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Chapter Text

It is a few days after they had taken the Citadel and Max had left with a nod ("You'll do good. You don't need me here," it had said - and so much more) that a thin, pale, ragged form stumbles up to the Citadel and collapses at its feet. A call goes up from one of the watch towers high on the rock cliffs, and a small crew heads out to meet this lone survivor. There is no need for caution or raised guns. They know their own kind when they see it.

The boy is battered, bruised, and bloodied, holding a mangled arm to his scarred chest and gasping like every breath is a struggle, even as he lies in the sand. Eyes set deep in sunken, darkened sockets open as fellow War Boys - those who had been too sick to fight on the Fury Road - pick him up and lead him, one at each shoulder, back into the Citadel. Back home.

War Boys have been trickling in from the desert for days, homing back in to the one place they know. Even a couple of the Vuvalini would eventually show up, bruised and dehydrated, maybe with a broken bone or two, but otherwise okay. Furiosa and the others haven't gone back to check for survivors. Just holding down the Citadel is hard enough as it is. There is dissent amongst their ranks. Most of the War Pups are happy to embrace Imperator Furiosa, who is clearly their new Immortan and redeemer (she would make a point of getting that idea out of their heads as soon as she finds the time). Some of the remaining War Boys had even accepted her willingly or follow her now out of habit, simply because she is the highest-ranking person left in the Citadel. But others resent her. She killed their god, after all. For many, Immortan Joe's hold is still strong, even in death. It was all they had known, all they had to believe in. Most of the boys who stumble back in from the Fury Road fit into the latter category. They had fought for the Immortan, witnessed their brothers, and very nearly died themselves. Furiosa is still the enemy. Luckily, Furiosa has numbers on her side, but those War Boys still have to be dealt with (preferably as gently as possible - "no unnecessary killing" as Angharad had said).

Nux is brought up to the blood shed and placed on one of the stone benches where he sat before all this started. The Organic Mechanic is (thankfully) gone, but the remaining Vuvalini are resourceful, and know how to heal. They determine that Nux is severely dehydrated, sun burned and on the verge of heat stroke, on top of having several breaks in his arm, a few broken ribs, a number of gashes and cuts that had at least stopped bleeding a couple days ago, and probably a concussion. In all, the diagnosis is that he is damn lucky to have crawled away from that wreck with only the injuries he has.

Nux recalls that when the world stopped turning over and over and the violent sounds of cars smashing into cars had died down behind him, the groaning of shifting, broken metal finally quieting, he had lain there for quite some time wondering if the shiny gates of Valhalla would open to him or if he would be denied entry. He wasn't quite sure where War Boys went when they didn't earn their way into Valhalla, but wherever it was, it probably wasn't pleasant, and he figured that's where he was heading after traitoring the Immortan.

It took him a few hours to realize that the pain he was feeling wasn't the afterlife for failed War Boys, or any other afterlife, but just the opposite. Specifically, it was the pain of having just survived a multi-car pileup after rolling the biggest rig the Immortan had owned. Pretty shine way to go out, he mused to himself. Except that he had failed to actually go out, yet again. But that didn't really matter anymore. He had resigned himself to the fact that he probably wasn't getting into Valhalla. Might as well go on living.

It took him several more hours to crawl his way out of the wrecked remains of the Rig. It had settled on one side, the cab crushed, the roof hatch now too narrow to even squeeze through, meaning his only way out was through the driver's side door. Climbing with a concussion, broken ribs, and one useless arm was not the easiest task he had ever attempted. After numerous attempts interspersed with long breaks of gasping and trying to push the pain to the back of his mind, he finally pulled himself over the Rig's door frame. He lost his strength on the way down and tumbled to the ground, hitting his head on one of the Doof's speakers laying near the underside of the Rig. He didn't even have time to cry out before the blue of the night sky snapped into blackness and unconsciousness overtook him.

He awoke to the sun in his face, the heat pounding down on his pale body. He squinted as he slowly opened his eyes. He had none of the white paint that protected the War Boys from the sun, and he could definitely feel the difference. With a groan, he rolled to his side and pushed himself up, noting the blood soaked into the dirt where his head had lain. The wound on the back of his head from the corner of the speaker was small compared to his other cuts and gashes, but he knew well that head wounds bled a lot. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled through the canyon toward the open desert. He doesn't remember much after that. Doesn't remember the days of staggering toward the Citadel. Hardly even remembers how he got up to the stone bench on which he now finds himself.

He's feverish, dizzy, and nauseous, and is only barely aware of hands gently moving him, cleaning his wounds, splinting his arm and wrapping it tightly, pouring water into his mouth. And then he sleeps, unaware of the prick of a needle, unaware even of the fellow War Boy who sits on the ledge above him, their arms connected by a red tube.

Chapter Text

Furiosa is not meant to govern. She may be the figurehead of their new situation - by other people's choice, not her own; she's the one everybody recognizes, it was her name everybody had called out - but when it comes to politics and dealing with the many issues that arise in making a place like the Citadel run, she prefers to take a back seat. This is just not a rig she wants to be driving. Sure, she'll put in her opinion on many of the issues that come up (she can't afford not to be involved when they're all scrabbling to maintain their hold on this place), but sometimes she just has to get away from it all, and leave these matters to the Many Mothers (as the remaining Vuvalini have again been calling themselves as well as Capable, Toast, Dag, and Cheedo). She mourns the Green Place of her childhood, but this is their new Green Place, she reminds herself. They just have to work with what they've got, broken though it may be.

She heads down deeper into the Citadel, over to the third tower. She's more comfortable among the War Boys than up high in the halls where the Immortan had once ruled. She'd deal with issues she is more able to handle: The dissent among the War Boys. The tunnels are frighteningly empty now. No longer crowded with boys rushing from one place to another. So many had died. Now it's only War Pups she sees as she walks. Many stop to salute her, their hands peaked above their heads, fingers interlaced; the sign of the V8. She shakes her head faintly.

Furiosa runs into Ace down below. He was one of the first of the War Boys to return to the Citadel. Even before Furiosa had returned, he was waiting there. It had been a tense first encounter. Both met wordlessly, and only their eyes said what needed to be said. He had heard by then what she had done. The Pups had run through the hallways, yelling it out to anyone and no-one, until the whole of the Citadel was abuzz. As it turned out, however, Ace was more angry that Furiosa had betrayed their crew than he was that she had killed Joe.

That had been the hardest part for Furiosa as she had left the Citadel with an unusually precious cargo in her Rig. She had looked up toward her crew before she made the final, tough decision to turn off road. She was going to lose each one of them, and she had trusted them greatly. The worst was knowing that if any of them made it to the Canyon with her, she was going to have to take them out herself.

These were not just men she had worked with, they were men she had grown with and lived among for the last several thousand days. Sure, being a War Boy wouldn't have been her top choice of a life to throw herself into (it had been a necessity more than anything), but she still felt a certain amount of camaraderie with the War Boys. She had trained with them, fought with them, eaten with them, slept among them, and they had accepted her. Ace, especially. She was little more than a young woman when she had been thrown down among the Wretched and fought her way back up to join the War Boys. She wouldn't die for Joe - never - but she'd stay among his ranks, to survive, to keep up her strength until maybe an opportunity came. It was Ace who had first spoken to her in those difficult first days.

He had approached her, sitting on a tire, her hair messily cut as short as she could get it, trying to hold back the tears that pushed at her broken heart. He had sat down next to her, looking out at the War Boys working instead of looking at her but it was Furiosa he had spoken to. "Won't be easy. Never is. But you hold your own, and they'll let you in. Show them you can do it, and they'll believe you."

He had practically taken her under his wing after that. She wasn't special - he tried to take care of as many of the pups and newly-anointed War Boys as he could - but he treated her like a human in their little world where everybody was just battle fodder. In fact, he taught her a lot of what she knows about being a War Boy. He watched her with an unspoken pride as she fought her way up the ranks. Blackthumb. Lancer. Driver. When she had first become Imperator, he had greeted her with a humble V8 salute and a hidden smile.

After her return to the Citadel, after the Fury Road, it took a couple days for words to start drifting between Furiosa and Ace again, but they came to a tense sort of peace. Ace turned quickly to Furiosa's side; he even continued to call her "Boss." He had no deep love for Joe's regime like many of the other War Boys had, and he understood why Furiosa did what she did. But the trust between them was badly shaken. It would have to be rebuilt.

Ace stands up from where he was sitting as she approaches. His nose is comically bandaged, badly broken from being punched in the face with a pistol. Furiosa herself doesn't look so good either. She had cleaned herself up, but her eye is still swollen shut and the bruises on her face have reached a truly vicious blue and purple. Her ribs now are wrapped tightly in bandages under the leather belts that hold her backup prosthetic in place. She had been told to lie down and rest at least a few days, but how could she when there is work to be done? She can stand under her own power, if a little shakily sometimes, and that is enough.

"How are they doing?" She indicates the locked door behind which sits a room full of unhappy War Boys.

"Wouldn't go in there yet if I were you. May well get violent."

She had had to lock up any of the War Boys who showed distaste for her and her ideals. It isn't her favorite solution, but she couldn't force them out of the Citadel, and she couldn't have them roaming around trying to kill people, so it was the only option she saw.

In all, the boys who don't like her are starting to outnumber the ones who do, but since she muscles them into locked rooms as they trickle into the Citadel, and since a decent diet is starting to strengthen her War Boys that were too sick to fight, she maintains the upper hand on the situation. She hopes that showing these angry War Boys that they are not things to be owned, that they are people and they have a choice in what they do with their lives would sway at least some of them. Locking them up isn't the best way to show that, she has to admit, but she's hoping that some kindness and Ace's guiding hand might change that. She works with what she can. Always has.

She thought Ace would be her best chance of talking some sense into the War Boys. They all know him. He has been around longer than any of them, has the expertise to show it, and was high-ranked enough to have been second in command to an Imperator. Many of the War Boys looked up to him. Hopefully they still do.

"Keep trying," she says unnecessarily, pulling herself out of her thoughts. "Just don't… Don't try and force the matter down their throats." That would only breed more resentment.

"You got it, Boss."

Hope is a mistake echoes through her head as she turns away. She shakes it off. Even the Fool had gone back on those words when he followed them into the salt. (Max, she reminds herself. She doesn't remember him saying his name, but that's what the others started calling him after he left.)

Ace has this covered. She can't do much for the War Boys right now. She finds herself on autopilot, heading down to the vehicle bays. Maybe there is something she can do there until she's ready to head back to the intense discussions in the newly-appointed council chamber.

Chapter Text

News of Nux's return spreads rather slowly. To those involved in bringing him up to the Citadel, he was just another War Boy limping back from the Fury Road. It was one of the Vuvalini, Nida, who finally recognized him as the boy who rolled the War Rig, but she didn't tell anybody right away. His recovery was more important than people fussing over him for what he had done.

It is a few days later, when his head is starting to clear and he doesn't feel so much like death, that Nux awakes to a hand holding his own. He opens his eyes to see a decidedly different ceiling than the one he had been staring at bleary-eyed in the blood shed, and then he turns his head to see a cascade of red hair around a worried face. His own face lights up with the brightest of smiles, but his throat can't find any words. She's here. She made it safely.

Capable makes a soft noise of relief, and gingerly pulls him into a motherly hug. He is surprised by yet another soft, kind gesture from her, and his eyes dart around, not knowing what to do. Finally, he lifts his good arm, and presses it to her back.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers next to his ear, and he doesn't quite understand why.

"You witnessed me," is all he can find to say in response, like that would make all her worries go away.

"I did." She smiles at him sadly as she releases the hug. "And you did a great thing for us. But you're back. You're okay."

Nux doesn't feel so okay. He's a little scared, actually. He had never really thought past the Fury Road. Fiery, chrome death had been his only real goal since he started getting sick. For a short time he had lived for others, for Capable, and there had been that brief moment of hope as they turned back toward the Citadel, but War Boys don't make a habit of thinking of what happens after a battle. And almost rightly so, neither had he.

Now what goal is there to live for? He has no idea what he will do in this new world, especially with his death still breathing down his neck. This isn't the world he was made for. But she's looking at him with such hope. Maybe he can find something. For her.

He admires her so much. She had pieced him back together when his world was upside-down and broken and he thought there was nothing left. He had known he wasn't going to get into Valhalla when the Immortan had fanged it with a scoff of "mediocre!" He had known that he was going to die soft, and probably not even among his brothers. Would they even hang a wheel for him on the altar with those of the War Boys that had come before him? At the time, the only comfort he had found was that maybe they would just forget about him and not realize what a failure he had been.

And then Capable had appeared, shocked at first, but not afraid. He had poured everything out to her, not even knowing why, and she had reached out to him. He represented everything she was trying to get away from, and yet she showed him kindness.

Nux hadn't known why. Capable could tell by the look on his face that he was just scared and alone, and when he had beat his head on the floor in self-punishment, she couldn't stop herself from reaching out to stop him. She was intrigued by the boy. She had only ever seen the War Boys as violence embodied, had never seen one show weakness, certainly had never seen one on the verge of tears. In that moment, he had gone from one of Joe's mindless pet monsters to a human being, with insecurities and fears just as she could feel. She wanted to understand. She got on his level, met him eye-to-eye, and he told her of strange things, of the honors of driving, of Valhalla, of feasting with heroes.

She had touched his mouth because it was scarred. Because she had known he had done it himself, and because now she felt something akin to sympathy toward this person. This lost War Boy who only saw his own death looming on the horizon. She didn't know if he would be willing to change sides in this battle, but if he wanted to, she would give him the chance.

Furiosa visits Nux later that day, after Capable has been shooed away to let him rest a while. He's sitting up in the makeshift bed, staring blankly at his hand in his lap, wondering where to go from here. When he eventually looks up, sensing movement, he finds Furiosa standing against the roughly-hewn door frame, her arms crossed in front of her. He looks at her almost sheepishly, and she shakes her head, finally moving from the door to sit by his bed.

They sit in relative silence for a while, each trying to find words to say. Nux resorts to staring back down at his hand.

"Thank you," Furiosa finally breathes, and Nux looks up at her, wide-eyed.

Chapter Text

Things around the Citadel recover slowly.

Nux is up within a couple days, though he can't do much with a broken arm splinted, wrapped, and strapped to his chest. So he resorts to following Capable around like an over-grown lost puppy more often than not. She doesn't mind; he helps her out as much as he can, though the politics of the Citadel are largely lost on him. Not what he was raised for. He takes to becoming scarce when the Many Mothers convene for meetings. Regardless, Capable asks for his opinion on what to do about the War Boys and War Pups, and he feels like he's helping, if only a little.

The War Boys on the Many Mothers' side are gradually increasing. More and more, the War Boys that Furiosa had had to lock up are deciding that maybe this isn't so terrible after all. Maybe they can work with this. One by one they're accepting that the Immortan was never the god he had claimed to be. That maybe they can make their half-lives a little better in this new world.

Ace goes in to each room daily, brings them their food and water, talks to them very carefully. He's not going to force them to accept their new situation, but he tries to show them that it's not the end of the world. Even Furiosa goes in to see them sometimes, at least when there are aren't so many of them per room, so she knows she can take them if they get rowdy. She tries to show them kindness, as much as she can. The ones who still disagree and spit at the mention of Furiosa's name are eventually released from their locked rooms regardless, so long as they are constantly accompanied by a trustworthy War Boy. Holding them any longer would completely negate the Citadel's new policy that We Are Not Things. And gradually, some of them change their minds, too.

Ace accepts credit only in small doses. Furiosa knows it was by his hand that many of the War Boys who are now on their side came to be that way. Ace maintains that it was the War Boys themselves who made the final choice, so Furiosa doesn't press the matter. As they open the doors to the War Boys' temporary prisons for the last time, however, she claps him on the back heartily, and a lopsided smile slides across his face.

As more War Boys begin to mill around, busy at work once again and laughing in camaraderie, Nux finds himself mourning Slit. Sure, he was a complete asshole most of the time, but he was his lancer. They had a certain bond, a trust, that among the War Boys is only shared between a driver and his lancer. A driver has to know his lancer has his back, has to know how to drive to best make use of his lancer's skill, and a lancer has to know his driver well enough that he doesn't get thrown off the car. From inside the engine compartment of the War Rig, Nux had heard his lancer's familiar voice scream "Valhalla!" as the Rig jerked to the side. He can't fault Furiosa for what she had done, but it saddens him that Slit's last words to him were to call him filth.

The Many Mothers work together strongly, but each has her own individual strength, as well. The Dag takes over the gardens of the Citadel, in memory of the Keeper of the Seeds and with the aid of the remaining Vuvalini (who also double as healers for the War Boys who come in injured and continue to get sick, though not as often as they had) who have experience in these matters. Furiosa effectively becomes the head of security, but Toast follows closely behind her, learning everything she can from her. Furiosa is pleased at how quickly Toast learns (and the amount she already knows), and looks forward to passing on the title and going back to the open road. She doesn't know if she'll ever escape from the duty of being a figurehead, but she's trying to change that. She's not their god, not their redeemer, not even an Imperator anymore. She tries to communicate that every chance she gets, but it's slow going. Capable takes up many of the tasks of keeping things running smoothly in the Citadel: organizing work schedules, rationing out what supplies they have, and overseeing the training of the War Pups. Cheedo reaches out to the Wretched below, no longer afraid of a world so vastly different from the one she had always known. She brings them supplies, encourages them to build more permanent structures, and brings as many back up with her as she can manage.

But they all help each other.

The War Boys will be War Boys. It's hard to train them out of that, so Furiosa uses them to do what they're good at: fight. She knows most of them are not fully behind the women's cause, that they've just accepted a new form of command and a better life, but she can at least guide them to put their skills to better use. No more raids, just defense. When someone else attacks, they get to see the glory of battle again. And more will attack, Furiosa has no doubt. In the times between, they keep themselves amused by practicing their skills, fighting amongst themselves - as they do and have always done - and maintaining the few vehicles they have left. Furiosa also has them rip the Gigahorse apart and piece it into other vehicles. Many of the War Boys grumble, thinking it's a shame to destroy such a beautifully well-built vehicle, but it stands as a symbol (and a memory) that Furiosa will not tolerate in the Citadel any longer.

The War Pups, on the other hand, are easier to mold into different tasks. Some learn to help with the gradually spreading rows of crops, some learn to help the people of the Citadel. They learn to heal, to build, to repair damage done. Everybody has a job. The care and training of the Pups had previously been in the hands of the War Boys, but now the Pups outnumber the War Boys. Much of the care of the Pups is returned back to the women who had birthed them: the Wretched, the Milking Mothers and the "non-prized breeders" who had been locked away until Joe's downfall. The bond between the Pups and their War Boy brothers is still strong, however, and they are rarely found far from each other.

Relations with the Bullet Farm and Gas Town are shaky at first, but all three have people scrambling to maintain power in the chaos, and none has the energy to deal with the others for a while. In the end, this issue turns out to be the easiest to tackle. Each power realizes that they need the others, and none have the force to overtake the others, so they settle on tentative trading agreements not too different from the ones they had had before. Food and water for guzzoline and bullets.

They eventually go back to the canyon to scavenge valuable materials from the massive wreck. They have to make a deal with the Rock Riders, who have already picked the remains clean of anything they can use (which luckily for the Citadel crew, isn't all that much - mostly just the bikes and bike parts). One by one, they haul vehicles out of the mess, sometimes piece-by-piece. Some of the ones in back are the least damaged, some can even still drive. The citadel's repair and storage bays become filled once again with metal, twisted and whole alike. And the War Boys are back to doing what they love doing most aside from warfare: fixing up their vehicles, worshiping V8 in the best way they know how.

Chapter Text

The War Boys who refuse to turn to the side of the Many Mothers start making life difficult. First it's just little things. Fights among the War Boys that go beyond the unspoken rules and limitations of their usual scuffles. Furiosa tries to have their escorts keep them apart. Nothing's worse than angry War Boys in groups, but it doesn't always work. When a group of them manage to sneak away in the night, they go to find Furiosa and the Many Mothers, go to put an end to this by their own blades. Furiosa, however, had the foresight to make sure everybody slept in unlikely places, in humble rooms far from the council chamber and the halls where Joe used to rule. The War Boys burst into empty room after empty room without success.

Failing their first goal, they decide to exact revenge on the next highest-ranked traitor they can think of: Ace, their supposed "guiding hand." If Furiosa had taken the Immortan's seat in the Citadel, that made Ace her Imperator, which made him the biggest traitor among the War Boys. And his room isn't difficult to find: they know he's never far from the main chamber where the War Boys sleep, sprawled across ledges and the floor. What they don't know, however, is that they weren't difficult to find, either.

Ace, ever alert, awakes suddenly to the sound of quiet footsteps. He shares the room with a pile of War Pups, but they typically sleep through the night - the night fevers haven't caught up to them yet. These steps are too big to be them. He jumps up from the slab of rock that serves as a bed and finds himself surrounded by War Boys in the darkened room. He reaches over slowly and turns up the single lantern in the room, bringing it from a soft glow to a bright flame. The pups stir and rub their eyes.

"Get out," he says to the pups, and they scramble out of the small room, wide-eyed at the blades that flash in the dim light. "What's this, then?" He addresses the War Boys now. But he knows exactly what this is about.

They sneer at him. He isn't worth their words. One to his left makes a sudden lunge as the others close in, aiming to cut him down. He starts to dodge, but there's a gunshot, and the one to his left drops with a cry. Another shot brings down one to his right, before the others even manage to turn and face the attacker. Ace looks up to see Furiosa standing in the doorway, murder in her eyes and a gun in her hands. The two who had managed to nab knives from other War Boys are out of the picture. The other three are unarmed. Furiosa levels the gun at their heads.

"Think carefully," she growls, and for a moment, it seems they do.

Furiosa glances at Ace briefly, and in the space of a breath they both burst into motion. Ace slams his fist into the face of the one still standing beside him. Furiosa lowers the gun and rushes in, taking down the second. The last one left reacts quickly, lunging for Furiosa with everything he has. Ace grasps his arm, pulling him back and twisting it behind the boy as Furiosa turns her attention away from the one she just took out. She brings her knee up into the boy's stomach, dropping him to the ground.

Furiosa surveys the damage. One with a bad shoulder wound. One shot through the leg. Two unconscious. One in a heap gasping for breath. Could have gone worse.

Ace goes to get help from other War Boys and they drag the injured boys away to a locked room, then go to collect the few remaining dissenting War Boys who were not involved in this particular escapade. When they're all together in the small room (and all are conscious or bandaged) Furiosa goes to address them, Ace close behind her.

"This ends now." She looks each of them in the eye. By now even the ones who hadn't been involved have figured out why they're here. From Furiosa the Slayer, Furiosa the False God, they're expecting the worst, and they share glances among themselves. They'll make a battle of it if they have to. They'll go down fighting and witness each other as they do.

"You'll get rations. As much as you can carry on your back. And you. will. get. out." Her voice is venom. "You come back, and you get shot. Clear?"

This is not what they were expecting, and it shows on their faces. Some of them shuck off the surprise quickly and sneer. Weak. Foolish.

But they receive their rations and they go, guns trained on their backs until they disappear into the desert.

"They'll do alright," Ace sighs as they watch them leave, and Furiosa is momentarily surprised. In her rage, she had nearly forgotten that they were the same War Boys she and Ace had worked and fought with. Ever the unofficial caretaker of the boys, Ace still cares.

She rests her metal arm on his shoulder. "Yeah, they will."

(Furiosa is a little nervous knowing they're out there, though. She'll double the guard for a while, just in case.)

He turns to her, looks like he wants to say something, but doesn't know how. "Boss. Thanks for, uh… getting my back… Back there." They both know he may well have survived that encounter on his own, but likely not without some medical attention afterward.

"Any time."

Chapter Text

Max returns over a hundred days after he had left. He can't stay - can never stay. But whatever he was looking for out there (even he's not sure what it is sometimes), he's not finding it, and he made a connection with these people like he hadn't made in so many years. Or at least a connection that didn't end in complete disaster (yet, at least. He tended not to hold on to hope). These people had caught him as he plummeted away from humanity and into animalistic instinct. They taught him to be human again. To find redemption in whatever small ways he can. To live for more than just himself. This connection is what drove him to leave in the first place - attachments are too dangerous to keep in this world - and now it's what's driving him straight back. He keeps telling himself this is a terrible idea. But he does it anyway.

He's going back more for himself than for anybody else's needs. They don't need him there. It's not his place. He just wants to see that everybody is still alive, that he didn't perhaps make a mistake in leaving. They're not my responsibility, he reminds himself. If they die now, it wasn't me who failed to protect them. He tells himself this often. It keeps away the fear that if someone has died in his absence their ghost will join the others in his head.

Also, he needs supplies, and he figures this will be a safe place to trade. Bartertown puts a bad taste in his mouth, anyway.

A cacophony of new voices had joined in his head after the battle on the Fury Road. Vuvalini, he remembers they are called. It's not that he had failed to protect them, but that it was his idea that had led them to their deaths. So it is no surprise to hear them now. The woman Angharad is there too. He can't help but feel it was his fault that she had slipped.

It was the Vuvalini, in part, who had brought him back here, prodding him with whispering voices. He is thankful they aren't as accusing as his other ghosts usually are.

The patrol that comes to meet him outside of the Citadel doesn't recognize him, of course, and that's fine by him. They only let him in because he (reluctantly) surrenders his weapons and says he wants to trade. (Not that he has much to trade in the first place - maybe they'd accept labor as payment.) He stops his stolen Citadel bike (or maybe borrowed? He feels a little bad about that, but figured at the time it wouldn't be missed) in the middle of the three looming towers of rock, and watches as the heavy lift descends.

Furiosa stands at the top as Max, a single figure alone on the large lift, rises into the air toward her. Having been informed of a new arrival and seeing his form below, she had given the order to lower the lift for him. There is no other way up presently, except perhaps for the crane hooks. The lift stops with a loud clunk and a creak, and Max looks around nervously at all the people - many of them War Boys - climbing down from the wheels used to power the lift (they now volunteer for the occasional task of running the lift, freeing the previously-enslaved Cog Fodder). Only as they filter out of the bay does he spot Furiosa.

The faintest of smiles crosses her face, and she gives him a single nod by way of greeting. Max can't help but smile a little himself, and returns the nod.

"What brings you back?" She inquires as they walk together into a narrow tunnel carved out of the rock.

"Trade," he states roughly, not wanting to admit the other reasons he has come back. He had opened up to her once, when she was dying; he poured all his emotions out freely. But his defenses have snapped shut again since, and he isn't ready to tell her that he still thinks about the women he had fought beside, or the fact that he is hearing the voices of Furiosa's dead sister and mothers.

Attachments are dangerous.

She looks at him a little quizzically, almost amused. "You don't have to trade for anything here, Fool."

(He wonders briefly if she actually knows his name after all.)

The look Furiosa gets back from Max is one of mild surprise, not far off from the last time she had called him Fool. He hadn't really considered that they would just give him stuff. He had helped them, sure, but you don't go around expecting anybody to owe you anything in the Wasteland. That's not how you survive.

"We have plenty," she reminds him. The Wretched are getting much better food and water rations now, but there are so few War Boys left that there is still excess.

"I can work," Max mumbles, his eyes on the floor, and Furiosa almost laughs. He's apparently stuck on the idea of a fair exchange.

"Fine. You can work. We've got plenty of salvage to fix up."

Chapter Text

Max is disappointed, but not surprised, that he doesn't find his Interceptor among the wreckage that had been brought back to the Citadel. He had seen it go up in flames, in the hands of the War Boy who had tried to cut his head off a couple days prior, but that was before they entered the Canyon. Perhaps that was too far back for them to have bothered looking for wreckage. He hadn't gone back to the site of the battle himself. Too dangerous, probably crawling with War Boys at first, and then he was afraid of the ghosts he might unearth if he went back. But Furiosa had told him they cleaned out the canyon completely. Maybe now there was nothing for the ghosts to hang on to there.

He picks a car that none of the War Boys seem to be working on and slides himself underneath it, trying to determine the extent of the mechanical damage. It relaxes him a bit. His hands are soon black with engine grit. He struggles with one of the smaller parts of the engine, grunts in frustration and lets his hands drop. His left hand isn't as dexterous as it used to be. Between the steering wheel incident and the arrow, it had received a beating during those few days, and hadn't healed quite right. Not that he had given it much of a chance to.

Sliding out from under the car, Max stands up and leans against the hood.

"Bloodbag!"

Does anybody here remember his name?

He turns, knowing but not believing the voice he hears. Another ghost? It's hard to tell sometimes. But there's the boy, waving both hands in the air as he comes galloping across the repair bay. Others seem to see him too, Max notes. Not a ghost. Somehow, Furiosa had neglected to mention that the boy was alive. To be fair, they hadn't shared very many words at all when he arrived. She had shown him where to get a meal, where he could rest and where the repair bays were, and left him to it.

The boy (he has a name. What was it? Nux) is ruffling his hair affectionately, his eyes bright and a smile plastered across his face. Brought back to that time after they had subdued Furiosa beside the War Rig, almost like he's reliving it, Max has to fight a brief urge to punch him in the sternum again. Pushing him off instead, Max tries for what he thinks is an amiable smile. He is glad to see him.

Nux's face isn't painted up like a skull anymore, nor is his skin painted white, but his head remains clean-shaven. In fact, most of the War Boys look as such, Max has noticed, though some still wear their black markings like badges of rank, and the ones out under the sun retain their white paint. Only a few have started growing hair again. It's hard to change an identity you have known your whole life, he guesses.

"You. You didn't… die." Max stumbles through the sentence awkwardly. He had tried to think of a softer way to put it, but the words hadn't come to him. He thinks of Nux's eagerness to die - witness me, Bloodbag! - when Max was chained to his arm, desperately clinging to the back of his car. He shudders at the memory, shaking it from his head.

"I didn't!" Nux chimes, apparently unfazed by the word choice. "Crawled out with a broken arm and some broken ribs, and made it back here."

Max raises his eyebrows, surprised that's all the damage that wreck had done.

"Well. And a concussion and a head wound." Nux adds, leaving out the numerous other gashes, scrapes, and bruises he had had.

Max hums an acknowledgement.

Max heads to the Meal Hall later on. Nux had continued to tell him things as Max delved back under the hood of the car he was working on. The boy didn't seem to mind that he got little more than half grunts of acknowledgement from him. He knew Max was listening. He told him everything he could think of - how the Many Mothers were running the Citadel now, how each one of them (including those Max knew and a number of ones he didn't) were doing, how peace was reestablished with Gas Town and the Bullet Farm, how people had rallied to fight off the raiders who had come to try and fill a power void. By the time Nux was done talking and had disappeared with a "See you later, Bloodbag!" Max almost felt as if he had never left the Citadel at all.

In the Meal Hall, he spots Furiosa as he turns toward the tables with a flower-painted plate full of food in his hands (he wonders where the plate had come from). She notices him too, and motions to the seat beside her.

He plunks down next to her, placing the plate in front of him like he might break it if he's not careful. It's covered in leafy greens and a cup of soup made from potatoes and other root vegetables - the likes of which he hasn't eaten in… he has no idea how long.

"Max," she greets him, and his eyebrows rise at the mention of his name. He's so used to only hearing it from his ghosts.

"…Furiosa," he responds after a moment, unsure what else to say.

They eat in comfortable silence until both plates are empty. Max stares at the floral pattern on his plate. It reminds him of better times.

"You, uh… You didn't tell me the boy made it. Nux." He finally rumbles quietly, breaking the silence.

"You ran into him?"

"Talked my ear off."

"He'll do that."

They wipe their dishes clean, return them to the stacks, and then Max finds himself following Furiosa out of the Meal Hall, not even knowing where she's going. She talks to him quietly as they walk, informing him that the council is meeting soon, and he should come say hello to everyone else.

He has to switch to walking on her other side as she speaks. Things tend to be fuzzy and faint in his right ear these days. When she gives him a quizzical look, he taps his jaw next to his ear by way of answer. It takes her a few moments to remember having fired two guns right next to his head.

"Is it bad?" She grimaces a little.

Max shakes his head. He doesn't really mind that much. He just wishes it would quiet the ghosts a bit.

They go up and up, until Max's knee hurts from so many stairs. They cross a catwalk high in the air and weave their way through the next tower. Furiosa heads straight toward an ornate wooden door, completely out of place in these halls of stone. She pushes it open and enters, Max following behind her. A circle of eyes all turn to look at him, and he stops, almost startled. A few faces light up with smiles, however, and they get up to greet him.

"Max. So glad you're back." Capable gives him a hug. Max stands there awkwardly, and it takes him a minute to remember he's supposed to return it (which is also done awkwardly).

"Not staying long," he admits. Capable nods. She knows.

Cheedo follows Capable's example and gives him a hug as well. Dag joins the others around Max and waves with a quirky half-smile. Toast stands back and offers him a nod. Even the Vuvalini (Adriene, Marin, Maadi and Nida, he had learned from Nux) approach him, one giving him a slap on the back. The others in the room stay seated, watching with quiet smiles. He sees old, young, heavy, thin; some men, but mostly women. Nux had said anybody was welcome to come to the council, to put in their opinion.

The women he knows all start up around him, asking him questions. "Where have you been? How have you been? How long are you staying? Why did you leave? Have you heard that…" Furiosa stands back and watches with amusement in her eyes.

Max does his best to answer them in his short, halting half-answers. Eventually (mercifully) the talk turns away from his life and toward life at the Citadel. Nux has already told him a great deal, but he listens anyway, happy to hear again that things are going well here.

After nearly an hour, however, Max excuses himself quietly. They have important business to get to, and the Citadel is not his place. Plus, he's mentally exhausted. Social interaction is not his strong suit. He'll go back to working on that car for a while.

Chapter Text

As Max settles into the small room he had been told he could sleep in, the voices start to echo in his head again.

"You promised to help us, Max! You let us die!" A girl - that girl - stands in his room, staring him down.

"Shhh," whispers a Vuvalini voice, and that surprises Max more than anything.

The ghosts quiet down a little, but he still finds it hard to sleep. He so rarely gets a good night's rest, anyway. He knows he's safe here (or as safe as he can be in this world), but in the middle of the night his eyes snap open and he can't get them to close again, nightmarish visions flashing through his mind.

He won't be going to sleep again, so he gets up and leaves the room, not knowing where he's going but knowing that at least it's better than staring into the darkness while sleep won't come. This place is a maze in three dimensions. He wanders until he is hopelessly lost. (Not that he was planning on going back to his room anyway.)

He finds suddenly, though, that this place is all too familiar. He stops dead in his tracks, focusing acutely on his surroundings. Dim blue light filters in from gaps in the ceiling, outlining cages suspended high in the air. It looks a little different, a little cleaner, less dank, the stone ledges covered in soft blankets and a few pillows, but he knows this place. He spent countless days trapped here, being used for his blood again and again. Max's senses sharpen further, and he can feel his heart rate rocket, his breath quickening to match. He stumbles back against a wall. Memories flash before his eyes. No, not memories. He's there, War Boys holding him down, a needle rapidly pricking his back again and again. He's running for his life, for his freedom - they're one and the same - but is being dragged back, a suffocating cover over his face. He's pinned, he feels a searing pain on the back of his neck. He's in a cage, then the world flips and he's hanging by his ankles. A muzzle is locked over his face - claustrophobic, suffocating - a needle forced into his neck. He feels his life draining away again and again.

There's screaming, too. Who is screaming? Another prisoner? Another blood bag? Max realizes, distantly, that it's his voice. He's the one screaming. His vision slowly tunnels to blackness and he scrabbles on the floor, trying to get away.

Something touches his shoulder, and he flinches away before lashing out defensively. The nightmares play through his head again - needle, running, pain, cage, hanging, bleeding.

Time passes - he can't track it - the nightmare goes round and round. Something - someone? - is touching his shoulders again, and he twitches violently. One side is heavy. Why is it so heavy? The hands grip his shoulders tightly, the heavy one squeezing hard. It hurts, and his head starts to clear, slowly.

"Max… Max…" The words are distant, unclear, but they grow stronger. "Max… Max!"

His eyes shoot open and he takes a few gasping breaths. He's huddled in a corner, Furiosa crouched in front of him, staring at him with those intense eyes. He's not in the Blood Shed any longer, but he knows it's still close. He starts to curl in on himself again, a tortured noise rising in his throat.

"Hey. Hey!" Furiosa pushes him back against the wall, forcing him to meet her eyes again. "It's okay…" Her words are soft, but she stares at him seriously until his breathing slows, and he eventually nods.

A few War Boys who had been standing back at a safe distance start to approach, but Furiosa motions for them to stay back.

"Kir found you. Had to call security on you," she comments, motioning to a young, sickly War Boy as she helps Max up to his feet. By that, Max gathers, she means she is security. "I'm glad I was close by," she continues, just trying to keep him focused on her, on reality. "You were…" trying to claw the skin off your back is not something she needs to tell him right now. The back of his neck is already bleeding. He knows.

Max shifts uncomfortably, glancing over his shoulder.

She leaves the previous sentence unfinished. "Come on," she breathes instead. The Blood Shed had become the new Medical Room (she knows they should have cut those damn cages down. It just hadn't seemed like a priority until now), but she can't take him back in there. She won't even risk going in there herself to grab some supplies. Max looks like he might come apart at the seams at the mere thought of the place.

Max follows her down the tunnel, leaving the War Boys behind as they gawk at the crazy man. Max carefully tracks every step, memorizing every detail around him so that he can be sure he would never retrace these steps again.

"'M fine," he asserts after a minute. He can tell that she's fussing over him, even in her own hands-off way.

She stops. Turns around. Looks him straight in the eye. He is still visibly shaken, not fine. Also, he's bleeding. But Max stares right back, holding her gaze, standing like a stone wall. He doesn't want her help right now.

"Alright," Furiosa backs off, breaking their gaze.

Max brushes past her, heading further down the hallway.

"Do you know where you're going?" She calls after him.

Max stops short. His shoulders slouch. He shakes his head.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Max leaves. She can't really blame him. All he takes, though, is a full tank of guzzoline and enough food and water to last him maybe a few days.

"Bike can't carry much," he reasons when she tells him he can have more than that. He rides away with no further explanation.

Most of the way to Gas Town, Max finds himself turning toward the canyon. He hesitates at its mouth, but sets his mind and guns it through, hoping to avoid both the ghosts and the Rock Riders. They apparently take issue with people riding through without permission, but Max has enough of a lead. He hears the motors behind him fade away as he exits the canyon, and he breathes again. He rides east.

As rocks give way to softer sand, Max begins to scan around him. He comes across a large wreck, jagged metal jutting half-exposed out of a dune of sand. The People Eater's tanker. It shouldn't be far now. He stops where the sand dunes start. They hadn't been here before, the wind must have blown them in. And, of course, what he's after is somewhere under one of them.

Thankfully, they aren't very big, no taller than Max himself. He digs into one, then another, then another. He stops to rest, then continues digging. The sun is low in the sky by the time he hits metal. Scooping away sand almost fervently now, he uncovers more and more. The sky is dark by the time he steps back. He hasn't finished the job, but he can see now that the car is laying on its roof, crushed and burnt, but more or less whole.

He's going to need help.

The trip back through the canyon isn't as successful as the first pass. The Rock Riders are either ready for him this time or they see him coming, and they're waiting for him. He stops his bike, holding his hands in the air as they surround him. A faint music drifts through the canyon in the wake of motors stopping.

In the end, they take his bike and all its supplies, but let him go. He doesn't fight. It's practically a gift to be left alive by people like this (though he did make some promises, to help them along that path). He walks into the desert, moving quickly. Best to get as far as he can before the sun rises.

Furiosa is honestly surprised to hear that Max is back so soon. Just barely two days after he left, no less. Even with the meager supplies he had taken, she wouldn't have been surprised to not see him for another hundred days. After the patrol lets him pass, he stumbles back into the Citadel and she goes down to meet him. His bike is conspicuously missing, she notes, but she doesn't say anything. She has a feeling she knows exactly where it (and he) went.

He doesn't meet her eyes at first. "Need a truck…" he finally admits, "and some hands."

She nods. Doesn't ask why. "In the morning." And it's settled. They ascend into the cool night air by a rickety platform hung beneath a crane hook this time, since it involves waking fewer people. The lift requires too much manpower.

Once on the stone platform of the lift bay, Max walks ahead, heading for the repair bays again. She can tell he's exhausted, but apparently auto repairs are a perfectly good alternative to sleep in his mind. She sees him reach back and gingerly touch the back of his neck as he disappears down the tunnel. Shaking her head, she makes a detour over to the Medical Room before she follows him.

He's elbow deep behind the open hood of a car by the time she gets there. She only locates him in the multitude of salvaged vehicles by the quiet clanking of metal on metal in the otherwise silent room. His jacket is off, his sleeves pushed high up on his arms, and as she comes around the front of the car, she can see the full extent of the damage to his neck. It's an angry red, smeared with blood, strips of skin scraped off, the whole thing rubbed raw by sand and the collar of his jacket.

He jumps as he finally sees her out of the corner of his eye, nearly hitting his head on the underside of the hood. He straightens up, looking at her almost warily. She reaches out and offers him a large canteen. He nearly snatches it from her, and drains it quickly in large gulps, making a satisfied noise when it's empty.

"That's going to get infected." She motions to the back of her own neck, and his hand instantly goes to his. "…And that's going to make it worse," she sighs.

Max pulls his hand away, remembering it's covered in dirty motor oil.

"Let me see." She steps closer with the bowl of clear water and the soft, clean rag she brought with her.

"I heal fast," he counters, turning back to the car.

"Humor me."

He stares at her for a long minute, then huffs a sigh and slowly turns his back to her.

She steps forward and looks more closely. It's full of grit and sand. There's dried blood on his shirt, and she gingerly pulls the neckline down to see how far the damage goes. He didn't actually get much of his back, probably thanks to his jacket. The raised scars of Joe's seal are scored through by the scratches. That's probably what he was going for in the midst of his nightmares.

He flinches as she presses the wet rag against his neck, but relaxes again at the coolness against his burning skin. She carefully wipes the grit away, cleans up the smears of blood. The small amount of water she brought is filthy by the time she's done. He doesn't let her bandage it, so she gives him her scarf (at least somewhat recently washed, unlike Max's jacket by the looks of it) and orders him to keep the wounds clean.

"Hm," he agrees, wrapping the scarf (this one white instead of black) around his neck. It looks odd, out of place on him. A streak of clean white in a wasteland of dust.

He goes back to the car, and she just watches him.

"You should rest," she murmurs after a minute.

He stops again. Turns to her. Looks at her hard. Not going to happen, and she knows it. "And you?" he asks her. He's honestly not sure if she even does sleep. He's never seen any hint that she does.

Furiosa gives a half-shrug. Fair point. Instead of answering, she leans back against the fender and starts unbuckling the belts around her middle. She takes off her arm and hangs it on the side mirror. Max goes back to distracting himself with engine parts, and they both stay, the silence almost comforting.

It's Max who finally breaks the silence. "Found my car," he starts, glancing over at her.

Furiosa nods, her back still to him. She figured he had been after something of his out there.

"It's, uh… It's all I had. Before." And Furiosa understands exactly what he means. Before they dragged him in here. Before the months of life in a cage, bleeding out through a tube until his head spun and he felt sick. Before the Fury Road.

"We'll bring it back," she promises, but she doesn't promise anything else. Getting it running again will be his job. She figures he'll want it that way anyway.

Silence drifts over them once more, and Furiosa eventually moves to the doorless driver's seat, sitting with her legs out the door as she continues to just listen as Max works. She doesn't know when she dozed off, her shoulder pressed into the seat, but when she awakes (stretching uncomfortably, her neck sore) the hood is closed and she doesn't see Max working. With a sigh, she gets up and picks up her arm from the side mirror. She takes a last glance at the car as she walks away, and notices the far rear door is standing open. Max lays across the back seat, out cold, his feet sticking out of the open door.

She can't help the smile that crosses her face. She turns around and sits back down in the front seat. Max snores faintly.

Chapter Text

The whole crew is together again for the morning meal, and they claim an entire table for themselves. It is not lost on them that Max is wearing Furiosa's scarf, though why, they don't know. Furiosa has told none of them about his breakdown.

Max is happy to let them all chatter away without him as he shovels food into his mouth. They talk about Citadel affairs to some degree, but also about their lives. Nux tells them about a great fight the War Boys had the other day and about his progress fixing up the War Rig (now just the Rig), which he seems to have practically adopted; Dag talks about how well the pups are helping out in the gardens lately and about the new crops they're trying to grow; Cheedo mentions an interesting discussion she had with Maadi, one of the Vuvalini who had come in from the desert. Furiosa eventually announces that they're going on a brief retrieval run today, and anybody who wants to come is welcome. Nux volunteers, but the others are fine staying at the Citadel. Toast shows some interest, but says she ought to stay and overlook security while Furiosa is out.

Max grimaces suddenly as realization hits him. Hadn't the War Boy driving the Interceptor been the same one that rode lancer for Nux? "Uh… Nux. You might want to stay behind. On this one," he eventually says across the table, looking a bit worried.

Nux gives him a questioning look. "Why?"

"It's my car. That we're going to get."

Nux tries to remember if he ever knew what Max's car was like.

"When it crashed. The driver was… was your… um." He can't quite come out and say it, but Nux seems to figure out what he means.

"Oh." His look is sad, but he meets Max's worried eyes after a minute. "It's okay," he finally murmurs. "I'll take care of him."

They ride east again. Furiosa is behind the wheel of Mack, the beast of a tow truck they brought. (Max thinks, with foggy recognition, that it might be the same one that had dragged his Interceptor to the Citadel once before.) Max and Nux share the cab with her while a group of other War Boys whoop excitedly on the back of the truck. They take a round-about route to avoid the Buzzards' territory, and bring some supplies with them to bribe the Rock Riders to let them through the canyon. Furiosa looks nervous as they stop not far from where the archway used to be. The Rock Riders are not very fond of her, but they need water and guzzoline more than they need to hold onto a grudge, so they take the supplies and let them pass. (And again, Max thinks he hears music drifting through the canyon. But he hears all kinds of things in his head, so he shakes it off.)

Max directs Furiosa to the dune where he found his car, and they all pile out. Furiosa circles the dune-embedded remains, assessing the damage, while the War Boys jump straight into digging, flinging the sand in clouds behind them. Nux hangs back a moment, eying the upturned car almost fearfully. But he steels himself and soon he, too, is digging the car out. Max joins in, and Furiosa helps one-handed (trying not to deliberately fill her mechanical arm with grit. Cleaning it out is a task she has to do too often as it is). Between the nine of them, it's short work, and they're soon digging out the sand that pours from the open windows and missing windscreen.

Nux stands back again, watching anxiously. As soon as they uncover a charred and dried arm, however, he leaps in, digging as if Slit's life depends on it. It is Nux who finally pulls the body from the pried-open door. Nobody says a word. One War Boy offers silently to help Nux carry him, but Nux shakes his head almost violently. They all step back, leaving him alone, and he carries his lancer away, disappearing among the dunes.

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, they get back to work. The eight of them, with some help from Mack's winch, quickly get the Interceptor onto its wheels and hooked up for towing. They wait for Nux, who eventually comes trudging back toward them. His eyes are red, but he forces a small smile when he meets the others. He hadn't been able to witness Slit, but he could at least wish him well on his ride through Valhalla. (He tried not to think too hard about if Valhalla actually existed anymore. Slit was there. He had to be.) Nux had buried Slit in the sand. It was the best he could do for him. In his pockets he carries a couple of the lancer's favored knives.

There's no whooping from the War Boys on the way back. Nux doesn't say a word until after the canyon, and when he does, he talks quietly, and about anything but what happened back there.

They pull into the Citadel late in the day, and the War Boys are called to lift the vehicles up into the rock tower. A number of them help push the Interceptor to one of the repair bays, and soon Max is left relatively alone with his car. The War Boys have gone off to their own tasks, Nux has disappeared somewhere along the way, and Furiosa goes to check on things around the Citadel. Max delves into making a mental list of all the damage he needs to fix.

It's slow going, though Max throws himself into fixing the Interceptor with every moment he can manage. He spends days straightening out the frame, beating dents out of the body, cutting and welding and patching. He's going to have to undo the modifications the War Boys had done to it, and then there's the mechanical damage to deal with. Furiosa makes sure he has access to any and all tools and parts he needs (for which Max is incredibly grateful, and spends some extra time working on Citadel vehicles or helping in the gardens to try to pay it back). He'll still bring in his own salvaged parts as much as he can, though. He doesn't want to be a complete burden on these people. Max only rarely accepts any help from the War Boys, and most often when he does accept help, it's only Nux or Furiosa he allows near his car.

Furiosa is pleasantly surprised each day she finds Max still there, but as the days mount, she can tell he's getting antsy. He accompanies her sometimes when she has night watch duty, when his hands are tired from working but his mind won't let him sleep. She enjoys his quiet company, and slowly, he's started opening up a bit.

She's making some quick rounds one night before she heads up to one of the watch towers, and she finds Max waiting for her in the passageway. He falls into step with her and walks at her side wordlessly. (Furiosa makes sure to leave the Medical Room out of her rounds tonight.)

"Can't stay," he mumbles after a while as they walk.

Furiosa nods. She wishes she didn't have to stay, sometimes. She's still the figurehead of the Many Mothers. She's still the one everybody wants to follow, not the women who really lead the Citadel. She takes supply runs as often as she can, but always she comes back. She looks over at Max. "How's the Interceptor?"

"Not done." He sighs. "I just… spent too much time here."

"We'll keep it safe for you," she assures him, knowing he'll be back for it.

"Thanks." They fall into silence for a minute.

"How long were you here? Before?" She can't help but wonder. Had they encountered each other before, not knowing that some day they would come to save each other's lives several times over? She had visited the Blood Shed occasionally, when one of her crew was sick or injured. Had their paths crossed? Had he been one of the blood bags hooked up to one of her boys?

Max is tense. He shakes his head. "Don't know. Felt like years. I lost track of the days early on. Just gave up after a while."

She can't help but feel that gave up refers to more than just keeping track of the days. "I'm sorry."

"Mm."

They soon find themselves up in one of the watch towers, and Max sits with her, both of them staring out at the desert below.

"You were… What's it called? An Imperator? High ranked?"

"One of Joe's finest," she answers with disgust.

He thinks about that carefully. It must have been hard work to get to that level. Or luck, perhaps. He doesn't know how she got there. "Why?" The question is vague, but he leaves it at that. Any way she chooses to answer will be fine by him.

"Survival," she answers after a moment, and that, Max definitely understands. (There's more to it than that, but she leaves it unspoken.)

Hours seem to pass without so much as a whisper between them.

"How's your neck?" Furiosa asks as the sky starts to lighten, not removing her eyes from the desert stretched out before her.

"Uh." Max slides his jacket off, unwraps the scarf he still wears, and prods at the back of his neck gently. Furiosa moves back and takes a look. It's almost completely healed. Still scabbed in some places, but no longer raw and red and angry.

"It should be okay now." She moves back to where she had been.

Max hands her the scarf back, looking apologetic at the state of it. It's starting to match the rest of him. She trades him for the clean, still-white one she's wearing.

"Keep that. You never know."

Max folds it carefully and tucks it into a pocket.

They sit until the sun rises, and then Furiosa sees Max off. She gives him one of the cars he helped fix up, calling it "just a loaner." He'd better bring it back whole, her eyes tell him, and he nods.

Chapter Text

Max took enough supplies to last him at least 40 days. Furiosa doesn't expect to see him again for a while. And gradually, life goes back to the way it was, only now it feels just a bit more empty.

It is around this time that the desert decides to spit out another surprise. The watch on duty sends up an alarm: someone's approaching. Furiosa stares through the scope of her gun. The figure is dressed in cloth and leather of brown and dirty red, the scrappy costume of a Rock Rider. But what would one of them be doing this far out? They never stray far from their canyon, and are never seen without their bikes. Furiosa sends out an armed party to meet this visitor, and on second thought, decides to join them. Diplomacy may be necessary here, plus she's been itching to get away from the Citadel, even if only for a little while.

The figure stops walking and stands in place, swaying slightly forward and back as the sound of motors approach from the distance. Something strikes Furiosa as vaguely familiar as they get nearer. Something about the posture, but there's a hood covering the figure's head and face, so she can't make out any features.

The vehicles circle the lone figure and stop, motors dying out one by one. Standing in the middle, he raises one hand by his side at the click of guns being trained on him, but the other clutches something precious. Furiosa jumps down from her vehicle, approaching slowly.

"What is your business here?" Her voice is commanding.

A jagged smile breaks across the man's face at the sound of her voice. He pulls the hood away, and Furiosa is met by an eyeless face, oddly tanned, no longer painted white, but unmistakable nonetheless.

Furiosa stops short. The guitarist. She didn't know him well, but everybody in the War Party knew who he was. "…Coma?"

"Coma." He responds in affirmative, his smile growing. She sees now that what he clutches to his chest is the mask he always wore, beaten and slightly crushed, its color blending in with the rags of his clothes. She grimaces at it, glad he can't see her face. So he had been with the Rock Riders all this time. She recalls now that they hadn't actually found a red onesie-clad body among the many they recovered from the wreckage.

He senses her eyes staring, and seeks to fill the silent void. "Bungees saved me, but I got buried in my own amps. They dug me out after a couple days," he explains, meaning the Rock Riders. "Kept me there. Liked my music, I guess. Finally managed to escape a couple days ago."

She doesn't want to be insensitive, but the question nags. "How did you find your way back?"

"The wind always blows west." He points directly toward the Citadel.

She's still amazed he made it this far without falling down a cliff or veering off-track. Or getting caught by the Buzzards on his way through, for that matter. Some of the other War Boys hadn't been so lucky. (Though he is a little scraped up. Maybe he didn't have that easy of a time.) She leads him over to her vehicle, and the party heads back.

"Is my spare guitar still here? Had to leave the flamer behind…"

She doesn't take her eyes off the road. "I don't think anybody's taken over your old space. Should be there."

He smiles again (it would almost be disturbing if it weren't so genuine). "Shine."

Grief rather than anger strikes Coma when he's told that Joe is dead. He had kind of expected it was the case, but had refused to believe it until it was confirmed to him. He was just a kid, lost and broken and so very afraid when Joe had taken him in, given him purpose again. The musician disappears for days as the inevitable anger sinks in. He doesn't turn on Furiosa despite hating her, but he does break more than a few guitar strings. But as the days pass and he repairs his poor guitar, he gradually moves on and leaves his grief and hatred behind. Nobody sticks around forever, after all.

The War Boys and Pups hadn't realized how much they missed music until it was back, echoing through the halls and vehicle bays once again. For a while, they don't even mind that Coma plays at ungodly hours of the night sometimes.

With some tender loving care, Coma also manages to repair his mask and begins wearing her again on occasion. (He's a little twisted, Furiosa thinks. But then again, aren't they all, in their own ways?) He paints himself white again even though he doesn't need to, and he's soon back to being the Doof Warrior they all knew.

Chapter Text

It's only 30-some days after he left that Max returns to the Citadel once again. His borrowed car just barely limps up to the lift, and Max himself limps as he climbs out. The War Boys lift him and the car up, and Furiosa is waiting at the top once more. From where she's standing, she looks Max over, and looks the car over, and shakes her head, her arms crossed. What bit of bad luck had he gotten himself into this time? He limps up to her, holding a mangled piece of leather and metal that Furiosa only barely recognizes as his leg brace.

"Marauders," he explains, then turns to the car. "Engine nearly went out on me. Couldn't get enough speed." The car is horribly dented on one side, looking like it had been rammed multiple times. The front is full of sand. "Got some goods for you, by the way." Whatever had happened, apparently he had won.

Furiosa starts toward the car - the back is stuffed full of what looks like guns and parts - but as Max sits down hard on the nearest semi-flat surface he can find with a suppressed grimace, she catches that his left arm hangs unused by his side, laying awkwardly against the seat beside him. Furiosa almost rolls her eyes. Does he have any regard for his own health?

"You should have mentioned this first," she crouches down to look at his arm.

"Hm. Might need medical."

Might? Furiosa notices a blood-stained bullet hole through the sleeve of his jacket. "Fool," She murmurs, then more loudly, in an order: "Jacket. Off."

He sheds it with some difficulty, and she can see now that the sleeve of his upper arm is soaked in old blood, a dark piece of cloth tied tightly around it.

"Oh Max," she breathes. "Get up. We need to take care of that." He had taken care of her once, now it is her turn again.

Max follows her wordlessly down the passage, still limping. Again, she's faced with the problem that she can't take him to the Medical Room. But she keeps some meager supplies in her own room in case of emergency, so she leads him there instead.

She sits him down on a stool in the middle of the room. Furiosa cuts his makeshift tourniquet and they peel his shirt off. He grunts, wincing, as the dried blood sticks to his wounds. Fresh blood runs anew from his arm, dripping slowly. Furiosa leans down to examine it. There's two wounds, one on the front and one on the back of his bicep. Good, at least they wouldn't have to pull the bullet out. She tests his arm. Not broken. The wound is an unhealthy-looking color, though, almost green. She pours some water from a small jug into a dented metal pan, and cleans him up to get a better look. The skin is red and inflamed. She squeezes his arm gently with a whispered "sorry." Blood flows more quickly down his skin, the last bit of it turning whitish with pus.

"Shit." She stands up and Max looks down at his arm. "I'm going to go get Nida. Stay here."

Max sits quietly as she leaves. He eventually looks around him, taking mental stock of the room. It's small, a tiny window (did it count as a window? More of a hole in the rock) letting in a bit of sunlight. There's a cot, and a table covered in a couple dismantled guns. There's the stool he's sitting on, and that's about it. Simple. Just the bare necessities. It's not long before Furiosa and Nida enter. The Vuvalini wastes no time in examining his arm, pressing on it until pus comes out as Furiosa had done (Max grimaces).

"All we can do is clean it out and hope it hasn't gone systemic," she concludes. Max is reminded of her assessment of Furiosa in the back of the Gigahorse. Collapsing her lungs and exsanguinated, he remembers her saying.

"Tried to keep it clean," Max comments. "Washed it a few times." But there's only so much one can do out in the Wasteland alone.

Max flinches or shifts uncomfortably every time one of them passes behind him. Furiosa never noticed him do that before. She eventually figures out it's because his blood bag tattoo is clearly visible. She tries not to look now, but had caught a glimpse earlier. Isolate psychotic, keep muzzled… She can't blame him for wanting to keep it hidden. It's a reminder of awful times, and announces that chapter of his life to anyone who sees it. After the fifth time he's flinched away, Furiosa picks up his shirt and drapes it over him, the body of it covering his back, the arms over his shoulders. Max relaxes a bit.

The process of cleaning the wound out isn't pleasant. Max clenches his jaw and manages to suppress the yells that try to rise in his throat to mere grunts. Having all but scrubbed it, Nida finally applies some sort of healing salve, wraps his arm, and leaves him with instructions on how to take care of it. ("Don't overwork it. Rest and heal. Keep it clean. Check it often, and see me if it starts to burn or pus again.")

"Any other injuries I should know about?" She adds before she leaves.

Max shakes his head. Just bruises. Furiosa doesn't mention the limp.

He doesn't move, even after Nida has left (but part of him is almost glad to see her go. The ache pounds through his entire arm now). Furiosa mills about for a while, not seeming to mind that he's still there. She cleans up after the ordeal, puts supplies away in a corner, then takes off her arm and hangs it on a metal spike sticking out of the wall.

Max is still gripping his bent and broken leg brace. She glances down at it. "Want me to have a look at that?"

He looks down at it for a moment too, then holds it out to her. She fiddles with it. It's a simple mechanism. Little more than a couple hinges to allow his knee to bend while they support it. One of the hinges is warped and jammed, the other one broken clean through. A strap is broken, and the thing as a whole has definitely seen better days.

"Need some tools," is all she says as she turns to leave the room. Max follows, grabbing his shirt and wiggling painfully into it again.

In the end, she just builds a new one from parts, reusing only the leather straps. She could have fixed the old one, but it wouldn't have lasted very much longer anyway. Max stands by, wanting to help; it's his leg brace, after all. But she works so deftly even with one hand, using the end of her arm to pin pieces in place while she hammers at them or attaches pieces to them, that he just finds himself standing back and watching wordlessly.

Not an hour later, he's strapping the new leg brace on and trying it out. It feels almost exactly like his old one, but smoother and stronger. He grunts a "thanks," and she nods, happy to have helped. (He probably would have overworked his arm had he done it, anyway.)

"Go get some rest," she tells him (for the third time since they first met). Max is tired and in pain, but doubts he could sleep now. He eyes his Interceptor across the repair bay. Furiosa follows his gaze.

"No. Rest. You can work on it in a couple days."

Max almost glares at her. She's right, though. His lack of care for his injuries is why his hand lacks fine motor skills and at least part of why his knee continues to need a brace. But Max is restless still and refuses to go lie down, so Furiosa practically drags him back to her room, makes him lie down, and sits at her table, cleaning the guns she had disassembled. If he's not going to rest on his own, she'll make sure he does herself. The last thing she needs is to watch him make himself worse.

Chapter Text

Max actually takes his instructions to heart and does everything one-handed for a couple days. But he's back at his Interceptor as soon as he can manage. Furiosa had made sure nobody tried to do repairs on it while Max was gone, and Max appreciates that. There is, however, an impressive number of varied things he might need for it piled up beside it. Max suspects the War Boys are responsible. They generally keep away from him, but they seem to like him nonetheless. Max isn't quite sure why.

The War Boys of the Citadel respect Furiosa a great deal. She's made it explicitly clear that she's not their Immortan, but some of them still refer to her as their Imperator in hushed voices. The Imperator. The last one standing. Their leader. She's friendly to them in a way she never let herself be while Joe was still alive. There are barely over 30 War Boys left since the battle on the Fury Road. They're a close-knit group, and Furiosa knows each of them by name. They love her, in their own way.

And then there's this man. This lone Road Warrior who wanders in and out. Who, so they're told, helped Furiosa in the Revolution that changed all their lives. This man who Furiosa favors. She's close to the War Boys, closer still to the Many Mothers who run the Citadel, but there's something even stronger between her and this mad man. They're of the same type, both warriors. There's respect. Trust. They don't have to be seen talking to each other for the War Boys to pick up on that.

The War Boys respect and trust Furiosa. By extension, they also respect and trust this man.

Max approaches the Interceptor on the fifth day and finds an odd sort of War Boy sitting on its roof. He's dressed shoulder-to-knee in dirty, torn, red clothes, his back to Max. Max is about to tell him to get the hell off, when the sound of strumming reaches his ears, the same kind of strumming he had heard echoing through the canyon when he was going after his car. He realizes after a moment that this is the guitarist from Joe's war party. He had used his guitar to beat a few War Boys senseless. Also, he had elbowed him in the face, he recalls vaguely, but the guy had been getting pretty grabby at the time.

"Uh…" Max stops beside the car, looking up at the other man. He doesn't have the odd headgear he had been wearing when they first encountered each other, and Max realizes now he's completely blind.

"Coma," the musician introduces himself, "the Doof Warrior." (Well, not much of a warrior anymore. But he still likes the title.) His strumming never falters. "Nice to meet you, Max."

Max is at a loss for words. Well, this is certainly the most laid-back War Boy he has yet encountered. His demeanor now is very unlike the intensity with which Max had seen him shredding on his guitar from atop his massive vehicle. He doesn't seem to remember having met Max before. But then again, his smile is knowing. Maybe he just doesn't care about the circumstances under which they had met.

"Heard you had a hand in changing things around here," Coma continues amiably.

Max just grunts. He hadn't done all that much, Max thinks. He had fought, sure, but it was Furiosa who had brought down the giant and she and the other women who had done the hard work afterward.

"No?" The music stops, and Coma leans toward him, as if scrutinizing him. Max shifts uncomfortably. He moves toward the front of the car, but Coma's eyeless gaze follows him. "Well, I'd heard you weren't much of a talker. Was just wondering, is all." Coma shrugs. The music starts again.

Max just opens the hood and hesitantly goes to work, listening to the uncharacteristically soft music of the Doof Warrior strumming away from atop his car.

Furiosa and Nux approach some time later, followed closely by another man who he had seen in Furiosa's company a few times before. (Was he a War Boy? He wasn't painted up, and was older than any War Boy Max had seen. But he passed orders to the War Boys, and often acted like he was Furiosa's second in command.) Max can feel Furiosa's eyes boring into him for using his arm when he shouldn't be. Nida had had to clean infection out of his wound two more times in the last few days. Each time, she had told him to rest his arm more, but there is only so much Max can rest before he'll snap under the boredom (and the accusing dead) and leave the Citadel again. Better for his health to keep himself occupied.

"Bloodbag!" Nux greets him. "Need some help?"

Furiosa slaps Nux across the back of the head, giving him an accusing look.

"Max. Sorry," he amends. Coma giggles quietly.

Max makes a noncommittal noise. He's not fond of being reminded of his time as a blood bag, but as a name coming from Nux, it's still a little endearing.

"The Rig?" Furiosa prods.

"Right. Sorry, Max. Furiosa and Ace promised to help me with something on the Rig."

"Mm." Max looks over at the Rig. It takes up a large part of the bay, and remains one of the few vehicles not yet completely restored to its former glory, though it is getting close. Of all the vehicles, it had received the most damage. He was surprised it hadn't been swarming with War Boys from day one, but they seemed to have an unspoken rule that you don't go fixing someone else's vehicle unless you're asked. Their cars are their temples, and you do not encroach on someone else's. And the Rig is Nux and Furiosa's (or is it just Nux's now? Max is unclear on if Furiosa has officially passed it down or not).

They leave him to his work and Coma's music, but it isn't long before Max finds himself wandering over there to join them. He's soon waist-deep in the Rig's engine compartment, working alongside the others as they drop in a newly-overhauled engine.

Chapter Text

As the days pass slowly, Max's arm finally starts to heal, and quickly at that (Nida is amazed. Max less so). He can gradually do more and more, the pain and weakness in his arm not holding him back as much. He also starts getting restless again. The road calls to him, but he tries to resist the urge to leave without his own car. He tries to work faster, but there's still so much to do. He could have it running again in a day or two at this point, but it wouldn't be pretty, and wouldn't be in the best shape for life on the road. Plus, it still carries many of the War Boys' modifications. It wouldn't be his car.

He's underneath it, the front end elevated by a high-lift jack as he tries to remove the busted front axle, when Dag approaches and kicks his leg. Not hard, but Max still nearly smashes his head against the underside of the car.

"Hey. Nux wants to talk to you."

Max scoots out from under the car and peers up at her.

"He's at medical. He's sick again."

He pulls himself up. "Where is that?" He doesn't realize that medical is what used to be the Blood Shed, and Dag doesn't realize why going there could be a very bad idea. (Furiosa had maintained her silence on what had happened that first night Max had come back.)

She leads him toward the Medical Room. Max stops as soon as he realizes where they're going. He's burned these steps into his mind. Dag turns, realizing he's no longer behind her.

"What?"

"It's, uh… I don't…" He stammers, staring down the passageway.

She looks at him with concern. She used to chew on her fingers and knuckles when she was nervous. Now her hands fumble at her rounded belly instead. He looks unsettled on the level of when they first met him and he was snatching all the weapons he could find in the War Rig. Having been one of Joe's "treasures," she hadn't gotten out much. Didn't quite know what used to take place in that room. Didn't know how he had been held there against his will.

He straightens up, swallows hard against his dry throat, and takes a step. He's safe here, he reminds himself. Nobody's going to harm him, nobody's going to force him into a cage, nobody's going to take away his agency. He will be nobody's property. He takes another step. It's okay. You'll be fine.

He's expecting it this time. He tries to control himself. He steps inside.

The cages are gone. Oil lanterns burn along the walls, drowning out the blue light from the ceiling. It looks much less like the Blood Shed than the last time he had seen it. He takes a shaky breath.

A few War Boys lie or sit on the padded stone ledges. Some are sick, some are just there to donate blood to their companions. A few other people lie around as well, ill or dying. Marin mills around, checking on her patients and organizing supplies. He spots Nux lying on the far side, partially curled up, a tube connected to his arm. Capable sits next to him, rubbing his back, and Dag is already over there talking to them. She soon leaves, and Max approaches slowly, focusing on Nux and Capable instead of the room around him.

Nux smiles when he looks up and sees Max, but his face instantly falls. Max is tensed and nervous, trying not to let his eyes wander from his target but not necessarily succeeding. Nux hadn't even thought when he asked him to come. The old Blood Shed hadn't been a particularly pleasant place for your average War Boy, but it didn't hold the same significance as it must have to Max.

"V8, I'm sorry, I--"

Max puts a hand out "No, no." He's here now, and so far, no real harm done. He sits down next to Nux as the boy pushes himself up, swaying slightly. Capable excuses herself after a few minutes, at ease with leaving if there's somebody else here for him. She has work to attend to, she explains, giving Nux a long and worried look before she turns to leave. He nods reassuringly at her.

Neither Max nor Nux says anything for a while. The War Boy sitting a couple ledges up, connected to the other end of Nux's blood tube nods now and then, trying not to fall asleep in the quiet of the room.

"Not so good?" Max finally breaks the silence, looking over at Nux.

"Been better." Nux replies with a shrug. He'll pull through this one, he thinks, but it is a reminder that his time may be short. The thought doesn't exactly help with the recovery process. Plus, Larry and Barry are gradually being joined by a few new mates on the other side of his neck. They're small, barely visible, but they won't stay that way.  "I just… don't know how much longer." His voice almost cracks, though it's quiet. He's trying not to be heard by the other War Boys, and Max has to turn his head to hear him.

I'm not staying here dyin' soft, Max recalls him saying. Now what choice does he have?

"Can't tell Capable. Or any of the others," Nux continues. Maybe Furiosa… But he doesn't want to. "There's no Valhalla anymore." He shakes his head, his face staring to scrunch up.

"Hey. Hey." Max puts a hand on his shoulder. Nux looks over, meeting his eyes. But Max doesn't know what to say. He had seen this before. He had seen so many War Boys die here, die soft. Most would slip away unnoticed, but some pleaded to be witnessed though they knew it wouldn't do any good. Some would get up, determined to find a way to die historic, only to collapse on the floor and not get up again. If you can't stand up, you can't do war. How do you reassure someone who knows he's going to die in the worst way he can imagine?

"Maybe not the same Valhalla," Max finally rumbles, "but I think you've earned your own."

"But dyin' soft--"

"It doesn't matter."

Nux falls silent.

"Not about how you die. It's about what you did." To be honest, Max has never been particularly philosophical about death. It's just a thing that happens. He would like to think there is something better afterward, but has a hard time believing it in this world. But what else was he supposed to tell the boy? He wants an afterlife so badly. Maybe he'll find one.

Nux had been willing to die for other people and a good cause. The War Boy couldn't even count all the times he had been told since then that he had done a great thing, that he was the reason they had made it here. Maybe that's worth something as far as afterlives go, he thinks. He knows what Joe had fed them was a lie, but he doesn't know what to believe in its place. Max's words are the best option he has found so far. Nux smiles a little.

"You'll be fine, kid."

Chapter Text

Even after his arm is healed and the itch to drive the open road burrows under his skin, Max stays until Nux is fully recovered. He had been there in the Medical Room with him that fist day he was sick, until night fell and Nux had long since fallen asleep, his head on Max's leg. He had been there when the night fevers struck. He shook Nux awake as the boy started to shiver and groan, his skin heating up, but it didn't do any good. After that, Nux was just awake and suffering. Capable came back in the night to see how Nux was doing, and even Furiosa came by (surprised to see Max there), but even with the two of them there for Nux, Max didn't leave until the fever broke in the morning.

He had seen War Boys die in the midst of these fevers, and seeing Nux suffering from it worried him. He might have renewed this boy's belief in an afterlife, but he certainly didn't want to see him go there. There was nothing he could do, yet he couldn't make himself leave.

Once Nux is on his feet again, Max relaxes considerably, and finally gives in to his need to leave. The need to continue running, to continue searching. He takes the loaner car again, fills it with food, water, and guzzoline, and disappears. He doesn't say goodbye. Doesn't say a word.

Furiosa worries. She knows he's not okay, thinks they may not see him for a long time to come. But Max is only away for 16 days.

Nux unnerved him quite a bit, and he needed to get away, to convince himself that he can live without these attachments. He had nearly forgotten how dangerous they could be, but Nux had reminded him of that all too strongly. But convincing himself didn't work. Driving alone through the empty Wasteland relaxed him at first, but every time he leaves the Citadel, the voices get louder. They yell, they blame, they accuse. And the Vuvalini whisper. Soon he found himself no longer relaxed, but anxious, and his path curved around back toward the Citadel. He doesn't know if he wants to be here, but at this point, he doesn't know where else to be.

He's so used to Furiosa greeting him that he's surprised to find Toast standing at the top of the lift instead.

"She's taking the day off," Toast says in answer to his almost disappointed expression. Max nods and gets back in the car to drive it to its spot in the vehicle bay.

He checks the vehicle and repair bays. Not there. He checks the Meal Hall. Not there. He checks her room. Not there. He finally starts asking around, and after a lot of shrugs and shaken heads, he's eventually pointed up toward the top of the Citadel.

Max steps into the sun and finds himself surrounded by green. Rusted metal cranes loom around him, and windmills creak atop the neighboring tower. He walks along the rows of crops. It's a large area to cover, but he eventually finds Furiosa sitting on the edge of the cliff, leaning on the sniper rifle propped in her lap.

"Thought you were supposed to be taking the day off."

She turns and looks at him, surprised to hear his voice. "Got bored," she answers with a small laugh. Like Max, she can't just sit idly by. The itch to do something useful gets to her.

Max sits down next to her, looking briefly down at the sheer drop below them. It is interrupted only by a ledge part way down with more green growing on it.

"I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Max doesn't answer for a minute. "Didn't feel right." Staying away, he means, but doesn't add.

Furiosa nods, staring out into the distance. "How's the loaner?" She asks about the car, but they both know she means him as well.

"Not a scratch."

As the daylight slowly fades, they leave the green behind in search of food. In the Meal Hall, Max finds the flower-printed plate again, earning a raised brow from Furiosa as he moves a stack of assorted plates and salvaged metal dishes aside to get to it. He shrugs at her. He likes this plate.

Meat is on the menu today, mostly lizard and snake, collected en masse from the walls of the Citadel - a special treat for the War Boys. Max certainly isn't complaining. Furiosa tells him the War Boys have always gotten their protein from the walls of the Citadel. Green brings insects, insects bring lizards, and lizards bring snakes. It's easy picking, if you can catch them.

They spot Nux sitting at a table full of War Boys, all laughing and talking loudly. Max looks glad, but gives him a wide berth, as if afraid of him. He heads for another table across the room, and Furiosa follows, glancing back at Nux and the other War Boys. The two of them sit down and eat in silence, as has become their habit. When Nux finally notices them and comes over, Max greets him with a smile, reserved but showing none of the fear he had briefly shown earlier.

"Hey, Bl- Max." Nux eyes Furiosa nervously for a second. "You come back this often, and you might as well start callin' Citadel home."

"Bloodbag's fine," Max answers around a mouthful of food, his posture slouched. He chooses to ignore the second thing Nux said. He's not ready to consider any place home, even the Citadel.

Nux looks to Furiosa again, and she shrugs faintly. It's Max's choice. At that, Nux grins and starts telling him about the Rig (he's very excited that it's almost ready for the road again), but the War Boys soon call him away as they finally get up and leave their table.

"See ya, Bloodbag!" And Max and Furiosa are left in silence again.

"You don't have to worry about him. He's fine. He's strong." Furiosa doesn't like seeing the worry on his face as he watches Nux leave.

"Hm. For now." Max goes back to his food.

They find themselves heading to the repair bays after their meal. The Rig and the Interceptor are the only vehicles left there. The War Boys are quick to fix up their own vehicles, despite the surplus of them. The area is otherwise empty. Max inspects his Interceptor as Furiosa leans against it, watching him.

"What are you running from?" The question, though out of the blue, is spoken softly. In some ways, she understands him a great deal. In other ways, he remains a mystery.

The words catch Max off-guard. He stops mid-crouch to examine a tire, and stares back at her, his face blank. It's a question that he doesn't know if he's prepared to answer. He straightens up, his eyes flicking away from her down to the floor as if caught in the act of something shameful. He's silent for a long time.

"Ghosts," he finally answers.

Max looks up hesitantly, meets her eyes, only to take them away again, looking thoughtfully at the Interceptor.

"They're quieter here," he admits after a moment, and that just strengthens Furiosa's desire to find out why he's always on the run. But she doesn't push him again. Max moves around the car and sits down heavily on the front of the hood. Furiosa carefully joins him, as if moving too fast would break things.

He's slow in picking his words, piecing the sentences together one at a time. "I hear… voices. People who died. Because of me." Furiosa is silent. "Angharad's there now. And your… The Vuvalini." He stops, looking over toward her briefly. Furiosa carefully reaches over and puts her flesh hand on his arm. It's okay, her eyes say.

"They get under my skin. Sometimes yell. Tell me I failed." He's back to looking at the floor. "But not here." A pause. "Usually. They're quieter."

"You didn't fail them," Furiosa murmurs. All of them, even Angharad, had known exactly what they were signing on for.

But Max just shakes his head, taps his temple. "They're there."

He still hasn't answered Furiosa's question, but he seems to sense it burning in her mind. Maybe it's her posture. Her gaze.

"Used to run from them, I guess." He thinks a moment. "Think I'm just searching now." He still doesn't know what he's searching for. Something to make him better, less splintered, whatever that may be. Maybe he never will know, until he finds it. "Wasn't always so…" he searches for a word, "broken. Thought maybe I could find that again."

"Redemption," Furiosa murmurs, but Max shakes his head again.

"Tried that. Still runnin'."

They're silent for several minutes, ghosts haunting the backs of both their minds.

"I did a lot of bad things," Furiosa blurts out. "Getting to Imperator. Even more once I got there." Max looks at her but says nothing. Redemption.

She had been a lancer with the best of them. A warrior dealing out death. "Killed so many. Some innocent, some less so… Enslaved more." She had been on more raiding parties than she could count; dragged healthy bodies back to the Citadel, whether they wanted to go or not. Blood bags, women to become breeders, slaves to work.

She brings her knees up to her chest, holds them tight. "I fought and clawed my way to the top like it was the only thing that mattered. It was more than just survival." She could have survived just fine staying down with the War Boys. Casualties were higher down there, but she could hold her own, and she was no half-life. She was stronger than that, though, so she took the opportunities that came to her. "For a while I just wanted to hurt Joe. But then… I think I started to believe him." Started to believe his twisted cause, that he was helping humanity. That the slavery and mistreatment were just necessary evils. And then that they weren't even evils at all. It was for their own good. She's made herself small by now, curled in around herself, crouched and hugging her knees.

A hand falls softly on her back, and her head snaps to the side, as if she only now realizes she's been spilling all this out to Max. But his look is gentle. Nobody's hands are clean in this world. They've all done things they regret, they all have their demons.

Furiosa straightens up, unfolds her legs, nods at the floor, and Max's hand slips away. She eventually turns to meet his eyes again. His forehead is crumpled, but he nods at her reassuringly. For both their sakes.

Chapter Text

The next time Max returns to the Citadel, 146 days after he last left, his car carries a passenger.

Word reaches Furisoa that Max is back and brought another person, and her first reaction (after the initial relief that Max is still alive) is to be wary. But if Max has seen fit to bring this person here, she'll trust him. By the time she's gotten the news and hurries down to the lift bay, Max and his passenger are already gone. One of the War Boys who had helped lift Max's vehicle up points her in the direction of the Medical Room. She arrives to see Max standing there uneasily, shifting back and forth, watching a man probably well into his seventies look at one of the sick War Boys.

Max hears her steps approach, and turns on reflex, his hand going to his gun. He relaxes only when he sees it's her. She greets him with a nod, but her eyes are on the man he had brought with him.

"He's a doctor," Max points a thumb over his shoulder. "Knows cancers." The man behind Max prods gently at the tumors on the boy's neck.

Furiosa raises a brow. An unlikely (if lucky) find. She wonders if he spent all this time on the road searching for a way to fix the War Boys. To help Nux. A little smile creeps across her face.

"You didn't threaten him to get him here, did you?"

Max looks surprised for a moment, but shakes his head. "No."

Furiosa doesn't answer, only her eyes asking for a continuation.

"He was, uh. In a tiny village. Not doing so well. Told him he could help people, that this was a good place." He hesitates a moment, looking to the side. Furiosa waits him out. "Told him I'd go back for the others."

"How many?"

"Fifteen or so."

Furiosa gives a nod. The Citadel can take on fifteen more people. There's always the worry that the Citadel's resources will not last forever, but for now they have enough, and Furiosa won't turn away people in need of help.

After examining and questioning as many War Boys as he can find in the vicinity of the Medical Room, the old man comes back toward Max. "Lymphoma seems likely. Some may have Leukemia. It's hard to tell. A, uh, microscope would help."

"Can you fix them?"

"Not all of them." He shakes his head sadly, "But I might be able to give them more time."

Max nods, looking a little grim.

"There's not a lot I can do with what I've got, but I'll try. Surgery may be an option for many."

A War Boy nearby speaks up. "What about the blood? That'll keep us strong longer, yeah?"

"Blood transfusions might not help. They might not have even been necessary for most of you."

"The Organic always told us the blood would make us feel better."

"Probably for a placebo effect. To make you think you'll get better."

Max winces and turns away. He doesn't really want to think about that. What he and others had gone through just for a false promise. But the Organic Mechanic had been a particularly disgusting man. Max isn't really surprised.

"If there are people willing to donate, though," the doctor adds, "it could help if I find that any of them do have a form of leukemia."

Max waves a hand vaguely and turns toward the doorway. Not his decision, that's up to other people. He's already asked Nida and Marin if they would help this man with anything he'll need. There's nothing more he can do here.

"You'll go back for my family and the others, right?" the man calls after Max, his concern audible.

"Said I would." Max pauses only briefly, then keeps walking.

Furiosa stays behind. She's got her own questions for this new doctor.

The following day, Max is back on the road to retrieve the rest of the doctor's village. Furiosa decides to join him; Toast has been able to take care of security on her own for a while now. They bring the Rig and a few convoy vehicles, and as many War Boys as the Citadel can reasonably spare. The War Boys eagerly prepare their thrundersticks and ammunition for the trip. Furiosa hopes to avoid losing any of them to road battles, but they are coming to protect the convoy, and the War Boys are quite happy with that. Nux is behind the wheel of the Rig, which he is also pretty pleased about.

It's a three day ride to the village. Max picks his path carefully, stopping to consult his little cloth map a couple times. They only run into one small raiding party, which the War Boys fight off flawlessly. They're used to bigger game than this.

When they stop for the night, Max stays away from the others. Furiosa thinks at first he still doesn't trust the War Boys, but later decides it's just Max being Max. She comes away from the fire to sit with him the first night. Max doesn't talk and Furiosa doesn't ask him to. Silence is just fine. The second night, she spots Nux over by Max's hiding place next to his loaner car, talking to him quietly. Max motions to his neck a couple times, and Nux mirrors him, touching the two lumps that grow from the base of his neck, looking thoughtful. Max really does worry about the boy. Furiosa smiles a bit. He seems almost like a father sometimes.

When a group of tiny huts and tents appear in the distance on the third day, Furiosa is amazed they actually found them in the vast nothingness of their surroundings. They stop their convoy just outside, and the small village seems dead. Max asks Furiosa to keep the War Boys back. He understands that a convoy like this usually means trouble to these kind of people.

He doesn't call out as he approaches the huts. He just walks into the middle of them, his hands held up at shoulder height. Guns emerge slowly from the structures, lowering only when they see his face. People emerge behind them. Everyone involved seems a bit tense, uneasy, but they welcome Max. They're wary by habit, but they seem to trust him. (Furiosa wonders what he had done to gain this trust.) He talks to the people in short bursts, looking like it's a struggle for him, then eventually motions for the others to approach.

The people tear down their little village. Everything they own, everything that can be of use comes down and goes into the cargo hold of the Rig. The tiny village (was it even big enough to be called a village?) disappears until the only thing left standing is a single rusted hand-pump water spigot. It must be dug deep, and ancient, left over from the Before Time. It was probably the only thing keeping these people alive. They fill any containers they own with water from the spigot, until it gurgles and spurts, pumping more air than water.

They divide the people up among the vehicles, then turn around and head back to the Citadel.

The people are grateful to Max (Furiosa has to rescue him from their company a couple of times when they camp for the night, claiming that she needs to talk to him about something important - much to Max's relief). The doctor (Malcolm, Furiosa had learned) is even more grateful when they return. Max waves off his thanks with something akin to embarrassment.

Many of the War Boys decide to let the new doctor work on them, and he's soon busy caring for one sick boy after another. Cheedo talks to the others from his village and works out jobs for each of them. Everybody physically or mentally able to work does so at the Citadel. They can't survive any other way.

Max talks Nux into seeing the doctor with a quiet, halting voice and a crumpled forehead. Nux can't imagine life without Larry and Barry, but he knows his mates are doing their best to kill him. Not to mention the three on the other side of his neck that are just starting to get big enough to earn names of their own. He certainly wouldn't mind not having them chewing on his windpipe all the time or sending him to the Medical Room every few weeks. His lungs start hacking out a cough at the mere thought of it.

Nux's name is soon added to Malcolm's list of soon-to-be patients.

Chapter Text

"Hey, you're back, you crazy smeg!"

Max jumps, halts on his path to the Meal Hall with Furiosa, and turns toward the Dag's voice.

"Thought maybe we'd never see you again." She's carrying a bundle of something, which he barely has time to process before she shoves it gently into his arms.

Max startles, looking somewhat terrified as a wail starts up from the bundle in his arms, but he adjusts his grip in a barely-remembered habit (looking surprised as he does), and cradles the baby gently. The look of terror fades, but a sort of panic remains in its stead. Max feels a sharp pang in his chest, but he stifles the feeling. Furiosa wants to step in for his sake, but curiosity gets the better of her. There's something about the way he holds the child.

"His name's Aster." Dag reaches out and strokes the child's cheek with her forefinger, quieting the crying. "Mostly we call him Sprout. Sprout, this is Max."

Max grunts dumbly, at a loss. His eyes flick between the baby and Dag's face a few times, then settle back on the baby. His world has been nothing but fire and blood for more years than he can remember, but suddenly there's this bit of new life in front of him. He doesn't really know what to make of it.

Max awkwardly tries to offer the child back, but Dag has already turned away from him to talk to Furiosa. Why she's trusting him with her child is a bit confusing to Max. He follows them carefully down the passageway, glancing down at Aster periodically as if to make sure he's still there.

In the meal hall, they fill plates with greens and the baked ration squares on today's menu (a little dry, but they're healthy and they keep for a long time), and move over to the table where Capable, Cheedo, and Toast are already sitting. Max, however, arrives at the table foodless, his arms still full. Dag smirks when she notices, but nobody takes the baby from the bewildered man. Instead, Furiosa gets up and collects a second helping for him, setting it in front of him.

It goes untouched.

The women manage to suppress their amused smirks and grins on the occasions Max looks up from the baby in his arms. Furiosa, however, isn't smirking. Maybe she can read him better than the others can, but this seems to be affecting him more than she would have thought. But maybe it's just the novelty of life in this world of death.

The look of panic has faded from Max's face by now, and when the child starts to cry again Max frees one arm, balancing the baby carefully against his chest, and gently strokes the kid's head. Aster quiets down, and Max actually smiles a bit. Still, it looks a little sad, Furiosa thinks. He's looking at the kid the same way he looks at that flower-printed plate of his. Like they remind him of something he longs for, something long lost and nearly forgotten.

"Hey, you're pretty good with the little Sprout," Capable comments.

Max looks up, startled by her voice. "Oh. Uh. I don't…" He stutters, looks down at the kid again, then gives up. "Hm." They don't end up getting an explanation.

By now Max has stopped awkwardly trying to give the baby back to Dag, and by the time they're done eating (or everyone except Max is - his plate remains untouched), Max is bouncing the babe carefully in his arms. The group talks amiably amongst themselves, but Max is quiet, mostly staring down at Sprout.

Dag stands and leans down toward Max. "Thanks for babysitting."

He hands Sprout back to her, almost reluctant now. "'S a good kid," he rumbles quietly, and Dag smiles.

Max grabs the baked ration square off his plate and shoves most of it into his mouth as he gets up, following the others. They part ways in the hall. Furiosa stops, looking back at Max as he stares down the passageway at Dag's retreating back.

She considers asking him how he got to be good with kids. It never occurred to her that he would be the type, but she's seen him interact with some of the War Pups on rare occasions, as well. A little awkward, but definitely caring. Part of her wants to ask him if he ever had kids himself. She's not sure why - maybe it was the practiced way he held Sprout. But she won't pry, and the thought makes her uncomfortable, anyway. Not the thought of Max being a father, but the thought that if he ever was, it seems he no longer is.

Instead, she asks him what his plans are.

He clears his throat, but his voice is still as rough as ever. "Stay a while." He shrugs. He doesn't say how long. He never does.

Gradually, more and more War Boys can be seen with bandaged necks and shoulders. Malcolm takes care of them only a couple at a time, treating each with care until they're on their feet again.

Nux shows up at the Interceptor (the first place you look if you're trying to find Max), and sits down against the tire. He doesn't say anything. Max stops what he's working on (carefully removing the razor wire from the headlights) and looks over curiously. He goes to sit down next to Nux, but doesn't say anything, either. Max is worried, and so is Nux. Max can see it on his face.

"I gotta see the doc soon." Nux says after a long silence.

"He'll help." Max hopes those words are true. "Want me to be there?"

Nux shakes his head. "It's alright. Capable will be with me." Nux knows how unnerved Max had gotten when he was sick before. He doesn't want to worry him more than he already has. Plus, the man still looks like he might lose it whenever he goes into the Medical Room. But Nux is nervous, and Max has helped in the past. "We're not like cars. Can't just swap in a new part when something's broken." He looks to Max.

Max just grunts at first, but looks up to see Nux's expectant eyes on him. "The doctor knows what he's doing."

Nux doesn't say anything.

"He's from the, uh." Max tries to think of the term he's heard used. "The time before. Learned his stuff in a school."

Nux isn't sure what a school is, but he nods anyway. If he learned his trade in the Before Time, before the world fell apart, that has to count for something.

"At least, I don't think he'll make you worse." Max adds - and as an afterthought, isn't sure if that was actually reassuring or not.

Nux thinks about it for a minute. Going under the knife is scary, but Max is right. It probably won't kill him. It does help a little, but he opts for a subject change anyway, after a long, uncomfortable silence. "You ever going to finish fixing this beater?" He leans his head toward the Interceptor.

"Hey." Max's voice is a low growl.

Nux laughs. "Sorry. She's seen better days, though."

"I know." Max knows better than anyone. He runs a hand over the side panel. They've been through a lot together.

Nux stands up suddenly. "So. What needs doing?" There's nothing like working on a car to chase worries away.

"Could use a hand taking the caltrop dropper and gun off."

"Aw, come on, those are useful!"

Max just gives Nux a look.

They get to work, but by the time they've got both devices removed from the back of the Interceptor, Nux looks tired, and excuses himself with an apology. It's about time for him to meet with the doctor, he explains.

Max looks worried. "You gonna be okay?"

Nux smiles for Max's sake. "I'll be fine." He may not know this man he's about to trust his neck to, but if Max believes in his ability, Nux will trust Max.

The next morning, Max is up working in the gardens. Everyone in the Citadel works if they can, and Max tries to pull his weight while he's here, too. Mostly he contributes to life at the Citadel by bringing back salvaged items from his journeys  - parts, weapons, ammunition, rare items he traded for, occasionally he even finds seeds or plants - but he still sometimes takes a break from his Interceptor to work, too. Working with people isn't his strong suit (nor is properly taking care of plants, Dag had decided several months ago) so he goes for the manual labor of digging new crop beds or harvesting crops that are ready to eat. He can usually find a quiet area of the gardens to work, away from people who might want to converse with him.

Capable finds him. He stops his digging, looking at her worriedly as she approaches. Her face is hard to read, but when she smiles faintly, Max relaxes. Nux is okay.

"No more Larry and Barry," she comments as she reaches him.

"How is he?"

"In pain, but managing. I thought I'd come let you know that he's alright. He says you shouldn't visit him."

Max looks at her, a little confused.

"We all know you hate that place," she says gently. She pauses, debating if she even should ask the question on the tip of her tongue. "It's where they kept you, isn't it?"

Max shifts uneasily. He hesitates, but nods warily. How much does she know? Max would prefer to forget that chapter of his life, but it doesn't particularly help when other people know about it, too. (Or when he's got proof of it tattooed across his back.) But Capable nods back understandingly. She was kept against her will, too, he reminds himself.

"I'll visit. When I'm done."

Capable smiles to herself. She figured he'd say that. "Suit yourself. He'll be up and around by tomorrow, though."

Max works through most of the day, and Nux finds him before he finds Nux. Max can't say if he was delaying this visit (he really does still hate going into the Medical Room, despite wanting to make sure Nux is okay), or if he just committed to digging more crop beds than he thought he had. Either way, Nux is up and about much sooner than Capable had said. (And if Nux is being honest, Max's intention of visiting him was part of his motivation to get out of the Medical Room sooner rather than later. He figured enough damage had been done. He didn't need to contribute to more of it.)

Max huffs a sigh as Nux approaches him. "You should be resting,"

"Nah, I'm fine." His neck and shoulder are bandaged, small spots of blood blossoming through the white strips of gauze.

Max raises his brows disbelievingly. Nux looks a bit paler than usual, and a faint wince passes over his face when he moves his neck.

"Can I help?" At least Nux still has his enthusiasm.

"No."

Max eventually gets him to sit down in the shade of one of the workers' retreats. He'll finish his work tomorrow if he has to.

Max grunts, "What'd the doctor say?"

Nux shrugs, then instantly regrets it with a grimace. "Says we'll see." Too early to tell. "No leu… uh. No blood disease, just… the other one." He waves a hand vaguely. He can't remember the names the doctor had used. "Says he got everything, though." He resists the urge to shrug again.

Max just nods. He's done what he can, and some tension he didn't know he had releases a bit. Hopefully Nux will live a little more comfortably, a little longer now. That's all Max can hope for, it seems.

Hope. He doesn't remember the last time he let himself hope.

Chapter Text

Max returns to the Citadel again and again, sometimes more than a hundred days after he had last left, sometimes only tens of days. But always he returns.

He soon finishes the repairs to his Interceptor. The crushed body is in its proper shape again, the modifications reversed, the mechanical damage fixed. He stands in front of it, a spanner still in his hand. It looks even better than it did before he and it were dragged to the Citadel, so long ago. No longer buffed to the shiny chrome that the War Boys liked, it is now neatly pained a smooth matte black, has only the slightest of dents here and there, and the V8 under the hood runs more smoothly than he had heard in a long time. He's not even aware of how wide he's smiling as he stands back, looking it over.

And then he rides away in it, but it doesn't stop him from coming back. Furiosa never knows how long he will stay away. It depends on what happens Out There, which he rarely talks about. She never knows how long he will stay, either. She can sometimes read him, guess that he'll be comfortable for a while, or that he'll need to go again soon. It all depends on how on-edge he is. (In some cases, it also depends on how injured he is when he arrives.) It is apparent that Max feels tied down to this place, leashed by his emotions and attachments, though he desperately wants to break away. He seems ill at ease when he's at the Citadel, and, Furiosa guesses, he's probably ill at ease when he's away. Staying put is just not in his nature. Maybe it had been once, long ago, but it isn't any longer.

Each time he arrives, it is Furiosa he always goes to. It's Furiosa he follows around the Citadel or sits on guard duty with when he doesn't know what else to do with himself. He's gained a knack for searching her out, no matter where in the Citadel she happens to be.

Every time Max leaves, Furiosa has to fight the urge to jump in a vehicle and follow him out into the desert. She herself feels a little tied down, too. She's not quite sure why. Toast has learned everything Furiosa can teach her, and does as much for security of the Citadel as Furiosa does. The Many Mothers have a firm hold on the situation by now. And most importantly, Furiosa has worked herself out of being a figurehead. The people have finally accepted that the Many Mothers are the true face of the change in their lives. Furiosa isn't strictly needed. Maybe she feels attached because this is the only home she knows. It had been home for over seven thousand days, as much as she may have hated it then, and now it is their new Green Place.

But it's not the same Green Place she had longed to return to for so long. It isn't her new Green Place, she realizes eventually. Too many memories of horrible deeds done. They could never be scrubbed from those walls, no matter how much the Many Mothers repaired things.

It's time to break away, Furiosa thinks. The Citadel will always be here, and she's confident that the Many Mothers will reside here for a long time to come. It will always be a friendly refuge should she need it. It's time to give in to that urge she gets every time Max leaves. The urge to ride free. Max is looking for something out there. Perhaps she can help him find it.

On Max's latest visit, she watches the familiar pattern of Max getting more and more restless as the days pass. He wants to stay. He wants to leave.

Furiosa says her goodbyes. She announces at a council meeting that she's leaving. None of the Many Mothers are particularly surprised (they all know her well enough to have seen this coming), but that doesn't mean they're not sad.

Toast nods, her arms crossed. Capable smiles sadly. Cheedo implores Furiosa to stay, though she knows that when Furiosa's mind is set, nothing will drive her off-course. Dag looks resigned, her lips pressed together, but she meets Furiosa's eyes and offers her a smile. Furiosa's four Vuvalini mothers are all varying shades of accepting. Furiosa is a Vuvalini in her heart, always will be, but she had also become a road warrior long ago and there is no changing that.

"We'll miss you."

"Come back as often as you can, yeah?"

"You'll always have a home here."

Furiosa laughs inwardly at the idea of becoming like Max, the wanderer who drifts in and out like a stray. It seems odd. She doesn't make any promises, though. She will return, someday, but she doesn't know how long it will be.

She embraces each of them, pressing their foreheads together in the gesture that has become known to them all.

The War Boys are next. She talks to as many as she can, asks them to say goodbye for her to the ones she doesn't find. Some accept the news gracefully, some slightly less so. What will they do without their Imperator?

Nux tears up a little when she talks to him, but he gives her a big hug, tells her "Don't get into too much trouble out there."

Lastly she finds Ace. He just nods when she tells him. It's been a long time coming. She informs him he'll have to be the War Boys' Imperator now. (She hates the term, but the War Boys still seem to be attached to it.) She gives him a smile. "It's about time you got a promotion."

She finds Max fiddling with some machinery at a work table in one of the repair bays, looking frustrated and just trying to keep himself busy.

She approaches him. "Come on," she tilts her head in the direction of the vehicle storage bays.

She won't take the Rig. That's Nux's now, and he has earned it. Plus, it's the Citadel's main supply run and trading vehicle. Instead, she heads over to a truck she'd been working on herself. It's not a rig, but it's formidable, and fast.

Max approaches to see an old military flatbed canvas truck, pulled apart and rebuilt in the typical fashion of the Wasteland. It's rusted throughout and ground to the bare minimum. The engine cover is missing, making room for the custom engine stuffed into the nose of the beast. With nobody to ride lancer, there's no need for a lancer's perch or a mounted gun or flamer, but the vehicle is bristling with defense. The front carries a plow not unlike that of the Rig, but violently spiked at the bottom edge. The grill is a maw of jagged metal. The back and sides are spiked with various pieces of metal welded on, and jagged metal plates protect the tires. Where the canvas used to be (long since cannibalized for other uses), she's welded haphazard metal plates arching along the frame over the bed. Barrels are cinched under the cover just behind the cab, extra tanks for guzzoline to keep the thing running for days. The back holds plenty of room for supplies: water, food, spare parts, ammunition, all locked behind a barred cage door. The whole thing is a matte black that matches his Interceptor. And the finishing touch, a skeletal arm pointing forward is freshly painted on the driver's door, an exact copy of the one she had hand-painted on the door of her old War Rig.

Max definitely understand that this is Furiosa's vehicle. What he doesn't understand at first, though, is why she's showing it to him right now. It's not until she climbs in, starts it up, then turns to look at him expectantly that he understands: they're leaving. A one-sided smile spreads across his face.

Furiosa doesn't expect Max to say goodbye to anyone, knows its not his style. They descend on the lift and ride off, side by side, into the desert. Max glances out his side window at Furiosa and finds her eyes already on him. Their eyes meet, and they nod at each other.

They fang it.