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Restructuring the Citadel is a never-ending process. Some nights, Furiosa finds herself thinking almost fondly of the desperate, bloody drive back, and despairs at the sheer number of duties awaiting her.
Those nights she tends to spend awake, roaming the Citadel’s halls as her people – and they’re hers, now, trust earned through sweat and blood – sleep on. Cool starlight unaffected by radiation filters through cracks in the stone, casting shadows in the halls, but they don't bother Furiosa. Her monsters only come to get her when she's asleep.
Valkyrie finds her like that one night, leaning on the ramparts of the sentry walls, plans for water distribution and irrigation running through her head. She refuses to hold water from her people, but it is still a precious resource that must be monitored. And the War Boys, for all their viciousness in battle, are not farmers. She says as much to Valkyrie.
Valkyrie shrugs, staring up at the stars above their heads.
“So don’t force them,” she says. “You have others who can farm for now. And,” she begins, turning to watch a satellite go by, “soldiers are a valuable resource to have.”
The fact hangs silently between them: just because Immortan Joe is dead does not mean all hostilities will cease. It is a large world, and someone is always hungry.
“Will you stay?” Furiosa asks, eyes fixed on the glowing campfires of the sentries below. She finds it hard to drag her eyes to her friend’s face, but she forces herself. “Will you stay and help me grow the green place?”
Max left two days ago, slipping through the crowd with ease despite the crush of people. It is hard to be resentful, when he has given so much. His blood is still running through her veins, a constant reminder in the thrumming of her pulse at her wrist.
Still.
She does not think she can bear it if this friend leaves too.
Valkyrie’s eyes soften, and her hand cradles the back of Furiosa’s skull as she touches their foreheads together.
“Of course, my friend,” she murmurs. “How could I leave you now?”
Furiosa smiles, leaning into the touch, still worn raw and awe-struck that the Road has seen to give her this much: her childhood friend, alive and intact, standing at her side.
“Come to bed,” Valkyrie says, briefly breaking the touch before slinging her arm around Furiosa’s shoulders. “The girls say you’ve not been getting much sleep.”
“The girls should mind their own business.”
Valkyrie slaps Furiosa’s arm awkwardly with her hand, her own arm still draped around Furiosa’s shoulders. “You are their business, galah.”
Furiosa nudges back playfully, and they spend the rest of the walk back to her rooms in silence.
They undress silently, clothes falling to the ground where they stand. As Furiosa begins to remove her arm, Valkyrie steps forward quickly.
“May I?” She gestures, hands hovering between their chests.
Furiosa nods and drops her hands from the straps.
Valkyrie unbuckles the harness easily, slipping the arm off so she can inspect it. She turns it over in her hands, running her fingers over the grooves of metal and wires.
“You’ve upgraded since I saw you last,” she says, tone carefully light, placing the arm on a table near the bed.
Furiosa’s lips quirk. “The one from home splintered after I used it to bash a War Boy’s face in.”
Valkyrie doesn’t laugh like Furiosa had hoped she would, but she does smile – a sad, wistful expression that tugs at Furiosa like an old battle wound.
“All these years,” she murmurs, running a hand along Furiosa’s face. “And you were just two nights journey away.”
“Come to bed,” Furiosa interrupts, catching Valkyrie’s hand in her own. “Just – come to bed,” she repeats quietly, sad and angry and grateful and so so tired.
Valkyrie brings her hand to her lips and kisses it, then goes and pulls the blanket back from the bed. She waits until Furiosa is beside her before drawing the blanket back up over both of them.
Valkyrie kisses her twice more: her lips, then her collarbone, then settles against Furiosa’s chest and falls asleep. Furiosa listens to her breathing slow and even out, puffs of warm air a foreign sensation on her skin, and shifts slightly, until Valkyrie’s head is under her chin. If she tilts her head just a little, Furiosa can press her lips to Valkyrie’s hair.
Lying there, Valkyrie’s heartbeat slow and steady next to her own, Furiosa firmly shuts down all thoughts of the duties clamoring for attention and breathes. The call of the road is still there, an ever-present feeling of dust coating her skin, but it’s lighter, now.
When she wakes in the morning, her responsibilities are still there, but,
so is Valkyrie.
And for once, she thinks, leaning forward to kiss her hello, for once, the Road can wait.