Chapter Text
A couple of days have passed since she was unceremoniously promoted to become the Prateorian’s apprentice following the catastrophe of that is the last Fury Road trip. Upon returning, to her surprise, nobody had questioned Jack on his decision to have her as his partner in the war rig. Not even the Immortan. Furiosa supposed that losing a whole convoy of war boys in these testing times had been enough of a loss that promoting a woman to a rank that she knows is historically reserved for men didn’t cause an uprising amongst the Citadel’s upper ranks.
Grease smeared across her forehead and hands, Furiosa now leans over the open hood of the old car, eyes squinting in the fading evening light. The rhythmic clinking of metal echoed through the garage quickly fell into silence when she heard someone walking into the garage.
The Praetorian steps in with ease, not minding the fact that she instinctively reaches for the folded knife strapped to her hip, far from being frightened by it—by her. He raised a hand, a gesture to let her know that he was leaving her to her own devices. Her eyes slid to meet his, considering him over for a beat before turning her attention back to the car. She tightened the last bolt, her mind once again caught onto the intricate dance of the engine parts. Sweat trickled down her brow, mingling with the dirt and grime of a long day's work. Exhaling a deep breath, she wiped her hands on her worn-out jumpsuit and switched the key before stepping back, watching the car purr to life.
She could feel Jack’s movement behind her before he stood near enough for her to have him in her peripheral view. His presence is something she’s still getting used to, with how much space he takes whenever he moves. It's almost like he feels larger than life. “That the car from yesterday?”
Furiosa closed the hood with a decisive thud, looking back at him before giving a nod. He walks around the contraception, peering inside the cabin in still observation. She’d seen him do this often enough around the garage to know that he was considering how well the vehicle would fare in the Wasteland. The other black thumbs often lounged around, hoping he’d spare a few minutes of his time to walk near their creations, eager for any scrap of recognition from the Praetorian.
When she agreed to his offer to teach her the art of road war, it escaped Furiosa that she’d be under the apprenticeship of the man who commanded deference from half of the Citadel, and fear from the other half. She had expected extra scrutiny with working so closely with the Fury Road legend himself, but intriguingly enough, he usually keeps to himself most of the time. They've spent the last few days in the war rig garage, him working on minor changes and adjustments to his vehicle while she quietly assisted and observed how he worked. The arrangement of their workstations had been obvious enough without her needing further explanations. They had fallen into somewhat of a clockwork routine quickly enough; him bent over the hood or lying on a creeper beneath the truck, while she'd be busy organizing their heavy-duty tools, periodically referring to the repair manual spread out on the workbench.
He seemed to consider something before popping back the car hood up, lingering by before he finally said, “I might’ve been underestimating your skills.” Their eyes meet. “Could use your help with the war rig tomorrow.”
Furiosa hangs a wrench on her toolbelt. “The war rig’s a different beast.”
“And you’re a quick learner,” he replied shortly. Just last night she pointed out that he missed a loose connector, a critical component near the fuel line. “I see why my previous partner speaks highly of you.”
That raised her eyebrow. “Surprised he even speaks of me at all.”
“He doesn’t,” Jack says, walking around her back, leaving her sight. “Just a mention once, on the road. You know what else he said?”
She remained where she stood, glancing back at him briefly in silence.
“That you’re supposed to be,” a pause, and then a gentle exhale of a lantern being lit, “mute.”
Furiosa couldn’t help the flicker of amusement tilting up the tips of her lips. She finally turns around to see him placing the lantern on her workshop desk. He slightly tilts his head inquisitively. He does this often, Furiosa notes. Rarely asks questions, but she can see the question mark drawn across his features. A quiet demand—coaxing, even—of answers. This is how he became Praetorian, she supposes.
“Much less to explain when people think you don’t have a voice,” she tells him.
“I don’t need explanations.”
The expression he wears now echoes the one painting his face when she pointed that gun to his face when they first met. Not even fazed by her sudden switch. Just cold, stoic, and an almost immediate understanding that surprised her even more in return. They had never spoken a word before that day, never even looked each other in the eyes, and yet the Fury Road made her feel like she might as well have known the man since forever.
It’s what all that violence and death does to someone, she supposes. What took place on that day forged a bond between them she had never thought was possible for her to experience before. Not with the life she had led.
“You’re the Praetorian.”
Jack seemed to swallow a chuckle. “And I suppose being Praetorian gives me powers to know people without them telling me who they are,” he says wryly.
She kept her lips pressed to a thin line, slightly shrugging her shoulders. “You know me.”
He considered it. The two of them know her statement sounds incredulous, considering this conversation was the most they got out of each other ever since their return to the Citadel. She doesn't speak much, especially when there are other people around, and the garage is a typically crowded place the few days following a trade run, especially one as costly as the last. Not that she thinks he has much to say about it anyway, also a man of few words himself. Furiosa doubted he would've asked if they weren’t alone right now. And just then she realized that it had never been just the two of them until now.
“I know enough, is all.”
“Not much to know beyond that.”
He looks at her, that imploring gaze again. Furiosa refuses to look away, welcoming a strange and foreign wave of self-consciousness to wash through her. Folding beneath that gaze feels like admitting defeat.
“That’s debatable,” he simply says after a beat. Then he shifted on his feet. “But I’m not here to argue with you,” he says, reaching over her table to draw out a scroll. “We’ve got a run to plan out for this weekend.”
Whatever tension filled the room just seconds earlier melted away almost immediately. She blinks, gathering herself together. She didn’t even get the chance to voice her surprise and confusion when he continued.
“This is how the business works,” he says, perhaps only now remembering that the last trade run was also her very first experience on the road. “Can’t afford to have a run botched when supplies are running low. It might be the result of bad planning on my part. I didn’t expect the last one to cost so much.”
“Has it ever gone that bad before?”
Jack ponders on it while moving pins and posts across the stretched map below them. “Just once since I’m Praetorian. Even then I wasn’t the sole survivor.”
“And you are now?”
“I would’ve. If you didn’t stay.”
“I don’t know why I did.” A beat passes. She glances at him briefly and considers if she should goad him into it. “Will I regret it?”
He stopped arranging the table to look up at her, palms propped against the surface. “You’re asking me if you can trust me,” he says, leaning towards her. It was more of an observation than a question. There it was again, that delicate stroke over the taut strings within her. Silver blue eyes kept her rooted when she stood now, imploring as he said, “how about you tell me?”
Furiosa returns the gaze, hoping she might find the reason why she does within them. The two of them already know the answer; hell, her being here is answer enough. It doesn’t make it less strange and confusing, how she instinctively trusts his virtue. Was it because she had heard of his heroic deeds and legends as the Praetorian before, like any other child who grew up in the Citadel? That can’t be it. Was it because she felt like she was known, here, underneath this stare?
Her eyes dropped to the map spread on the table beneath them, and she wondered to herself why he never got up and decide to leave this behind. It’s a question that has been hounding her ever since their return. He’s undoubtedly good at what he does, on the road, and she knows he’s not someone blindly loyal to the Immortan. Knowing that he promised to aid her quest only fuels that same question. Is this why she inherently trusts him? Knowing that he has the power to rise above the rank he’s given but chose not to? She doesn’t know if a man is ever willingly satisfied for being a cog in the machine. Even the war boys are only content with their station because they’re convinced that it will deliver them to Valhalla. But not Jack. He, just like her, knows that there’s nothing more to this than mere survival.
She was about to open her mouth to speak her answer when a couple of war boys and several mechanics walked into the garage. She swallowed the words at the tip of her tongue, glancing around the room, decidedly going against speaking. For a second there she had forgotten where they were. No safe place here, she reminded herself. No safe place.
“Furiosa,” Jack calls to her, lowering his voice until it’s soft enough for her to know that he only meant the words for her ears.
She looks at him in silence, following his gaze until they’re both watching his index fingers stroke across where the Fury Road stretches across the map. No safe place here, she thinks again, but this might be as close as she can get to it.
“All you need to know,” he says quietly, “is that I’m a man of my word.”