maybe she should just forget. She was jumpy and wired all the time now, seeing him in crowds and shadows. It was maddening - something that had always been there but now was gone and how could that happen? Ace was already calling her Captain Ahab. Not that she cared what that crusty old crank called her – but maybe she should just consign Max to a fond memory, nothing more. She was half-afraid she would start losing it if she didn't.

*

Jacob leaned back and shaded his eyes under the scrubby olive tree. God damn, it was hot here. Almost three months had passed, and they’d been searching far and wide for this goddamn white whale of a War Rig. Hopes had been raised and dashed and raised and dashed again, but Max was determined that this was it. But if this one didn’t work, there would be another. Because he had to get this poor crazy bastard back home. It was a matter of principle now and, besides, he didn’t have anything else on.

After his meltdown on the first night, Jacob had seriously considered just handing Max the keys to his shuttle and telling him to scoot, go, git. He couldn’t handle this whole crew thing if he couldn’t get through one night without telling his whole life story, confess to murder and collapse in a pathetic ball of tears and snot. That hadn’t exactly been how he’d hoped this thing would go. Too embarrassing.

But it became pretty clear not long after that – midday on the day after, to be precise – that Max was more of a mess than Jacob could ever aspire to.

Four hours solid, the guy had sat and drawn pictures. First it was himself and a woman in their Sunday best, like for a photograph. The detail had astounded Jacob. Max’s features less so, but the woman was – well, she was a fine-looking woman, dark with smiling eyes and a proud uplifted chin. Didn’t look nothing like Max, so probably not a relation. Not enough finery to be a client. He couldn’t help but think of the marriage pictures he’d seen. Nah, surely not.

Max had fretted and fumed and complained that it wasn’t right, that he couldn’t remember. Talking to himself of course; Jacob doubted he even knew he wasn’t alone in the room.  Then he started humming to himself, just a few bars of a song, over and over. That seemed to calm him down some, and he got to work again. Not on the same picture, he pushed that aside, but on a blank page torn from his notebook.

One picture after another, and he didn’t seem to be slowing down. He was gonna run out of paper at this rate. Jacob wondered if he could risk a quick hop to town to get some more. Was it even safe to leave him alone? Yeah, he looked contented enough now, pencil flying. He could make it there and back in twenty minutes. He would leave a message for Sven while he was there, to reschedule until tomorrow night. With a not-so-subtle hint that someone would get extra special treatment if they were patient – that should keep the huffy bastard sufficiently interested.

A ream of paper acquired, Jacob re-entered the cabin apprehensively. What would he find? Had he been wise to leave him alone? Would he have freaked out and run off? Or worse? His heart nearly stopped as he saw Max slumped over the table.

But Max raised his head, seemingly woken by the thump of the ream of paper on the table as Jacob tossed it aside none too gently in his alarm. He hastily wiped a trace of sleep-dribble from the corner of his mouth. “Just restin’ m’eyes.”

“I got more paper,” Jacob replied, looking over the array of drawings on the table. Some of the same woman, some of a little kid – all pencil sketches but the sun shone out of those pictures like they’d been painted in the brightest of yellows. “Well, ain’t you been working hard? Why not go get a bit of shut-eye and I’ll make supper? Go on, scoot.”

Max grunted assent and hauled himself up the stairs. He looked alright, just dog-tired and stiff from sitting. He’d left the notebook and the loose-leaf pictures where they lay spread on the table and had patted the rectangular brown-paper as he passed, giving Jacob a grateful nod. It wasn't long before the sounds of snoring drifted down from above.

Supper could wait a while. Max would be out for at least an hour. So Jacob sat down in the vacated seat and studied the spidery writing in the book, his eyes occasionally drifting over the drawings. Ah, the plot thickens.

From the looks of it, the curious catastrophe of marriage had already struck. Crazy as it seemed, it would account for his sabbatical, especially since his mysterious last client looked to be the woman in the pictures. Jacob took no great credit for detective work there, but he could read and there was a scribbled Jess in the corner of the woman’s portrait. So this was Madame Jessamine Lacroix? In overalls, a smear on her nose and a spade being masterfully worked. She was either a very down-home kind of fine lady, or some creative paperwork had been submitted somewhere along the way. And here was a little kid, toddling age, bearing a marked resemblance to Max and his lady. No signs of a silver spoon anywhere. Where were they now? Not on the Rig, he was sure. They were gone or dead, and here he was, replacing something lost with hand-drawn pictures.

This was even worse than he’d originally thought. He wasn't one to cast aspersions on anyone, but Max had all the hallmarks of a serial monogamist. Well, that settled any doubts in his mind.

So, over supper they’d put their heads together and figured out some kind of skeleton schedule for the War Rig, with locations and approximate dates. There would be a lot of travelling, no doubt about that, but Max was pretty optimistic. But a person needs a little bit of encouragement, a hint from the universe that they’re getting somewhere and, over the next couple weeks, that was simply not happening. It was only natural that a quagmire of pessimism would follow. And the problem with pessimism is that a person is apt to sit down and refuse to get up again. Which is what Max did. The beard got like a bird's nest, and he wasn’t eating enough and nothing Jacob could say did any good.

And so it went until the day Jacob returned to the shuttle brandishing a printed paper, a section underlined MFP4073 status: deceased. Seemed the powers that be had got a notification of the crash from the shuttle’s onboard monitor. Thirty days had passed. Max was officially dead. His estate would be appropriated by the Ministry in the next fifteen days. Jacob hadn’t got a chance to even to mention that bit; it seemed it was the being declared dead part that put a rocket under Max. He sprang to his feet and stalked off to tidy himself up, muttering ‘I don’t fuckin’ THINK so’.

He’d marched into that MFP office, still bearded to denote his retirement from the job, but looking entirely respectable in Jacob’s best shirt and collar. And left them in absolutely no doubt that he was very much alive, thank you very much, and would they please update their records accordingly. And to withdraw the maximum five thousand credits there and then, just to make a point.

It was a relief to see the resurgence of the Max that had chased him down the corridor like a man on a mission. That whole apathy thing had been not good.

And now they were on their way again. They got hold of a shipping schedule that said, in black and white, that the War Rig would be expected on Persephone in three weeks. They would just about be able to make it by then. It would be the longest single trip yet, a huge investment of time, but this could be their best chance. So they set out, certain this was the lead that they were looking for.

But three weeks later, Max was in a worse state than ever. And no wonder, for that had been cruel. There was a Firefly class freighter loading up, right in front of them. But it wasn't the War Rig. They had cancelled, and the job had been taken over by another ship, another captain, another crew. And, to add insult to injury, they were stuck out here, off course, weeks delayed, all for nothing.

It wasn’t apathy this time. The poor bastard had clearly decided that it was all over, there was no hope of finding his lost crew. And, although he never actually said it, the last few weeks, wow – had it been months now? - they had taught Jacob that what Max wanted was a new wife, and all his hopes were pinned on that wife being Captain Furiosa.

Which was why, when Max’s subsequent actions showed that his plan of abstinence had come to a crushing end, Jacob was not surprised. And he was ready for him.

If this had happened a few months ago, phew –

But that was then, and this is now. So, when Max pinned Jacob to the wall, he certainly didn’t push him away. But he returned Max’s embrace just so that his elbow braced against Max’s shoulder, so that they came face to face and no closer. Oh God, if he hadn’t known any better, Jacob wouldn’t have hesitated for a second. But -

“I know what you really want – ”

He glanced down at Max’s lips for half a second regretfully, before looking him right in the eye – and sure enough there was despair buried under the look of pure want -  

“ - and I can’t give it to you. So will you let me go?”

And, of course, he did.

But, what can a person do but keep on moving? This little episode had the same effect on Max’s resolve that a bucket of cold water has on someone in a swoon. Helluva shock but one that snaps a person right back to themselves.

Nothing had changed. Max would keep looking – there was no plan B. And, for Jacob's part, he knew that he'd found, even just for a while, his crew-of-one, his One Trusted Other. Yeah, he’d had more a string of profitable scams and heists in mind but a single mission, a quest if you will – that was fine too. It certainly wasn’t profitable – not in a monetary sense – but, as long as Max’s despondent periods were kept to a minimum, this was kind of fun.

So, on the way back to Jacob told some long rambling story – probably with a bit of artistic licence thrown in to keep things interesting, it was a long journey back, after all  – while Max lounged in the shuttle’s passenger seat. It didn’t really matter that he wasn’t listening, Jacob just liked having someone to talk to, but he was a little indignant when Max suddenly yelped shutupshutupshutup.

Jeez, fine, okay –

But, as it became clear, he’d had an idea.

Which was why they were on this blistering hot planet – okay, not quite blistering, just sweaty, ugh – to refuel. Because Max seemed to have very high hopes that this was it, and they were almost there.

And here he was, crossing the town square, the fuel cells slung over his shoulder. Getting – ohshit - getting approached by the Watch. Ugh, the universe really did have a fucked up sense of humour.

Jacob couldn’t hear what was being said, but the Watchmen showed Max something – a picture? Max shrugged and pointed back over his shoulder with a nod. Watched them hurry off in the direction he’d indicated and began walking very carefully towards a store that was not much troubled by excessive customers. He ducked into a dark doorway adjacent to it and beckoned to him. Jacob very casually crossed the street and joined him in the cool shadows of the storeroom.

“The Alliance are here – they’ve got the local plods out looking for YOU,” Max hissed. “Take these and get out of here before they come back. I can make my own way from here. Go now, quick.”

Jacob sneaked a look out the door. No, it was too late for that. They were coming back, more of them, and they looked determined. Why now??? His hand reached into his pocket. He swore he would never do this again, but needs must –

*

Max leaned his head back against the wall of his cell and rolled his eyes for the twentieth time. Jacob, you little shit!

It was true enough, that old saying. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I’m a fuckin’ idiot. And there was not a damn thing he could do about it. Just gotta sit here and wait. And hope.

Chapter Text

Delta Dawn, what’s that flower you have on?  Could it be a faded rose from days gone by?

And did I hear you say she was meetin’ you here today,  To take take you to this mansion in the sky?

Max hummed as he scrutinised the tally-marks on his wall. He’d taken care to make a mark every time the sun set, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd miscounted somewhere along the line. Would it be today or tomorrow, or had he gotten confused entirely? He knew he hadn’t been here that long, but what if it'd been months? That everyone he cared about was irreparably beyond his reach, that he’d missed his best, his only chance?

No, don’t doubt. You’ve done all you can, and this is gonna work. If anything will. Besides, the man said he would call him when it was time.

So, he lay down on his narrow bunk and curled up on his side, facing the light. He’d been sleeping so irregularly lately, just a few scraps here and there. He should get some proper shut-eye or he’d be good for nothing when they did get here.

If.

*

The rocking gait of the horse was something soothing, although the sun beating down on her shoulders was getting a bit much. Was it this hot last year? The hat kept the sun off the back of her neck, but the coat would have to go.

She halted her ride and wriggled out of it, draping it over the horse’s hindquarters. What did you call a horse’s ass? Furiosa.

Ugh. So here we were again. The Harvest Run. It marked the passing of a year more than a mere birthday ever could. One of them could be different every year, but the Harvest Run was always the same. Dodge the Revenue, get dropped off planetside, then lots of ass-bruising horse-time 'til they got to Big Fat George's place.

Last year was a fine example of how last-minute changes of plan were a bad idea. Oh sure, let's do this one job, we'll be heroes! As ideas went, it was akin to a steaming pile of horse-apples. It was supposed to be a way of showing Max they weren't just mercenaries, but - as she craned to neck to see Cape and Slit on their packhorses laden with contraband - that was what they were. Furiosa sighed. Ain't no fighting it. Guess they could make whaling on Elder Gommen an annual event, if her treacherous wrinkled ass hadn’t shipped off-planet. Well, only one way to find out. They'd head out that way once their business was done. Pay a little visit.

But what was the point anyway? Reputation, respect, revenge - What was the point of any of it?

No, shutup, stop with this existential shit. You have a ship, you have a crew, everything is good. You’re just really really tired.

Furiosa tried to find something positive to focus on. Good things had happened lately. Cheedo and the doctor were getting busy now. That was a good thing. She knew it was. Folks were happy. That was good. She wanted her crew to be happy.

Everyone paired up but Slit and me. Ugh. She spurred her horse to a rattling trot to dislodge the unwelcome idea. Her head was a flurry of uncomfortable thoughts, she didn't need that one of top of them all. Why is it, every year before the Harvest Run, people gotta go and mess up her psychological equilibrium? Why did Cheedo have to pick last night to spill the beans about her revolutionary new device? It had completely murdered sleep for Furiosa, and not in a good way.

She shook her head in disbelief. Cheedo was a girl in a million, no doubt. A gifted mechanic with an unrivalled knowledge of human sexual anatomy. Probably unique. Who better to devise a way to - ? But no, the credit for the idea really belonged to Dag. She had been holed up in a back room for months past, working on some project or other. The crew were all in agreement that life was easier when Dag's mind was occupied, and no-one wanted to be the one who broke her concentration. So they'd let her get on with it, whatever it was. And then, one day, she was back among them again.

Furiosa had heard the story over supper. How Dag had emerged from her creative vortex and dragged Cheedo off to see what she'd made. Understandably, Cheedo was a bit put out to find out that this was what had happened to her missing and long-lamented vibrator, now dismantled and laid out on a table. But Dag had come up with some amazing improvements, and Cheedo was tasked to bring them to reality. Dag had a famous brain for invention but, smart girl as she was, bowed to Cheedo's mechanical prowess.

So the conversation went. But, as Cheedo went into greater and greater detail to a slightly embarrassed but fascinated Capable and Slit, Furiosa tuned right out. This was not a thing she needed to know all about, as Captain. Though whether the subjects her thoughts tended to these days were particularly Captain-y was another matter. Probably not.

She didn't think much about the device over the next few weeks but, frankly, the sounds  - in stereo too - from Cheedo’s quarters forced their way into even her preoccupied brain. Was that the doctor she could hear?

And the penny dropped. So that was the remarkable modification that Dag had made? Had she been matchmaking for her brother? Well, that would make sense. Furiosa thought the good doctor seemed to have removed that stick up his butt that he habitually walked around with. He'd been an awful lot more relaxed lately, had even smiled now and then. So Dag had made Cheedo's little electric ride a tandem! Aww, sweet. As long as they kept the noise down.

But what Furiosa didn't know, not until Cheedo let the cat out of the bag yesterday evening, was what the really revolutionary aspect of the device was. Not the two-player mode, but the syringe.

Cheedo was so excited about it, so all Furiosa had to do was listen and nod. She called it the Baby Cannon, a means of Taking Back the Means of Reproduction. A refillable device that would serve the most practical purpose of a Repopulator. All it needed was some fully-functional jizz and boom. Slit had helpfully provided some of his for testing purposes and it had worked beautifully, apparently. Full ejection, right on cue. Cheedo had explained how it had adjustable settings – three modes - manual, timer or orgasm – the latter in response to a precise frequency of mechanical stimulation. 

Furiosa agreed that it was remarkable, and a work of genius, and it would probably make all their fortunes - before excusing herself and leaving the room. It would be an early start tomorrow, etc. etc. And she fled to her cabin before the tsunami of unplaceable feelings overwhelmed her.

The timing. That was the first thing that made her want to scream out loud. Why why why in the name of God had Dag not thought of this before now? This device that would make fertility affordable to all? That would free Repopulators from the tyranny and drudge of actually having to fuck their clients? Before Max left, maybe? The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Things could’ve been so different.

But that wasn't what had her sobbing into her pillow like a petulant infuriated toddler for hours. It was the cynical, jaded, tarnished realisation that this device was not a novel breakthrough, a revolutionary idea that would bring down the whole brand of the Repopulator. She would bet five years profit that the Baby Cannon or similar had been dreamed up years ago and buried as quickly. Why would the Alliance want the means of reproduction to be – literally – in the hands of whoever wanted it? As it was, the Ministry could charge exorbitant fees for this special service and vet applicants for suitability. If you were rich, good-looking, married, on the right side of politics – sure, we’ll take your money and give you all the babies you want. No, none of these things? Oh well, the galaxy doesn’t need you to reproduce anyway.

The Mothers’ bloodline had died the day they'd escaped from Hera. Angharad would’ve loved that kid, regardless of how it’d come about. For Furiosa’s part, she knew it would’ve been brought up a Browncoat, if only to spite the Alliance. But Angharad was gone and no Browncoat scum would ever pass the Ministry’s screening. Capable – married, young, pretty, she could pay – Furiosa would scrape the money together – but they weren’t the kinds of folks that were allowed to breed. Not that Cape would tolerate a Breeder’s attentions, not even Max, but that was besides the point. Nux would be such a good dad too –

But with this new device? She didn’t think either of them would mind that, not a bit. If only Max were still here -

It had always pained her to think that babies were a status symbol for the rich, like big houses and cars, while poor folks didn’t have a chance. And it was that – the injustice of it that wrung tears of frustration from Furiosa. That and what it might've meant for Max. He'd probably got his kicks in the early days, but they could all see that the personal service had started to pall before he'd even come to them. Imagine if he could have had the option to – to make his living, do his duty even, getting lovingly jacked off by the lucky man or woman who’d won his heart -

Would he jump at the chance of using Cheedo’s device or would it be a shocking abomination? Would he be too law-abiding to consider a bit of black-market Repopulating? No. She knew he hated being restricted to only two pro bono clients a year.

She shivered at the thought that she would probably never know for sure.

Any little scrap of sleep she got that night was filled with fitful dreams about how things could have been. So now, on the Harvest Run, she was half-asleep with a heavy heart and an aching head. How’s that for déjà vu?

*

Business done, transactions complete, Furiosa excused herself and nodded toward the privy. She let out a weary sigh as she trudged off; she had carefully cultivated her no-nonsense business reputation, so today's brusqueness would pass unremarked. But it was getting a little too real to be comfortable. The crew were avoiding her, she knew. No wonder. But, oh it was a relief to be alone, not to have to make small talk. She certainly wasn’t up to razor-sharp business repartee, not after that terrible nights’ sleep.

Again. Just like last year.

She rounded the corner and made for the privy. It wasn’t just for a bit of alone time – her bladder had been getting increasingly demanding over the last half hour. Ah, that's better. She wasn’t so badly off that she couldn’t still appreciate life’s little blessings; and no splinters, no spiders. She buckled up and stepped back outside.

Dazzled by the bright sunlight after the noisome dark of the outhouse, her eye lit on something bright, shiny. A pumphandle, polished by use. That was new. She looked at her pocketwatch – she could take a little time to freshen up. It’d a long ride back.

Working the pump to get the water flowing, she stuck her head under the stream and gasped with the unexpected cold of it. Straightening up to catch her breath, she laughed a little at herself. Well, if that didn’t do her good, there was no hope for her it all. Sloshing handfuls of water to her underarms as an afterthought, she filled a tin cup, drained it, filled it again and slumped down in a half-shade spot next the horse trough. Just a moment to rest my eyes –

She woke with a jolt, straightening up. What had woken her? Wiping a trace of dribble from the corner of her mouth, she leaned forward and squinted into the darkness, her heart racing. What had caught her eye through the barred gate? A glint of eyes in a familiar face. She started back, squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. Seeing things in shadows again, like a crazy woman –

No, no, she wasn't crazy. And it was Max. Bearded and hairy and locked in a cell, but it was Max there – reaching out, extending a hand through the bars – there, there was that same corded thing on his wrist. She touched the hand, which sought her fingers – it was real, and she wasn’t going crazy and oh my God.

And just as her hand closed on his, there came a gasp in a familiar voice, and she sprang forward to grip the bars. She couldn’t actually see him in the deep shade of the cell or whatever the hell this was, but that was him. Couldn’t she tell from the touch of his hand, the rumble of his voice, the smell of him - ?

*

Max was dreaming again. The sun was bright, too bright - he shaded his eyes to see the figure standing there.

Furiosa, that was her shape, her silhouette. A long shadow streamed out in front of her. And then she was gone. He sighed a long sigh and slept on. It was safe. She would come. The man would call him when it was time.

And again, he dreamed. Water - pouring, gushing water. He opened his eyes, suddenly thirsty. All was quiet. He uncurled himself from his bunk and crept forward to the canteen that sat by the door. Taking a sip, he sat back against the wall. Same sun streaming through the bars, the sunbeam patch shifted sideways only a little. Only a little later, it was. Unless he'd slept the whole day and night. Still, the man hadn't come. He closed his eyes again.

And there she was, so close he could almost touch her. Asleep, her breath soft and slow, rhythmic. So beautiful. Just then she shifted slightly and sighed. A warm waft of breath hit him right in the face.

Real.

“Furiosa?” he croaked, reaching his hand through the bars. His lips had shaped the word, but he couldn’t hear himself say it. Could he even speak? Yes, she stirred and opened her eyes. But could she see him? Was he even here at all? He stretched out his hand and she didn't disappear. It would be real if she touched him. 

Ohhhh, he took a shaky inhale as warm fingers closed round his.

He closed his eyes despite himself as a palm brushed his face, explored his head, neck, shoulders – as if inspecting him for damage. Her hand snaked round the back of his head and pulled it forward ‘til his forehead collided with the bars. He blinked in surprise and opened his eyes to see – oh God, to see her looking at him as if  - if - wow -

He knew then that it had to be a dream. Just a very, very lucid and wonderful dream.  Her eyes, black-smeared and wide and smiling, brimming with tears and so very bright, her head rested against the bars just like his. So close. He shifted onto his knees and cradled her head in both hands. Fingers buried into his hair and her breath came warm and quick on his lips as her eyelids dropped and her head tilted in invitation –

- and they jerked apart at the sound of approaching feet –

Max suddenly felt lightheaded, finally convinced by the sight of the man jogging into view, arms waving, calling out 'Captain, captain!' 

Real, real, real. She was really here and happy to see him and he couldn't breathe with the joy of it.

Max saw Furiosa suddenly pivot on one knee, her hand still clutching his jacket firmly. If looks could kill, the man would’ve died where he stood.

“YOU!!” she snarled. “What have you done?”

*

“What’s up with the Captain? Seems out of sorts.”

“Lost a crew member,” Capable folded her arms over her chest as she gave a curt reply. She hoped the trader wouldn’t ask for details, really not being in the mood for gossip.

"Oh, hey, sorry to hear that - - wait - " he looked a little confused.

Just then Slit called out from a little ways off –

“Hey George! Nice shuttle! She new?”

Big George clapped his hand over his mouth with a muffled “Oh shit!” He darted off in the direction Furi had gone. Wait, where was Furi? She’d gone off for a piss ages ago. Capable reached for her gun and followed George, on high alert.

When she rounded the corner, Slit close behind, she had to stop and process for a moment. George stood, hands in the air, babbling something to Furi who was crouched in the shadows. What the hell had happened? They moved closer 

Slit nudged her in the back. “That’s never - - is that Max?”

She squinted in the bright sunlight. It was hard to tell for sure, but whoever it was, they were behind bars and Furi looked like she was not happy about it. Shit, that was Max! What's been going on here then?

“Didn’t have you down as a slaver, George - ” she flipped her safety and trained her gun on the trader. 

But he never took his eyes off Furi, who certainly looked the more dangerous party right then, unarmed as she was. “Now, Captain – it’s not how it looks - ”

And indeed, the Captain's glare was replaced by a look of suspicious disdain after a few low-toned words from the prisoner. Capable lowered her weapon but didn’t holster it. “Go on,” she prompted.

“This fella showed up here coupla weeks back. In that shuttle round there. Askin’ for the Rig, wouldn’t say why. Kinda suspicious, right? Wouldn’t go away so I shut him up in here ‘til you come.”

Capable looked back to the man behind bars, thought she could discern a nod. She considered George's sudden reaction to Slit's question, and fell sure enough to call out to Furi -

“Y'know, I think he just forgot!”

“Just slipped my mind, swear!” George nodded, sounding relieved.

Misplaced relief. An enraged Max sprang to his feet and gripped the bars. “Slipped - your mind?”

The trader took yet another step back. “Now, sir, come on. Hasn’t it worked out just fine? How ‘bout I write off the food and board, huh? All square?”

“Just – just get him out of there,” Furi’s voice was low and commanding, but she sounded half-stunned under it all. As well she might be, because – Capable grinned to herself - the hugeness of this was hitting like a tsunami and she wasn’t even in love with the guy. Max was back! He was alive, and he’d been looking for them. She’d have to call Nux, least of all to say they’d be getting a ride back to the Rig in that shiny shuttle over there –

The trader unlocked the makeshift cell, not without trepidation it seemed. But Max was content with a brief glower as he stepped, squinting, into the bright sunlight. Capable half-expected him to rush into Furi’s arms, from the way they’d been tangled up together through the bars. But now that they could, they didn’t. Just stood, giving each other dazed looks and a few fragments of words. But Furi never let go of his jacket, her good hand gripping the leather tight. If it hadn’t been that Max had come here on purpose to find them, it would look like he was under arrest. But he kept close to Furi, waaay closer than arms length, as they moved away from the shed.

“Well, that worked out alright, eh?” George chuckled in forced jollity. Capable thought he was trying to convince himself. “Heh, as if I’d let you all ride out without seeing him - ”

“Lucky for you,” she smiled back. “Max would’ve torn you to shreds if you had - bars or no bars. 'Scuse me, I got a call to make.”

She pulled the radio from her pocket, fired it up with a crackle. Nux - ! came the quick reply. She grinned, anticipating her boy's delight at seeing his friend alive and well. “Hey babe. Just callin’ in to say we’ll make our own way back – no, no, everything’s fine. More than fine. Gotta surprise for you! No, you gotta be patient - !”

“Cape! Pay the man.” Furi barked as she passed the trader with Max in tow, her head held indignantly high. Oh man, she's pissed. Capable fished in her other pocket and pulled out a handful of credit notes. Hands too full to count them, she shrugged and handed them all to George, who feigned a protest. She waved her now-free hand at him dismissively with an aside of ‘We’re celebrating!’ before turning her attention back to the radio -

“Yeah, babe, you heard that right. Celebrating!" She laughed at his bewildered whoop. "Back in an hour, okay? Kiss-kiss”

As the four of them piled into the shuttle, she popped her head back out. “Oh – hey – those horses’ll need taking back! You’ll take care of that, yeah? See ya next year!”

Since Max was probably in no condition to fly this thing – on top of the fact that he’d wrecked his own shuttle not a half-year ago - she was definitely gonna be flying. Capable plonked down in the pilot’s seat while the others belted up. They all looked expectantly at Max as Capable fired the ignition. Slit was the one to speak. 

"So you gonna tell us what the hell happened?" That question demanded a very long answer.

Max glanced round them all warily. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath – “Okay. So. Don’t get mad, but - ”

Chapter Text

It was horribly selfish and ungrateful, but part of Max wanted to forget everything and just fly off with Furiosa and the crew, as if the last few months simply hadn’t happened. Once the unbearable surge of joy at being back with them – with her – again had subsided into a warm glow, he knew he had a difficult job to do. One that he dreaded, for so many reasons.

In one respect, it'd gone better than he’d expected. No exclamations of surprise, no interruptions – he just needed to get the words out as fast as he could, especially at the beginning – and he was grateful for that. But something was wrong, and it wasn’t one of the couple of hundred scenarios he’d fretted himself silly over.

Max looked around at the crew, his heart sinking into his boots as they shared unreadable glances. Confusion, uncertainty, exasperation he had expected, and they were there in abundance but there was a kind of knowingness that he didn’t understand at all. He looked back to Furiosa. She was radiant, her face flushed, her eyes shining, lips parted just so. But for all that, she looked on the verge of tears and he didn’t know why. Maybe it was the mention of the Hera assassinations. He hadn’t meant to go into that at all, but everything had just came blurting out. Had he upset her, upset Capable? He looked towards Capable in the pilot seat - she was frowning and biting her lip. Even Slit looked uneasy.

He felt a shiver run though him. Oh shit, he had. He’d fucked up.

But they had agreed to help him, which was something of a miracle. He’d hated to ask them to fly to the rescue of someone who had tried to have them all killed, but he knew deep down he wouldn’t be any good alone. At least they could advise him. But he hadn’t even had to ask. Furi had nodded and asked for details and had formulated a plan before he’d even had a chance to hint that he would have to go back for Jacob.

How could he ever ever have flown away? He’d got the second chance he’d prayed for and he hoped to God that he hadn’t ruined it already.

It’d been a difficult tale to tell. To admit just how careless he had been, a hairs breadth from dying in his own shuttle. So so stupid. It was so much easier to tell of Jacob – the rescue, how he’d helped Max find the Rig again. He was a good man, for all his faults. He’d been wronged by the lot life had thrown him, and he’d been forced into doing terrible things. An assassin before he was twenty-one? And he regretted what he’d done to the crew – sincerely wished them all well. He would be a loyal and useful ally, if he could only escape being hanged.

But there was a snag at the end of the tale, and he had hesitated to say it – it was galling to admit how he had been duped, had fallen for the oldest trick in the book. Jacob and his goddamned Goodnight Kiss. He'd never live this down. It'd all happened so quickly -

“So you woke up and - ?”

“I was still in the storeroom, Watchmen all round - told me he’d been arrested – he would get what was coming to him. They tossed me his shuttle keys and dusted me off, sent me on my way. Guess he made it look like he was trying to rob me.” Max groaned, “Why didn’t he just go when I said? I’d plenty of time to get to Harvest, coulda hitched a lift. Guess there wasn’t time to get away. But they’d said he'd be up before the Magistrates at the next Assizes. It’s soon. Last Thursday of the month. Day after tomorrow.” Max shivered a little. He'd cut it awful fine, but he couldn't think of what else to do but find the Rig.

Furiosa leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Thinking. Max watched her, sorry and grateful and all admiration.

“Means he’ll be in the lockup till then. They’ll transport him to the nearest county town nearer the time. Cheaper that way. Then they’ll either hang him there and then or ship him off-planet. You say the Ministry is behind this? What do you think they’ll do?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if they wanted him alive. But then, they might just be clearing up loose ends.”

“Kill the assassin,” murmured Capable, from the pilot seat. “Okay. Let’s do this. He’s redeemed himself, helping Max like that. All agreed?” She looked over her shoulder at the others.

Furi nodded, a tense frown knitting her brow. Slit grunted “Aye.”

A weight lifted from Max’s chest.

Hiss

The shuttle docked with the Rig.

*

Nux jiggled on his heels ‘til the airlock light changed to green.

Whoosh, the door opened and he peeked inside uncertainly. There was the Captain, Slit and Cape and - well damn, ain't this fancy?

“Awww nice, where’d you pick this up?” he cried, looking around at the interior. Not the newest model but pretty damn nice for a second-hand. And then he saw a ghost. Nux blinked for a second at the bearded man looking sheepishly at him, and realised. This was Cape’s surprise? He leapt forward and gave him a very quick bearhug - Max wasn't the huggiest of fellas but if there was ever a time, this was it.

“Aww babe, you weren’t kidding – this is amazing! I knew you weren’t dead, didn’t I say?” he glanced round at the others for backup, and gave Max a friendly punch on the shoulder. “So, you fly bastard – how did you do it, then? You had us worried for a while, before we caught on what you were up to - ” He stopped, mainly for breath, but also with a vague sense that something wasn't quite right. There was a distinct lack of cheering and whooping, although everyone wore smiles. Max looked a bit uncomfortable, but then he usually did – however now he wore a look of the deepest alarm and confusion.

“What – up to? What?”

Nux put his hands up soothingly, “Hey, don’t worry, we ain’t mad at you!” He looked round at the Captain with a confused frown, feeling that he was missing something. “Are we?”

She barked out a laugh that sounded a little hysterical. “No! No – why would we be - ?” She hurried forward and grabbed Nux by the arm, steering him out the door. “I’ll tell you all about it, but you got to dig up some information for me. Max has a mission for us.” She smiled but it didn’t look like she much meant it.

“A mission – ? Damn, that was quick!” Nux cried over his shoulder as he was captainhandled out the shuttle door. “Max, buddy, y’don’t need to come up with your own mission to join the crew but, y’know, good initiative - !”

“Wait! – Furi – you should stay here,” Cape cried, making significant glances towards Max. “I’ll brief Nux.”

The captain looked at her almost pleading-like but didn’t put up a fight.

Well. Isn't this all very strange?

*

Furiosa rested her forehead against the doorframe, feeling a temporary relief in the cool metal against her aching head. Temporary, because she would have turn and go back in. Face this – situation. She let out a lungful of air, hoping that it would calm her, fortify her to just get through the next couple of hours. What she really longed for was to go to her room and – what? She thought she’d cried a river last night. She didn’t think she had any more in her.

Captains don’t cry. Not in front of their crew. And certainly not in front of Max. What the fuck would he think?

“Boss!! What’s happened?”

She looked up at the sound of Cheedo’s voice. Oh, blessed relief. Here was Cheedo coming running, the doctor in tow. She would be full of questions, and there were people here who would answer them. Furiosa had a sense of déjà vu – that night she’d propositioned Max and he’d turned her down. The mechanic had come to her rescue then too. Was this what her life was going to be? Just a series of inescapable crushing Max-related embarrassments?

She waved the couple into the shuttle and smiled wearily at the joyful exclamations as they saw Max. Her eyes stung again and she blinked furiously.

She would have felt like crying at his story even if she was a neutral listener. It was very dramatic. Snatched back from the jaws of death at the last moment, the redemption of a handsome villain, discovery of a tragic backstory. So their little fox of a Jacob was a righteous assassin? Those men were dead, and by his hand. Good. She would thank him, if she had the chance. As for saving Max, she doubted she could trust herself to say it.

He had earned him.

‘Ohhh it’s so romantic!!’ That was Cheedo, because nobody else would ever say that sort of thing. Furiosa shivered.

She could’ve shaken Max, the way he’d looked at her. His eyes full of pleading to help him save his – friend; yeah, she knew how it was. As if she needed to be asked. As if she could stand back and let another one die.

But she’d really thought –

Her face flamed hot with another wave of embarrassment. What had she done when she saw him in that cage? She couldn’t remember for certain, but she had a horrible idea that she’d –

Oh no.

She’d thought he was going to kiss her. Had she made it really obvious? She glanced up at the group.

The doctor had finished checking Max over for injuries, and he’d endured it uncomfortably. Impatient to get a plan of action. Cape and Nux were arguing quietly in the corner. At least, Cape was berating Nux for something. Then Cape strode over to Max with a look of determined purpose. They shared words, and Cape pointed to her.

Furiosa looked away hurriedly, a feeling of dread wash over her.

Cape, what are you doing?

*

Max sat, getting poked and prodded and questioned by the little doctor. He was probably giving random answers by the end. What was happening here? He’d expected that the biggest problem would be to get them to agree to rescue Jacob, but that seemed to be a moot point. He guessed they still weren’t happy about it, thought. Why would they be, he reminded himself? Probably didn’t trust him not to try and screw them all over again. Furi was very quiet, sitting over there with her maps and things. She looked worried. Pale. Max wondered if they should just leave it and go. The thought sickened him but so did the prospect of the crew going into danger. And here was Capable was quietly yelling at Nux.

Max got to his feet. He couldn’t do this. He had to go alone. It was the only way. He stood up straight, opened his mouth to speak, to get someone's attention.

It stayed open, but only out of surprise, because Capable had seized him by the collar. He blinked stupidly at the angry woman glaring up at him.

“If you don’t give me a straight yes or no answer - ” she hissed without preface, punctuating every word with a jab of her finger, “ – so help me - ”

Straight yes or no answer. Okay. He nodded, with no idea of what was coming next.

“D’you love Furi?”

He looked at into the angry eyes of the first mate, who seemed to be quivering with righteous indignation. And said without any hesitation “YES.” Because – yes.

“Will you tell her that??” she wailed, pointing to Furi who sat watching them, her cheeks as red as they were white a few moments ago. She looked away like she’d been caught and Max’s heart did a strange kind of manoeuvre, like it swapped places with his stomach for a second. Oh, didn’t he want to do just that? Did Capable think that was what she wanted to hear?

But how? How can he tell her?

“Slit!” Furi was calling out, getting up as if to leave. “You’re with me! Up front. The usual - ”

No. No, not this time.

“Let me - !” Max, having lost his head, finally found his voice, and it came out too loud. “Let me - let me be the husband!”

*

Furiosa stared at him for a second and turned away with a tight frown. “O – okay,” she stammered, unnerved by the request. It would free Slit up as a second gun to cover them. “That would work too – we could – uh - ” Her train of thought had more than derailed, it had sailed right over the cliff.

“For real, though!” he wailed. “Please.”

What?

She looked around slowly. Max stood right there, clutching a scrap of black between his hands and looking at her like - and she didn’t know – she didn’t know what was happening here. Her eyes flicked to Capable, staring at Max in horrified amazement. Nux’s eyes looked like there were going to pop right out of his head and Cheedo’s hands were clutched at her bosom like the heroine of some melodrama. Then a movement from Max caught her eye. He was – going down on one knee - ?

“No!” she cried, leaping forward to catch him, to stop him from being so bloody stupid. She caught him by both arms and looked him in the face to see if he was alright. He was pale – he’d let a little gasp just before she’d grabbed him. And no wonder - it’d made that godawful click sound that meant he’d be limping for a couple days.

He let out a shuddery sigh and nodded once, never meeting her eye.

Nux facepalmed and Cape groaned.

Oh

Furiosa knew then she had fucked up, and she couldn’t have been happier because that meant she knew exactly how to unfuck it. She took a deep breath –

“I mean – YES - ?,” and watched his face grow confused and uncertain and a very little bit glad, and she did what a Captain ought to do. She took control of the situation.

And, oh, it felt as good as she’d ever dreamed it would. Better, because it was real, and he was here, and apparently he was hers, with his hands that paused uncertainly and then brushed her neck and were all electricity and his lips that took her breath away and that little noise of  –

But a sound from the door gave her pause like nothing else could. The crew were all attempting to silently depart, to leave them to it - but that couldn’t happen, not yet because –

She waved a detaining hand and broke off the kiss with much reluctance and some difficulty. “Go get the Shepherd,” she ordered, looking enquiringly at Max, which was a very wonderful thing. He nodded earnestly - which was also very wonderful.

“What, now?" the doctor protested. "Uh – sure you don’t want to wait a while -?”

‘NO’ they both barked in unison. They watched as Toast raised his hands placatingly and hurried off after the others.

There would be no more waiting.

Chapter Text

Furiosa stole another look at the metallic hand that lay hidden under her prim cloak. It wouldn’t do to have her prosthetic seen, for her to be recognised as Captain Jobassa, not today. But just one more look would be okay. A smile crept over her face. Quite the right expression for a blushing bride, so that was fine. There was a shiny steel cogwheel on her littlest finger, filed down so no sharp edges bar one which would be useful in a tight spot. Max had a rather smaller one on the third finger of his left hand. Not exactly matching – his was a weave of copper wire – but Cheedo had done a grand job. His glinted in the morning light, his hands gripping the reins. Her eye flitted towards his face, and the breath caught in her throat. That had happened quite a lot over the last twelve hours. She was going to have to be careful it didn’t become a habit. Remember to breathe, woman. It’s quite important.

Well, here they were – on their honeymoon. A stagecoach bedecked with flowers, their progress accompanied by the scrape and clatter of old boots and tin cans dragged behind. Their matron of honour and best man perched on the baggage boot, and their pageboy sprawled inelegantly on the roof. It was such nice weather, everyone had declared an intention to ride outside rather than in the cabin. Wouldn’t be much elbow room inside anyway, what with their unusual cargo.

Oh boy. If they could just get through today alive and unscathed, and escape with their prize triumphant, it would be one hell of a honeymoon.

The coach lurched along leisurely, the rocking quite soothing to Furiosa. Funny how things are less irritating after a good night’s rest. That and waking up next to the man who definitely was now her husband, and who looked pretty damn pleased to be so, if she did say so herself. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Calm and grounded, and utterly content. A far cry from yesterday – only yesterday – and a world of difference even from last night when he’d electrified her with a proposal. She'd been content, definitely, if contentedness can be found amid an absolute firestorm of emotions, but she was certainly neither calm nor grounded.

Last night, as soon as the shuttle door had closed on them and they were left alone, any dregs of composure dissolved quicker than a stomach pill -

*

She turned away and leaned on the console, clapped a hand over her mouth and filled her lungs, as if to rip them out of her chest. She couldn’t help it - she was shaking and she knew that something had to come tearing out – but it was anyone’s guess whether it would be laughter or sobs or most likely a mixture of both. She wished she could be alone, to ride out this – whatever it was – unobserved. And indeed, Max had flopped himself down in the passenger seat, silent and unmoving. But not for long –

Because just as she slid her back down the wall to land on her ass on the floor in her exhaustion, she heard an “Oh shit - ” and he fairly launched himself at her. Thankfully he had the sense to sit down carefully, knee being what it was, before engulfing her in his arms - awkward but very welcome.

“I’m so sorry” he murmured over and over, smoothing her hair. It didn’t really help, not in terms of calming her down, for she shook her head and sobbed twofold into his shoulder. She couldn’t speak, and if she could’ve, she didn’t know what to say. Why was she crying? And now laughing? And then crying again?

But pull herself together she did, more or less. She signalled for a time out, dragged her handkerchief out of her pocket and buried her face in it, ignoring the tiny object that came with it and clattered to the floor. Max reached over and picked it up.

Once she'd finished blowing her nose, she realised what it was. His little jade owl. She’d carried it with her since that day, the soot still blackening its carved grooves. She had never had the heart to clean it properly. Furiosa nearly choked up again. No, dammit, you’ve cried enough. So, taking a calming breath, she met Max’s eye almost reluctantly. He was pale, with a half-panicked look in his eye. She guessed he’d been on the way to having his own minor meltdown before she’d got in there first.

“Hey,” she croaked, playing with his collar. “Don’t be thinkin’ I’ve changed my mind, with all this takin’ on.”

He choked out a laugh, and cut it off abruptly, looking down again at the trinket in his hand. “Did you think I was – you did, didn’t you?" He groaned piteously. "I’m so sorry. I never thought - ”

Were it not for the evidence of their knowledge of the Interceptor’s crash right there in his palm, she might’ve thought he meant Jacob. So many misunderstandings -

“No. I mean, we did, for a while. But then we knew – hoped – that you were just out there somewhere. Searched a while, but - ” she shook her head wearily. And then a thought struck her – one that gave her a sick shivery chill. If they’d kept looking, they wouldn’t have come to Harvest on the regular day. They might never have crossed paths again. Horrible thought. She swallowed down the lump rising in her throat. “Missed you a lot, y’know?”

“I’m never leaving again. Stayin’ right here,” he murmured, speaking as much to himself as to her. But the words soothed her more than anything could’ve. That and the way he kissed her head and curled up next to her, head tucked into crook of her neck.

Furiosa nestled her face into his hair, partly in an effort to dry her face, but mainly because – now she could. The guys’ll be back any minute - they'd see the two of them all curled up on the floor in a big old teary mess. What did it matter? It hadn’t been much of a day for decorum. And, with that thought and, breathing in the comforting smell of Max –

She started at a sound from the doorway, a cry that sounded a little like Giddy but no sound that she’d ever heard the Shepherd make before. Max looked equally startled at her side – guess he'd dozed off too – and there was the old woman standing with tears streaming down her face and her hands clutched to her chest. Afterward, she learned that the doctor had made a lengthy job of telling the Shepherd that Max had been found alive and well, in case her good old heart had given out. He'd always been a favourite of Giddy’s and the last few months had been hard on her.

Shepherd said nothing but lurched forward to wrap her arms around Max, who'd been helped to his feet by Furiosa.  They might have all got a bit maudlin at that point, but soon got down to business – there was a very important ceremony to be had.

The Shepherd – bless her – she kept it brief. There was a lot to do before they could go to their bunks tonight.

And once they’d gone through the plans, and everyone knew their positions and where the action would take place, the newlyweds were unceremoniously shooed off to bed.

Which was a little awkward really. Furiosa knew – with a thrill that ran through her when she really took time to think on it – she knew that Max loved her. But, from the few encounters they’d had together, and Max’s own peculiar history of Repopulating, she was fully prepared that he didn’t really want a sexual relationship with her. He’d done that for a living for so long, she would understand if his idea of marriage and intimacy was two people together, exclusively and for always. She would understand if sex didn’t necessarily come into to the picture for him. Honestly? He was alive, and here and married to her and Dear God if that wasn’t enough then she didn’t deserve to be happy. 

Which was why she didn’t expect a ‘wedding night’ in the traditional sense.

They’d sat, a little awkwardly, on her bunk. Well, she was awkward. Max, on the other hand, he looked around the room, presumably reacquainting himself with the place again. All tension seemed to have been lifted from his frame, his shoulders looked relaxed, no longer hunched. He looked content. He took a deep breath and turned to her, as if to say something but she cut him off a little abruptly. She had to say this –

“Max – I’m not expecting – y’know – anything from you. Bringing you here, I mean.”

He tilted his head – looked at her enquiringly. Doesn’t understand. Dammit, she hoped she wouldn’t have to elaborate –

She shifted to face him, her knee bent on the bunk.

“I shouldn’t have asked you – back then. It must’ve put you in a difficult position. To say no, I mean,” and, feeling awkward, she began to babble. “And I’m just happy to have you here – with me – on the ship again, and it’s not like it’s important at all- ”

He looked startled and looked down at his knees, getting redder and redder by the second. Oh God, she’d embarrassed him. She’d embarrassed a Repopulator – again.

Max looked up suddenly, his eyes like – God, they were like dark, dark pools – that’s not embarrassment, that’s -

“Furiosa - ” his voice was low and velvety with a breathiness that made her ears tingle, “I’m yours - ”

She reached out for him, and hesitated – she’d been wrong about this before. Besides, she didn’t own him – you can’t own a person -

“I’ve dreamt about" he went on, moving closer, almost whispering in her ear, "what I might be able to do for you - ” 

She didn’t need any more convincing.

*

And so it had gone, their wedding night. Furiosa smiled dreamily as she stole another look at the cogwheel ring on her hand. It’d been exactly what they’d both needed.

A long talk, a good night’s sleep and waking up next to someone – your first thought being, mine. And that was okay, because it worked both ways. He was hers and she was his and they both knew it.

And, frankly, neither of them had the energy to do anything more. They’d set a hot pace at first, but it wasn’t long before kisses became sleepy nuzzling and incoherent endearments. When she called time, Max groaned defeat into her shoulder. He was beat. She was beat. And they had a busy day tomorrow.

But now she knew why he’d turned her down that night. And that he’d never fucked Jacob once during that whole time they’d been together. And why he hadn't.  It had never occurred to her that they hadn’t at some point. That was what they both did for a living, after all - one way or another. A normal thing to do. But Max had confessed about what he’d done when he hadn’t found her on Persephone. Asked her to forgive him. She’d fucking cried again before she realised he would think it was because she was mad at him. Strange man that he was, this Repopulator who seemed to love one person with all his big fool’s heart. And that person was her. It was almost too much to handle.

She had no idea what she said, it can’t have been coherent but it seemed to please him because he squeezed her tight and kissed her ear every time she spoke. She smiled as she listened to his breathing slow into sleep, his head tucked into her neck and his arm and leg draped over her. And when she woke, he was still there.

And if they made it through today without a hitch, she had a fair idea how they’d celebrate. Furiosa wondered what she could do for him, and one or two ideas had already presented themselves. She smiled to herself in unCaptainlike glee, and then noticed Max’s white knuckles as he held the reins. He’s nervous, no wonder. Man gets married, next thing he knows, he’s on an armed rescue mission with his new wife.

“Hey,” she whispered in his ear, her stupid close bonnet getting in the way. He stopped looking around and relaxed a little into her shoulder with a self-conscious smile, like he’d been caught out. “Knock me a little kiss.” She sat up straight, beckoned and craned her neck so he could fit his face into her headgear, and he moved to lean in. A psst from their lookout on the roof made them both pause.

“Hey, Captain! Max! I see them, look!” the doctor hissed from above.

Well, that didn't change nothing. A nuptial kiss wouldn’t be breaking character. The situation practically demanded it.

Chapter Text

Max took deep breaths and tried to focus. His head was all over the place, had been since he woke up this morning. He wished he had his meditation mat, some time alone to clear his mind, to focus on the here and now; specifically the things that would certainly demand his immediate attention very soon.

But who was he tryin' to kid? If he was alone right now, he’d be taking alternative means of clearing his mind. What Jacob persisted in referring to as a two-hundred-credit-time-out. It’d been difficult to break that particular taboo, what with all those years of having it drummed into them that masturbation was a shameful waste of resources. But he knew that, if he was going to abstain, he would have to take care of himself. It was no great hardship.

He could do with one right now.

Ever since he’d landed at Mr George’s trading post and got settled down to wait, sex couldn’t have been further from his mind. It was all tension, hope, fear. Even when Furiosa had him in her arms through those bars – even, unbelievable as it now seemed, when she’d kissed him – not even then. No, the first time he’d thought about it was when he’d found himself having to convince her that he wanted more than just a spiritual union with her. 

Had he convinced her? Or did she still doubt? How could he put it in words that she was all he’d thought about since he’d retired? How he’d dreamed about her long before then? He’d mentioned something about  - having dreamt about giving her pleasure but perhaps she thought he was speaking metaphorically.

Oh no. He’d had so many wonderful, ludicrous, embarrassing, desperately arousing dreams - usually right after they’d had a battle of words, not an uncommon occurrence on the Rig.

His favourite – oh boy - the one where some kind of black hole appeared and the Rig was inexorably drifting towards it -

In that one, Nux had declared - dream-logic at work here - that the ship’s destruction could only be averted if Max and Furiosa immediately had sex there and then on the bridge. 

Max could still hear her voice, could hear her growl ‘I’m still mad at you’ as she climbed into his lap and took his lip between her teeth. 

He’d had to change his sheets that morning and couldn’t look her in the eye for days.

So, yes, he did want her and if he had to describe, nay, re-enact every goddamn one of those dreams that had fuelled his new form of self-care, then he would.

She’d been all he’d thought about, every single time.

And it was all he could think about now. Now, when he should be focused on the plan. On extracting Jacob, on keeping a low profile, on not getting anyone killed.

He could happily go in all guns blazing, now that he knew Furiosa loved him and was – he could barely comprehend it – now she was his very own. He felt like he could take on the world for this woman who had agreed – insisted on – going to the rescue of someone who she believed to be a rival for Max’s affections. She’d told him that much as they curled up together in her bunk last night. If he hadn’t loved her to distraction before, that would’ve done it.

That blaze of love and admiration would be a good place to be right now, were it not for the fact that he kept getting distracted. Distracted by the memory of her touch, her taste, the sounds she made – the promise of more, if they made it through the day. Max dug his fingernails into his palms to ground himself in the here and now. It didn’t work. It just reminded him of how her fingers had worked through his hair as he’d kissed her neck, how she’d gasped his name into his ear. That had almost finished him there and then. He, a trained Repopulator, had almost blown his load at a word from her. But he didn’t think she would take it too amiss.

He shook himself, realising too late where his thoughts had been leading him. Where was all his hard-won discipline now? Max focused his attention aggressively on the immediate landscape. He ought to be keeping an eye out for their target – he checked his watch - though they had a while yet. It was a nice route, a grassy embankment rose up a little at the side of the road. Wild strawberries too. Puny little things, but they got him thinking -

Strawberries – he wondered if she liked them – he should get some for her –

His eyes unfocused; imagining her taking them, one at a time, taking a bite, eyes creasing up at their sweetness, licking the juice from her fingers –

He shivered and drew a breath. Thankfully, the road opened into a wider landscape, a wide sweeping panorama. Rolling hills on the horizon, great curved hills, smooth with time, reminded him of – oh –

So now the landscape was ganging up on him.

Instinctively he glanced at Furiosa sitting close at his side. The bonnet she wore on these occasions – quite the disguise – covered her eyes. But her chin, her rounded cheek with that little dimple appearing just as he looked, her pink lips turning up at the corners – oh, that was a face of impure thoughts and Max looked away, knowing he had no chance of concentrating now.

He squeezed the reins in his hands in a last effort to focus his mind. But it was a movement at his side, a smile, eyes full of understanding and a whispered ‘Hey’ that did it for him in the end. Plus, their lookout had spoken; it was game on.

*

Furiosa opened her eyes and tried to regulate her breathing back to normal. God damn that was one hell of a kiss. It was an effort not to turn about and head straight back to the Rig. Or the nearest hay-rick, whatever was closer.

Focus

She took a deep breath and looked Max seriously in the eye. Any nervousness in him seemed to have bled right away, and she took a strange kind of comfort having him by her side on a mission, untried as he was.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

“Ready,” she nodded. “Doc! Pass word back. Time to get into position. Fifteen minutes. Max?”

He nodded in reply and flicked the reins. The horse trotted forward, down the grassy slope, towards the ford.

*

“You folks look like you’re in a bit of trouble?”

“Well, lookit this get-up! This a weddin’ party?”

“Yessir!” cried Slit, standing waist-deep in the river. “I’m the best man! ‘Taint goin’ so well right now though!” He gestured at the gaily bedecked but stalled coach and its glum-faced passengers.

“Looks like you threw an axle - ” the first speaker observed flatly, turning to his companion with an aggrieved look. “Told ya we should’ve taken the bridge.”

“Still a damn short-cut,” the other grumbled. “How many men we got here? Any blacksmith nearby?”

The doctor leapt down from his perch on the roof and piped up, in a higher voice than usual, “One by Wicketsville, three quarter mile that way!" 

“Well whit you standin’ round here for? Git!”

Toast glanced at Slit for a moment with narrowed eyes. He'd objected to the role of wedding pageboy and helpful kid, and clearly wasn't any better reconciled to it. Slit merely shooed him off with a cry of “Run quick, Billy, and there’ll be a candy apple in it for ya!” He chuckled at that bit of wit – the doc was always preachifying about how sugar was the devil’s poison, or something to that effect. Once the two jailers were safely deep in converse, Slit glanced back over his shoulder. Yep, there was the doc nipping round to the blind side of the armoured wagon, safe out of sight.

Slit had demurred at the idea of bringing a passenger on a mission like this – Max was different, everyone knew he was gonna be crew if it killed him and this was his own mission anyway – but that Toast was soft. Smart but soft. But, once the nature of the plan was laid out, it made good sense. This wasn’t gonna be the usual guns-blazing kind of expedition. No, they were all going deep undercover. They’d be needin’ the doc for this one, no doubt. Him and his crazy sister had worked up that Goodnight Kiss stuff that the Snake had used on the Captain and Max. Only difference was, there didn’t have to be no kissing this time. Doc was gonna paint it all over the wagon’s reins, all over the seat, and it would work through the jailers’ skin. Magic! The explosions would come after that.

It was a kinda fun-sounding plan, he had to admit. That’s what happens when you have a war council at a wedding party and let all the guests have a say.

But, right now, it was Slit’s job to keep the jailers entertained with yarns ‘til the doc had done his work.

*

When Toast came back, all out of puff – he must’ve done a coupla hundred star-jumps on the spot to be proper convincing – they got to work on the stricken stagecoach.

Slit, Max and the two jailers lifted at the rear-end while Toast scrambled underneath with the necessary part that would fix the problem – good job he didn’t mind water – and deftly pulled Cheedo's sabotage lever back into its rightful place. One axle fixed! Good job neither of these lugheads was a mechanic ‘else they might’ve got suspicious about the ease with which a small boy could fix a thrown axle. But they were only too happy with the prospect of getting back on their way with their prisoner.

As they rested and rubbed their backs in the hot sun, Capable heard one of them say jovially to the other, “I’m gonna go pay my respects to the bride. ‘Taint right she’s sittin’ up there all lonesome. Man shouldn’t leave his woman unprotected like that.” To which the other chuckled "Goddammit Clive, we need to get movin’ here".

Capable bristled and thought longingly of the firearm tucked away in her matron-of-honour's reticule. A glance at Max showed he was just about ready to bust out, himself.

But just then Slit piped up with the cheerful reassurance; “Oh don’t you be worryin’ about Mary-Ann there, she’s got a mean left hook. Believe me."

Capable saw the one called Clive take a horrified look at Slit’s battered and torn visage and immediately reconsider his oh-so-chivalrous plan. Good. Shooting him in the ass would blow their cover, and Capable couldn’t be bothered thinking up a new one at the last minute.

*

“Well, sirs, we’re awful glad you happened by. Wouldn’a got moving else. We’re awful grateful, ain’t we ladies?”

Capable and the Captain simpered dutifully. Max clambered slowly down from the driver’s perch, his hand extended amicably. He wrung the jailers by the hand in turn with a silent but grateful zeal. From the way Max ground those mens’ handbones together, Slit figured he’d heard what they’d said about the Captain. But of course, the proud bridegroom had applied one of the doc’s magic seals to his palm – both his hands too – and was making damn sure the jailers got a healthy dose of sleeping juice to set them on their way.

The two men blinked the tears from their eyes and shook out their crushed knuckles as Max climbed back up next the Captain and took the reins in hand. As the horses moved off, pulling the coach up the bank and to the far side of the shallow river, one of them – Creepy Clive – muttered to Slit. “Your buddy don’t say much, huh?”

“Nope, he’s the quiet type, is our William John.” Slit nodded amicably, noting how they’d already begun to squint and blink real quick, like they were trying to focus. It was kicking in. He walked them back to their wagon, all friendly-like. “You take care now. I hear tell of coyotes hereabouts. Or was it mountain lions?”

They climbed unsteadily to the driver’s box and flicked the reins with a loud Hiyah! Their single horse - patiently cropping the grass all this while – snorted and moved off toward the crossing point. Slit fancied himself as something of an expert on horseflesh and was happy to observe that the nag was a notably stoical beast. An excitable one would make things a little too interesting. He hugged himself in satisfaction as the wagon rattled off, the jailers drunkenly guffawing at the idea of mountain lions in these parts. 

*

They watched the wagon slow, heard a dull thud as Creepy Clive slid from his perch to land heavily on the grassy turf. The other, having better posture, seemed to be merely slumped forward on the box. The horse, realising that nothing more was being demanded of it, came to a halt and resumed its dogged munching of wildflowers.

A minute passed. Nothing moved. Silence but for the sound of equine mastication. Four pairs of boots landed on the ground, one came running up from behind.

“Slit! Get the crowbar. Doc, come with me and Max – we need to make sure these lowdown bottom-feeders are out for the count. Cape, go you and unhitch the horse.”

The three of them approached the fallen jailer first. The ground was soft enough, he'd have to be pretty damn unlucky to have broken his neck, but you never did know. Toast felt for his pulse, looked him over and nodded with a relieved smile. He pulled on a rubber glove and smeared a little more sleep sauce on the man’s lips, poking his finger inside and wiggling it around for a second for good measure. Couldn't have him coming round for a good while yet, although a friendly tap from her prosthetic would do the job pretty well too. This guy sounded like a creep, no doubt, and would probably benefit from a punch from an angry bride.

They turned their attention to man on the box, who murmured a little and got a double dose for his trouble. She and Max carefully lowered him to the ground next to his colleague.

That job done, Furiosa felt it was safe to cast off her bonnet and cloak. Ah, that was better. That hat always got on her nerves, but needs must. She took a deep breath and grinned at Max who nodded back, with a definite look excitement in his eyes. They both turned at the sound of a groan of metal, and a triumphant grunt from Slit. Furiosa took a breath, wondering what she would say to Jacob again -

“Doc! Doc! Need you over here - ”

Furiosa felt a chill run though her, and she clutched at Max's sleeve. They moved closer to where Toast was crouched over a limp pile of limbs –

Jacob had taken a beating. Several, by the looks of it. She felt Max tense up at her side. Bastards. Prisoner-beating bastards. His grim look reflected her own feelings and, as one, turned back towards where the jailers lay asleep.

Capable called out her usual warning, “Remember! No unnecessary killing!”

Ugh, she’s right. Besides – she let out a long breath – they didn’t know if these were the men who’d –

But they’d known. They’d driven a man – beaten bloody, tied in a sack, by the looks of it – without any concern at all. They deserved worse, much worse than what they would get. She grabbed the nearest man’s knuckles. Grazed, but bloodless. The other had some old gore on his palms, but that could have been from hauling Jacob into the wagon.

She looked up at Max who stood over them, his hands clenching and unclenching. But he only gave her a tight-lipped smile that had no mirth in it. She nodded and set her jaw. They couldn’t kill them, but they could and would give them a very grim awakening.

* 

When the shuttle landed, the doc showed him how to pick the Snake up and carry him on board. He didn’t have much useful to do after that, only to hover uncertainly nearby as the doc fussed over the bloodied man on the floor. But, as he cleaned him up, he didn’t look so very bad. Just a headwound, the doc kept saying. That’s why there’d been so much blood.Of course. Slit had thought they’d gutted the guy at first. Silly, really - it wasn’t like he hadn’t dealt with injuries before. Usually his own. It’d been a bit of a shock, finding someone all crumpled up on the floor like that. Slit felt a bit guilty now, wished he hadn’t grumbled so much earlier to Cape about rescuing him. 

But hadn’t he had reason to grumble? He’d been the one who’d had to hang out the side of the Rig to save their skins from that treacherous no-good honeytrap. How could you ever trust someone like that? And how could Cape? After he’d tried to hit on her man? She couldn’t think of a whole lot to say to that; only that, if Jacob was dumb enough to try that again, she’d sling his ass out the airlock herself. But Slit had relented on the grounds that a life was a life, and the Snake had saved Max for the Boss. And that would make life a whole lot more pleasant for the lot of ‘em.

Fractured cheekbone, few teeth missing, couple broken fingers, broken ribs, didn’t look like nothing life-threatening, said the doc. Brain seems alright, too, just a bit knocked out. But Slit would stick around, just in case the doc needed any more heavy lifting doing.

*

Toast wouldn’t leave his patient, so the job of making sure the whole thing went as planned fell to Capable. She’d studied the diagrams for half the night with Nux, after Furi and Max had retired for the night. It would require a bit of care to make it look genuine. First things first, they’d dragged the carcass of the horse out of the stagecoach. Thankfully it was still fairly fresh, but rigor mortis had set in and it was much trickier to get it out than it had been to get it in there. And that had been no picnic. Whose dumb idea was this anyway? From memory, they were all a little bit to blame.

Fake his death! It’ll be easy!

It had kind of gone downhill from there. In short, they would drop the reasonably fresh horse carcass – purchased, still warm, that very morning from the knackers yard – drop it at pretty much the spot it would have landed if it had careered off the escarpment pulling an armoured wagon. After, say, having been spooked by coyotes or a mountain lion. Which had been seen in these parts recently.

They would then get the said armoured wagon rolling, as fast as they could, off the edge of the crag, having first ensured that its lamps were nice and full. All being well, the crash would ignite the oil lamps and the wagon and the horse would be obliterated in flames. And the man inside the wagon, of course. That was the most important part. There would be an incinerated human corpse inside. The notorious criminal, Jacob Rakonen, sadly perished in flames en route to be tried at the Assizes. Thankfully they hadn't had to rob any graves to get a decoy corpse. Turned out that Toast had a partially-dissected one of his own among his own personal truck, a med school souvenir, that he would reluctantly donate under these peculiar circumstances. Needless to say, none of them were best pleased that there'd been a pickled dead man on board for the last few years. But at least this would be a sure way of getting rid of it.

Of course, the jailers would survive to tell the tale. A fuzzy tale of a wedding party, a belligerent bride and a mountain lion. Or was it a coyote?

From where she stood at the top of the escarpment, it looked like it had gone quite well. The wreck was flaming merrily. While Furi and Max dealt with the still-sleeping prisoners and Slit and Toast took care of the newly-liberated prisoner, Capable found herself left with the job of taking the stagecoach back to the hiring yard. She swiftly changed into a shirt and overalls and, as an afterthought, hitched the superfluous horse to the back. They hadn’t planned what to do with it, and she didn’t want to set it loose near the site of the crash since it was supposed to be a greasy charred mess under the smoking ruin of the wagon it had been pulling. Best set it loose further away, or maybe she could sell it. Waste of a good horse to let it go. Besides, it was a nice old thing, and it seemed to like her.

*

The Rig picked up Capable at the hiring yard two hours later.

“Uh, Cape,” Nux asked, knowing what the answer was going to be. “What’s with the horse?”

She looked sheepish, scuffed the dirt with her toe. “She’s such a good ol’ girl. Her name’s Stevie. Don’t ya think she looks like a Stevie? Look at her little face - ”

Nux shook his head, “Oh no. No no no - ” all the while trying not to smile as the kissy noises his stern-faced warrior of a wife was making. Uhhh this was gonna get messy. But he wasn’t gonna be the one shovelling horseshit, and you could write that down.

“Where we gonna keep her? I dunno what Furi’s gonna say about this - ”

“Ohhhh there’s the loading bay. Plenty room for a little house - ” 

“Stable - ” Nux muttered.

“Just imagine her little face peeking out over the door. And we can get a buggy – just you and me – long drives in the country - ”

Cape stepped up close to him, stood on her tippy toes and put her arms round his neck. Oh go on then. Mmmmmm nice kiss.

Nice until the horse decided to join in. Nux recoiled at the very wrong sensation of something nuzzling wetly at his ear.

“What you guys doing out here?” Cheedo called impatiently from the ramp. “Oh, I see. Threesome.”

* 

“So, how’d it go? All tidy? What did you do with the jailers?”

“Hung ‘em,” Furi replied darkly.

But Cape had spotted the look she’d shared with Max and wasn’t fooled. But still, she wanted to check.“By their - ?”

“By something that’ll keep ‘em out of reach of wolves ‘til their buddies come get them.”

And that was all the answer Furi was prepared to make then, as she got up to go to go check on the prize. Well, as long as it wasn’t their necks, that was the main thing. Besides, she’d get the full story from the others later. And that reminded her –

“Oh, and I spread a rumour about a big plume of smoke out beyond Wicketsville. Guessin’ they’ll realise somethin’s up when their wagon don’t arrive by nightfall.”

Furi and Max nodded satisfied approval and headed in the direction of the passenger dorm. She didn’t follow them. He’d live, that was all she needed to know. Slit and Toast were fussing over him enough for everyone and, besides, Capable wasn’t particularly looking forward to meeting him again. But she supposed he’d got enough of a beating to pay for what he did to her sweet baby’s skull. And Nux was only out for a few minutes – this guy still hadn’t come round proper. Must’ve been pretty bad. Capable relented and followed them, in spite of herself.

* 

Slit lounged on the other bed, flicking through Guns ‘n’ Ammo for the twentieth time. Bored. The Snake lay on his side where the doc left him so, if he hurled, he wouldn’t choke on it. Damn, that pretty face sure had got ruined. Well, not entirely. He’d mend. Cuts and grazes, bruising, swelling, nothing he’d carry for the rest of his life. Not like Slit, who was proud of his scars and wouldn’t let anyone suggest otherwise.

He leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes for a nap.

“Scarface?”

Hmph. Well, they hadn’t knocked the cheek outta him anyway. He jumped to his feet and approached the bed of the man who lay blinking at him with the one eye he could open. Yep, he was awake.

Slit turned to the door and bellowed, for the benefit of the others who sat in the kitchen, “Snake’s awake!”

“Hehe, that’s what he said,” the man in the bed chuckled, and whoosh Slit felt his face go bright red.

Goddammit.

*

Well, isn’t this weird? thought Furiosa as she took in the forlorn but very much alive figure in the bed. She and Max had checked in on him earlier, and even Cape had hovered a bit, but he’d been out of it and they’d retreated to the kitchen to hover there instead. But now he was awake and looking up at her. Pale, puffy and a painful shade of purple but he looked a lot better, thank God. What would she say first? Thank you? Definitely thank you.

“Jacob? Hey. Uh – look, I just wanted to say I really appreciate how you uh - ” she looked around. “Where is Max anyway?”

“Oh, he went to see Stevie. Cape’s horse, y’know?” Cheedo piped up, giving Jacob a wave. He waved back, weakly.

“Wait, Cape got a horse?” Slit sounded so mournful at this news that Furiosa smiled and shook her head. She was gonna have to get him a kitten or something. As she glanced at Jacob. He smirked a little and looked up at Slit’s dismayed expression with a look of interest. But his face fell and he reached out urgently for the bucket that Toast held. Vomited copiously into it. Well, that ain’t good.

The doc muttered concussion and swept them all out the door.

*

Jacob dozed fitfully til he could sleep no longer. How long had he been asleep anyway? Little fragments of uncomfortable dreams, but you can’t tell the time by dreams. Long enough for the little doctor to get comfy on the other bed. She? He?  - Jacob wasn’t sure – the doc was fast asleep. Jacob wriggled a little to prop himself up a little. Carefully though. Everything hurt. They said he was concussed, because he threw up. Doc had shone a light in his eyes, look this way, that way, all that stuff. Maybe he was hurt – damn head ached enough and his brain hadn’t even begun to catch up with events. Jacob hoped he was. At least concussion would go away after a couple of days. But he had his doubts.

That sick feeling that kept hitting him like a wave every time he remembered what he had done. Scarface there – Slit, rather – he still wanted a pet so badly – whether it was a human or a horse, it didn’t seem to matter much. It had been funny, and kinda sweet – but, if these folks hadn’t saved themselves, they would all be dead. He would’ve killed them. He’d remembered that, and his stomach had reacted accordingly. Coincidence? Nah. Unfortunately, that meant that this sick feeling wasn't gonna go away.

And, like a manifestation of his conscience, here was Red. Leaning on the doorpost, glaring at him. Oh boy. Well, gotta start somewhere. She took a look at the doc and crept in silently. Hopped up onto a locker and sat there, looking at him. Finally she spoke,

“They really done a number on you, huh?”

Jacob shrugged as best he could. It wasn’t that bad. Seemed appropriate, anyway. Wouldn’t have felt right, being on this ship and walking around right as rain. It was bad enough as it was.

“You’re Capable, right?”

She nodded.

“And your man’s called Nux?”

She nodded, her brow furrowing ever so slightly. Or maybe it was just his imagination.

“Sorry for knocking him out,” he said, a little stiffly, a little too loud, he thought. But he didn’t want to come across all cringing and shamefaced, no matter how he felt it.

“And for trying to seduce him, and for trying to kill us all.”

It was like poking at a wound – painful but strangely satisfying. Almost a relief to hear somebody say it.

“That too,” he nodded.

“Good,” she nodded back. She seemed to be waiting for him to speak.

“The others – it’s Slit, and the nice one is Cheeto? I didn’t catch your names last time. Folks don’t tend to, y’know, when they’re planning on stitching other folks up.” He bit his lip and sniffed defiantly. Perhaps that was a little too blunt.

“No, I don’t suppose they do,” she nodded, not looking any more enraged that before. But it was hard to tell. “It’s Cheedo – with a D. And that there’s Toast, in case you didn’t know. Dag’s his sister. Remember, the girl with the pillow up her jumper?”

Jacob remembered. And remembered what she had called him. A thief. He looked up at Red – Capable – in surprise. “She knew? What I was doing?”

“Oh, Dag knows lots of things. She knew Max had been saved too. Thought she was being metaphorical, till we got some proper evidence to the contrary. Did anyone thank you for that, at all?” 

“Captain did. First thing she said."

“I’ll bet,” she nodded, and hopped off her perch. “Right, I’m gonna scoot before I get yelled at.”

Jacob nodded, trying to remember the thing he’d wanted to say. Oh yeah, that was it, “Hey! How’s your horse?”

“She’s good. You’ll prob’ly recognise her,” she snorted, amused. “She was the one pullin’ your wagon.”

And, with that, she was gone.

*

And when the doc woke up again, Jacob was full of questions. “How’d I end up here?” being the one uppermost in his mind. Also the minor matter of whether they were being chased. Right on cue, Mister Slit popped his head round the door, looking positively delighted.

“Chased? Nah. Dint nobody tell you? You’re dead, friend. Crispy barbeque at the bottom of the bluff. They’ll have trouble tellin’ where you end and the landscape begins.”

The doc raised his hand, “We already had a corpse; it's a long story.” 

Jacob felt a grin slowly spread over his face at the image that presented itself.

“Good, huh?” Slit sounded pleased at his reaction. Jacob snorted with laughter – which hurt, but it was worth it – and glanced up at the grinning man. Sure, the idea of his death being conveniently faked did tickle him no end, but it wasn’t that that was amusing him right then. 

“That makes you an angel then. First thing I saw,” he gazed with a look of adoration at the stunned Slit, while Toast barked out a Hah! and shook his head with a grin. He slapped Slit on the elbow with a chuckle of ‘That’s very generous of you. I’d have took him for a demon.”

No, Jacob knew that he hadn't gone to hell, for all that he'd deserved it.

“I’ll have you know,” Slit drew himself up, addressing the doc indignantly, “my momma always said I had lots of angelic qualities.”

*

“And then the Boss and Max left ‘em danglin’ in the tree like a pair of Christmas baubles!”

Furiosa looked round the room, at Slit regaling them with the epic tale, Cheedo waving her hands to try to get a word in, Jacob looking confused and amused and not necessarily at death’s door. Her eye was caught by a movement at the door, and she beckoned Max in with no small pang of emotion. She couldn’t forget, even after all this, how certain she’d been that these two men had been lovers. That, in another ‘verse, she would be soon to wave them off. What if Jacob would make a fuss about Max being married? Was this gonna get awkward?

And her heart stopped as Jacob looked up at Max by her side – for what felt like an eternity to her – and sat up straighter, reaching out a hand to him.

“Max. Tell me one thing - ” with a pained look. Max stepped forward, stepped up to the bed, leaned over a little.

“Tell me true. Did they knock out my gold tooth?” Jacob pulled down his lower lip, and Max laughed a negative.

 Goddammit Jacob, Furiosa thought, as she breathed again.

* 

“ - So – we’d like you stay here as long as you want to. Whatever went before – well, that’s ancient history,” Furiosa kept her hands in her pockets because 'else she would fidget and look as awkward as she felt. Speechmaking never was her forte. But she needed to make this a good one so she wouldn’t have to make another.

She smiled in relief as the words finally came to her. She glanced at Max for a second, and stepped forward to Jacob’s bedside, her right hand extended –

“Any friend of my husband’s - is a friend of mine.”

Jacob looked inexpressibly relieved as she shook her hand, and she felt she could leave it at that.

*

She stepped out into the corridor and took a deep breath. Every worry seemed to have been stripped away one by one, leaving her feeling as light as a feather - she felt like she could almost float to the ceiling. Warm fingers brushed hers and she looked round with a smile. Max, standing by the door, with that look that still took her breath away. He drew her to him with almost a flourish, she imagined him spinning her round like in a dance. He didn’t quite do that, but it put her in mind of it. He could dance, she’d seen him. Someday they would. She draped her flesh arm around his neck and just looked at him, taking him in. He seemed to be doing the same.

“Have I mentioned that I love you?” he asked. She smiled and bit her lower lip and tried not to actually preen.

“Umm, no – I don’t think you have - ” she looked at him archly. “What do you say? Time to celebrate? Think they can do without us for a few hours.”

As she dashed off down the corridor toward her cabin, Max tripping on her heels, she figured twenty-four of 'em might just be enough.