Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Joe is dead. Motherfucker’s begging for scraps outside Valhalla. There was a time, after Dementus, ripping Joe’s face off could’ve granted me peace . . . redemption. Forgiven myself for the blood on my hands, blood spilt in his name. Now . . . revenge works fine.

*coughs, struggling to breathe* Fuck . . . bastard might take me with him. Do they have green places on the other side? *wheezes again*

“Why is she making that noise?”

Cheedo. Guess I did some good. Joe can’t take Dag’s kid . . . He can’t fucking take anything anymore. Least they’ve got each other . . . Toast has a solid head on her shoulders. They’ve got a fighting chance if they stick together. Strength in numbers . . . Fuck . . . feels like I’m drowning.

“She's pumping air into her chest cavity . . . She's collapsing her lungs ... one breath at a time.”

That would be why. Dangerous but fixable . . . low chance the girls know needle aspiration.

“I know.”

Seems Fool’s a mechanic. *chuckles unintelligibly* Ain’t this my lucky fucking day. My life’s in someone’s hands . . . glad it’s his.

“I am so sorry.”

*GASPS* Motherfucker! I . . . .needed . . . that. Girls are a little worse for wear. Fool . . . . could use a shave. His voice . . . sounds like the river smashing on the rocks.

“I know. I know. Put that on there, press it in.”

The one by the peach trees.

“Hey. . . .Hey.”

Bastard’s got a grip, give him that. Wait . . .why’s . . everything . . . spinning? *grips his right shoulder tight* Picking peaches by the rocks. “Home.” Thanks for taking me . . . home? Is Fool home? The stubble pressed to my cheek, the sweat dripping on me, grease marking my face. Tender . . . voice . . could be . . . “Home . . .” Mind’s dark. Not long now . . .

“No, no, no. No, no, no!”

Keep ‘em safe Fool. Make this your home . . . Don’t let me down . . . .

*1 minute later*

“Max.”

Guess . . .I’m . . . not dead? *winces, feeling the needle in her arm* Who the fuck is Max?

“ My name is Max.”

Fool . . is Max . . .Maxwell, Maximillian, Maximus. Just Max.

“That's my name”

It suits you Fool . . . don’t know why . . . but it does. Especially . . . . with that muzzle on your face *giggles internally* We’re both . . . tough bastards *contemplates giving in to sleep* make . . . good team. *subconsciously nuzzles back of her head against his palm* Been over 7,000 days since I had a friend *shivers, feeling his breath on her skin* and . . . never . . . since . . . I . . . Max. These . . . thoughts . . .Max . . . Fuck . . . me. . . Dammit . . First time I've ever . . . fuck . . . mhm Max*her entire body tingles* What the fuck was that? *Confused, frustrated, and tired, she focuses on the purr of the engine, letting it lull her to slumber*

Chapter Text

The Days I Do Remember 7001

Those final few miles home. Home . . . I’ve driven this worn patch of sand countless fucking times over the years, been a not-so-willing denizen of the Citadel since I was ten . . . this was the first time hitting those familiar bumps in the road, passing Wretched camps long abandoned, seeing the green on the horizon that it felt like I was coming home. Half my thoughts were on the girls, the rest on the man whose shoulder I leaned against. In the hours since I regained consciousness, these brand-new desires Max instilled in me danced across my thoughts as I nuzzled my cheek along his sleeve . . . It was about a year before I was given the title of Imperator, one of the War Boys turned me in . . . the jig was up. Jack’s protégé, next in line to drive the War Rig, was a woman. Brought before his council, the fire of lust burned in his eyes, mentally undressing me from head to toe . . . until he saw my stump. Even behind his war mask, he failed to hide his recoil of disgust. Missing limbs are often signs of mutation, bad breeding stock. Ironic, those scars were caused by tire treads, not radiation. Joe’s wars with Dementus cost me the arm. At the time, I was grateful, the stump saving me from being tossed in with the wives, keeping me on the Rig. In the present, watching the sun rise above the Citadel, squinting with my one good eye? I blushed. I would’ve wagered all the guzzoline in Gas Town that Max wouldn’t care about the arm . . . that I wasn’t damaged goods. To him, I’d be Furiosa, comrade in arms . . . perhaps something more. I resisted the urge to purr in my seat, incredibly fascinated by the possibility of this something more.

As the Wretched swarmed around us, mystified by the GigaHorse’s return, I wondered:

“Is the change we’re about to bring truly going to benefit them, help those in need of our protection? Or will the luxury of power, some semblance of a decent life lie solely amongst us up there, where Joe once sat?”

We have to fucking try. Otherwise, why did we even come back? To let their babies’ become warlords after all? Fuck that. I tried seeing the perch, where Corpus resided with his scope. Couldn’t wait to toss that bastard off, hear his screams echo into the Wasteland. As I chuckled weakly, I heard the cock of a boomstick.

“Reveal yourself.”

Baz sounded nervous with his threat, almost as if he didn’t believe his own words. Without Joe giving him orders, Baz is just a mindless thug . . .

By this point I’d gotten rather comfy leaning into Max. Having spent the last few hours resting against him, it just felt . . . right. So when he opened the door and slid out the cab, I stumbled, my stump bouncing off the dash. I managed to prop myself up in time to see Max reveal Joe’s fucking corpse. There’s your almighty Joe . . . not a god after all. Hard to believe this bastard with half his face missing managed to hold sway over us. Following an initial loud gasp, Max tossed that carcass off the hood and the Wretched became a frenzy. They swarmed to tear apart his body in fucking glee, celebrating at long last the death of their tormentor. Of MY tormentor. I smirked, taking in the sight. I earned this, I deserved to see this . . . Apparently, while I’d been knocked out, the others talked up a plan as suddenly I felt Toast push me forward, Max’s arm wrap around my waist, pulling me next to him. My knees wobbled, but I managed to stand, my battered face staring at the War Boys and Pups dotting the Citadel’s ramparts. Suddenly, I heard a man yell:

“Furiosa!” the sound of my name rippling across the crowd, the Wretched now filled with defiance. Baz and his partner didn’t want to let us on the lift, but thousands chanted:

“Let them up!” A blood bag and a disgraced Imperator . . . “Let them up!”

If my eye wasn’t swollen shut . . . Overwhelmed to say the fucking least. In the fifteen years I scratched and crawled my way from War Boy to War Rig, I’d no idea how much weight my name carried . . . how much hope it inspired. Seeing the lift lower . . . I had to resist the urge to kiss Max then and there. Probably didn’t have the strength . . . His hand clutched in mine, our knees resting against each other . . . When we reached topside, I knew I’d find a way. I just had to. Get these fantasies out of my head and into a fucking bed . . . as if I’d have any clue what I was doing. But I couldn’t care less. All that mattered was me . . . and Max.

We slid off the hood, watching the girls help some of the Wretched onboard. A cheer rang out as someone opened the floodgates, Aqua Cola for everyone. All could get their fill. Cheedo and Toast standing on either side, in awe at the scene before us. Taking it in . . . I failed to notice Max’s hand leaving my waist.

Whispering words of advice to Capable . . . her wanting to be a black thumb. Nux definitely left his mark . . . glanced over my shoulder. Gone.

Fucking gone.

Looked every which way . . . how did Max just fucking vanish?

Couple seconds later, I found him, his piercing eyes staring up at me from below. He gave a long nod, before tilting his head towards a vehicle bay. One shout from me and the Wretched would’ve held him . . . but my trembling lips stayed silent. I felt so much hurt and anger in that moment and yet I managed to flash a smile . . . giving respect from one warrior to another. I don’t know what horrors Max went through . . . what baggage he carried . . . to deny the Home before him . . . choosing instead to wander. With Joe gone, I can finally live on my own terms. I can’t deny those terms, that choice, to anyone else . . . especially Max. I returned the nod. Quickly, he vanished amongst the crowd, my heart sinking as we rose higher.

The rest of the day was a blur, seeing the girls back to the vault, promising we’d discuss the future tomorrow. Found War Boys that Ace trusted, made them stand watch. Rictus was dead but I wasn’t taking any chances amongst this lot. For the first time, instead of heading down with the black thumbs, I chose a path I rarely walked before, one to the First Family’s quarters. Deliberately avoided Joe's room. Not sleeping where that monster’s stench lay. Found a fairly spartan room, previously occupied by the Elite Guard. Just two beds, a table and chair underneath a window, a curtainless shower tucked away in the corner. Left two War Boys outside and locked the door behind me. I laid my broken arm on the table, allowing myself to fall on the bed exhausted. Feeling the comfort underneath, I smiled, forcing myself to chuckle . . . until the tears came. Max should fucking be here . . . here beside me.

Since I was taken, just over 7,000 days ago, I have been surrounded by men. Jack, the only one I trusted with my secret, felt like a father. But after him . . . The likes of Dementus, Joe, Scrotus, Rictus . . . men twice my age who only felt a woman’s touch because they controlled their world . . . War Boys, brainwashed half-life battle fodder caring more for the next life than the one they live. For my safety, I trained myself to ignore and repress the very idea of attraction when I became a rig hand at 13. I’ve never experienced desire, lust, anything raw . . . primal . . . carnal. I’d always longed for the embrace of the many mothers . . . I didn’t realize I had this other need entirely . . . not until Max. Not because he saved the girls, saved me . . . but for the bond, friendship forged through the fire of battle. We only knew each other a week, but he quickly became the one soul I could let my guard down around. Truely be Furiosa. After I killed Joe, this huge weight lifted from my shoulders, and the long buried curiosity of sexual arousal stirred. Those feelings latched on to the one . . . the only person in the Wasteland it could. Max. Didn't hurt he's easy on the eyes . . . Someone with the stamina to tussle with for days . . . What I'd have given for just one night. Staring at the ceiling, I thought back to my head in his hand . . . him begging me to wake up . . . revealing his name . . . his stubble grazing my cheek. I shivered from head to toe, my hand gripping the bedsheets. Desire completely washed over me . . . my clit throbbing as warm wetness built up between my thighs. I never felt either sensation, but I instinctively knew. I laid my head on the pillow, cursing Max, fucking schlanger. He gave me the gift of desire then took away my ability to satiate it . . . give in to it. My right eye swollen shut, a few broken ribs poking my chest, bruising all along my side . . . I didn’t give a damn.

I sat up, ripping off my shirt and throwing it in a corner. I caressed a breast, squeezing it while teasing the nipple with my thumb. One swivel and a ripple of pleasure echoed through my body, causing me to moan. I chuckled at how an old warhorse like me was rubbing one out for the first time. I closed my eyes and with barely a thought I could feel Max breathing along my neck. In the real world, my hand snaked down my side until my fingers were amongst my folds. I thumbed my clit as he kissed me, caressing my face with his callused palm. His free hand massaged my left shoulder, my muscles flexing. I bit his lower lip, playfully tugging it with my teeth. It’s mine, Max . . . and I’m never letting go. My fingers slipped inside me as . . . I . . . fuck I can’t believe it, I’m fucking blushing writing this down. In my eagerness, I imagined his bulge pressing against my inner thigh. Within three seconds my brain flooded with pleasure, my back arched, and I squirted the length of my pants. Hadn’t even gotten our bloody clothes off. My cheeks reddened; I panted, failing to catch my breath. No one was watching me, had any clue what I’d done, and I couldn’t be more embarrassed. That is until I got the joke of it all, started laughing. With sleep calling, I stripped down, hobbling over to the shower. I sighed in relief as the hot water ran down my body, caked-on blood sweat, and chrome finally washing off. Toweling dry, I reveled in my newfound safety by not putting any clothes on before crawling under the sheets. And yet as I turned off the light, waiting for slumber to welcome me, my thoughts returned to Max.

The only living man who witnessed my greatest sorrow, saw me fall to my knees, baring my screams and soul to the sands. The one man who saw my greatest enemy brought down at my hand. Max . . . How did you come to me . . . why’d you leave?Was there something, anything I could have done to make you stay? Reluctantly I pushed this hindsight from my mind. Whatever the reasons, you were long gone. Lost again to the Wasteland. With Joe dead, I needed to shift my focus to running the Citadel, how to cast off everyone’s chains. Daunting, but I knew I was up to the task. I have to be. I can't be wasting time pining over my first crush. I know this. But when I closed my eyes, Max, I saw yours looking back at me. I couldn’t help it . . . I smiled. If I can’t see you when I awake, feel free to keep me company in my dreams.

Chapter Text

The Days I Do Remember 7043
Today someone came back in my life. Someone I’d hope, every so often, would return. But seeing his battered face in the bed next to mine . . . His eyes closed . . . Somewhere between the land of sleep and falling unconscious . . .maybe Max be better off if he never met me.

Few weeks ago, Buzzards finally got the word Joe was gone . . . Desert fuckers started getting bold. Harassing caravans past halfway to Gas Town. Bastards never got the produce but took out over a dozen pursuit vehicles with their swarm. Fifteen dead. . . War Boy morale was low, grumblings about Capable driving the rig. Needed to get back behind the throttle, remind those sand schlangers who controls the Fury Road. Sent some scouts off the beaten path, got word Buzzards moved their raiders into a hidden alcove along the lower canyon . . . Day before last, I set out with a crew of twelve, hauling enough explosives to level the camp, make those nomads run elsewheres. Returned tonight, the fires from the canyon still burning, screams in the guttural Buzzard tongue still ringing in my ears . . . With Max bleeding all over my lap in the back seat.

Found him in their workshop, hung up by a steel chain as a punching bag. Judging by the bruises, swelling, and lacerations . . . Max spent days if not weeks serving as sparring practice. Buzzards box in their armor, gloves covered in spikes. Thank the souls of the many mothers I found him still breathing. I cut him down, snuck out the way we entered while the Boys finished planting the bombs. No organic mechanics in the bunch, brought the best to do War, destruction . . . Leaving only my hands to save him. When I gave the order, bombs went off, mission accomplished. War Boy whoops and hollers echoing into the night, Buzzards either buried alive or covered in flames . . . All I cared about was Max.

Managed to bandage his wounds best I could, only a temporary fix. Had to get back to the Citadel. Two hours drive, ten minutes up the lift, half an hour finding the five healers (in training) and converting my spare bed into a makeshift ward. They stitched the lacerations all down his chest and back . . . But the true trouble lays unknown beneath layers of swelling covering his face. Possible brain damage at worst . . . Small hope they can save his right eye at best.

I sit on the bed next to him, taking his limp hand in mine. Looking out at the stars, I prayed to Gods nonexistent that I would hear his voice one more time. That his left eye would open. That some shred of his soul remained in his now fragile body. The Max I know can fight. But after all the horrors he’s endured in the Wasteland, does he still want to? I got my fucking answer . . . suddenly his hand gripped mine tight. He shows no other signs of stirring besides the occasional incoherent mumble . . . But I’ll fucking take what I can get. Soon I’ll wrest my fingers from his grasp and go to bed, reluctantly closing my eyes from exhaustion. Max better still be breathing when I wake up.

The Days I Do Remember 7047

Good news . . . Max is finally awake. Yesterday, he nearly coughed up a lung, but at least it showed he could breathe. The swelling had gone down, revealing extensive damage to his eye. Held his hand each of the prior four nights, each one his grip grew stronger. One thing that hadn’t changed was his silence. He stared out the window, refusing to acknowledge my call or gaze. I never yelled, though I was tempted. Something is holding him back, whatever the reason helping the fires of vengeance burn deep inside me.

Wanting blood not exactly a new feeling but this fire brought a new craving. Killing Joe was for me. Dementus was for my mother. Those I killed as a War Boy and an Imperator were to survive. Going out in an interceptor, picking off Buzzards one by one, till none of their tribe remained . . . The bombing raid was just to drive them further from the Citadel, dealt a warning to leave our convoys alone. This . . . would be scorched earth. Over the maiming of one man. A man I’d already thought long gone, only remaining in traces of daydreams. Why was the nomad’s return inspiring thoughts of bloodlust, of annihilation? Whatever feelings I have for Max . . . I’m a warrior . . . A soldier . . . A killer when necessary. The avenging angel of death . . . not a title I bare. Not for him.

A knock at the door shook me awake . . . Cheedo, Toast, Capable . . . Wanting to see Max, give their respects now that he’s conscious. I stood aside, watching the wives crowd around him, whispering their thanks for his part in setting them free. After an hour, they filed out . . . Capable to the War Rig, Toast picking out War Boys to help her run Gas Town, Cheedo to the Vault to help Dag’s little one. I rose to join them, having neglected Citadel duties enough for one week.

But I felt fingers interlock with mine, followed by a tug back “Furi . . .” His voice rasping low, his gaze burning through my eyes . . . “Thanks . . .” His good eye quickly darting around the room.

“Just returning the favor, Max.” I bent down, kissing his cheek.

I wanted nothing more than to slide on the bed beside him, nuzzling into the nape of his neck . . . Protecting each other from the world. I restrained myself, however . . . Simply giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before leaving, my legs carrying me to the fight pit . . . Some newer War Boys needing to learn hand to hand . . . who else to teach ‘em but me. But my thoughts remained on Max, no longer lingering on vengeance. . . Just happy the handsome smeg’s talking again.

Chapter Text

The Days I Do Remember 7061

Max has been in the bed next to me for the past two weeks, strung up from the roof of a Buzzard cave longer than that, denied food . . . Water. Naturally, his legs can barely hold him upright and it only takes one or two steps before he tumbles over. Due to Citadel business, nine times out of ten, I’m not there when it happens, and he barely tolerates Doc. Why when I wake up and when I come back after a long day, I always make sure to help him make it to the John, prop him upright in the shower, change his bandages. Thought about pushing the beds together, make it easier on the both of us. There is that part in the back of my mind that takes said thought ten steps further, in a much more intimate direction. Won’t lie, it’s a direction I’m tempted to take. After all . . . it’s Max. But now’s not the time. He is too bruised to have this kind of conversation and I’m dealing with the same fucking shenanigans the Bullet Farm’s been pulling all month . . .

Sometime last week, Max’s eye went glassy white, luckily no signs of further infection, but all chance of sight gone. Nomad had two choices, keep it or have it removed, stitched up in a scar. Hadn’t made a peep since Doc gave the diagnosis.
Caught me off guard this morning as I was slipping on a boot, “Scar or prop, Furi?”

Still half asleep, I grunted in reply.

“I mean it, Furi . . . Scar or prop? Should I keep the cue ball or shuck it out?”

Turning around, I met his gaze, noticing any attempt at playing the silent, brooding type absent. I swiveled on my bed to face him, holding up my left arm, unstrapping it from my shoulder. “Max . . . You’re looking at this wrong. It’s a prop regardless. Whereas this gives me the basic functions of an arm, nothing Doc gives you lets you see outta that eye again. At the end of the day, it comes down to which you think looks better, haunting scar or crystal ball,” giving half a smirk. Max is not the kind of guy who gives a damn how he looks. Looks don’t play much into survival.

There was a long pause, he nodded, closing his eyes. A few seconds later, he tapped me on the shoulder, “Which do you think looks better . . . I mean you’ve been right next to my face since you brought me in . . . Figured you might have an opinion,” smirking back.

I looked away, blushing a deep shade of red, “Didn’t think you noticed.” Finishing restrapping my arm, I placed my metal thumb just above his eye, already lost in thought. I daydreamed waking up in Max’s embrace, twisting my head to kiss him. I imagined opening my eyes, seeing a massive scar on his face, just one of many we both have all over our bodies. I then supposed seeing his right eye open, quickly getting lost in the milky white orb. Initially a lot scarier than the scar, it gave him an air of What . . . The . . . Fuck. If he went back to the Wasteland, he would be given a lot of space when fellow scavengers got one look at him. Not that it would make me give him any less of a good morning kiss . . .

“Furi . . . Everything ok?”

I shook my head, back to the present, the blush returning. “Max . . . Again, it comes back to you. Look at Joe. Fucking schlanger’s torso was covered in scars, burns . . . which he hid behind a fake plastic sheet of muscles and medals. He was ashamed of who he was, that he didn’t look like the God he wanted us to see. Whether you keep the eye or not, you’re not hiding who you are. Whether it’s a scar or the eye, you’re telling the world I’ve been chewed up and spit out the other side. ‘You think you’re the one to take me down?’ . . . But if you need me to pick one or the other, keep the eye. First of all, Doc’s never removed an eye before. Risk I wouldn’t take,” chuckling. “Second . . . Won’t lie . . .” Standing up, letting my metal hand hold his chin, “kind of ties your face together.”

“Huh,” laying back on the bed, his face blank of expression. “Guess I’ll keep it.”

“Glad I could help,” using my knees to thrust our beds together.

“Furi . . . What’s that for?”

“Well, with no surgery it makes sense not to wait any longer, make this one big bed.”

I could see the cogs turn in his brain, “But why do we need one bed?”

I wanted to say, “So it’s easier for me to roll on top of you, feel you hard beneath me.” I bit my lip thinking about it. I somehow managed, “We both know you aren’t going to walk normally for at least another month. I’m the only one you trust helping. Being able to reach you when you wake up makes it easier for me to get you where you need to go. Beats having to pull you off the floor.”

He begrudgingly acknowledges with a grunt. “Ok.”

“See you in a few hours, got to prep the rig for a supply run to the Bullet Farm. New owners want to make a new trade arrangement, I have to convince them otherwise.” Max gave silent acknowledgment, heard him muttering as I shut the door and slathered black grease on my forehead. Soon the conversation was a silent play in the back of my mind, my thoughts squarely on the ride to the Farm. Don’t need another Kalishnakov.

The Days I Do Remember 7092

Been awhile since I wrote here, the Citadel a constant whirlwind of actions, consequences, emotions. Negotiations with Remington, the Farmer’s former right hand, broke down before the War Rig even reached their gates. Blames me for Kalishnakov’s end . . . Doesn’t matter I only blinded the bastard. Wanted double the normal food rations for less than half the normal ammunition cache. Our patrols haven’t been armed in weeks. Fucking lucky one hasn’t been ambushed yet. I know Remington will fold, Bullet Farm hasn’t been fed since Joe fell . . . Bullets to the gut won’t help his hunger. Still we’re all on edge. Especially today. I arrived home in the late afternoon, following another useless summit at the Farm. Part of me wanted to hit the fight pit, I could’ve used a good scrap. For whatever reason, I swallowed my frustration and headed to my room. I figured I could pick Max’s brain for tactics. But when I opened the door, I couldn’t help a smile forming.

Fool was standing up, eating a peach, sporting a clean shirt for a change. “Back already?”

Past month had been a rough go, but last week or two he’s been managing to make it to the shower unaided . . . change his own bandages. His recovery has thankfully ended our feeble attempts at awkward small talk, trying not to notice his manhood when stripping him for a shower or changing the dressing along the gash on his right thigh. Yet he’s never asked to push the beds apart . . .

“Remington’s not going to budge, think the grunt wants a war.”

Max nodded, crossing the room to grab me a peach from a crate by the door. I could tell that the sizable limp in his right leg showed no signs of going away.

“Sit down, Max.” He protested, wanting to get through the pain on his own. “Toast and Cheedo have been teaching me massage techniques,” deliberately not saying why. “Seems like a good time to put their lessons to the test.” Reluctantly, he laid down, tossing his pants to the side, wearing some tattered boxers. I sat next to him, unhooking my arm. As one may expect, giving a one-handed massage isn’t the easiest task, but I think for my first time I managed well, focusing mainly on the muscles of his leg’s underside.

After about twenty minutes, I heard a deep, guttural groan escape his lips . . . His face blushed bright red. He sat up, clearly uncomfortable, starting to slide his pants back on. I don’t know what came over me, but I placed my hand on his chest, giving a brief forcible squeeze, “Max . . . Whatever hell you’ve been through, whatever you’ve lost, the trauma you have to carry . . . there is no shame in feeling good.”

Max opened his mouth but thought better of it. He closed his eyes, threw his legs backs on the bed “Furi . . . It’s alright . . . Keep going.” His grunts occurred more frequently, giving the occasional “That’s . . . Good” when my fingertips brushed his inner thigh, a tiny smile forming on his lips when I’d pay attention to the muscles behind his shin.
After an hour or so, he fell asleep, splayed out in contentment on the bed, the sun setting over the horizon. He remained in dreamland while I showered and got changed. He hadn’t stirred when I returned from hyping up the crew heading to Gas Town tomorrow.

“No shame in feeling good” . . . Those words reverberate as I write them, quickly sneaking a peak over my shoulder at Max in slumber. The look on his face reminds me of when I was a child, saying hello to Valkyrie with the Vuvalini forehead bump . . . Or when I said farewell to Mom one last time. I make the decision once I close the journal, I’m going to lay down . . . drape my right arm over his shoulder and rest my forehead against his. I tell myself there’s nothing intimate with the gesture, just bringing back feelings of closeness and calmness from childhood. Maybe that’s a lie. But one definite truth is once our foreheads touch . . . It’ll bring me back to when he saved my life. Smell the Max I smelt when he told me his name. Hear the water on the rocks under the shade of a tree he’s never seen. Have the night we never got to have . . . Closeness without the fear of death, but with the gift of another day. The simple gift of waking up and seeing his face . . . My friend’s face, across from mine. That’s a gift I’ll gladly take, every time.

Chapter Text

The Days I Do Remember 7093

Last night feels worlds away from the hammock I find myself in currently. Laying here full of lust, anger, and wondering . . .did I give Max the push he . . . we . . . I need . . . Or did I push him towards the Wasteland? Last night . . . Was perfect. Max had conveniently rolled over facing my side of the bed. I slid on the mattress, careful not to wake him. With my hand softly rubbing his upper back, I pushed our foreheads together, breathing in the closeness. I felt immensely at peace. My mind threatened to race with erotic thoughts, yet surprisingly managed to restrain itself. I simply thought of us sitting on the bluffs above the Green Place, my head halfway buried into his shoulder the other half sticking out . . . My metal fingers eagerly pointing out houses . . . fruit groves . . . the site of my clan initiation, places long since faded everywhere but my thoughts. Being pressed to Max . . . It felt so real. I subconsciously pulled him in closer. Two bruised souls intertwined . . . Falling asleep, the last thing I remember was his scent on my nostrils, causing me to purr as I gave into the black.

This morning I woke up, instinctively rolling over. Or at least I tried to. I felt a hand against my waist, and Max groaning in my ear, pulling me back. My eyes shot wide open, his five-o clock shadow nuzzling into my shoulder. A shiver went up my spine, realizing his bulge was definitely not asleep, fully erect against my lower back. Either this was a dream, or Max was a lot more ready for intimate closeness than I thought him willing . . . Then his lips pressed to the side of my neck . . . I couldn’t help but moan. His hand caressed my left shoulder . . . This was actually fucking happening. Max was making a move. I turned my head sideways to meet him with a kiss . . . Only to realize both of his eyes were closed. Add to that he was mumbling incoherently, and I think he was still asleep. Half dejected, half amused, I snuggled into his grip tighter. Dream or not I was going to enjoy this.

But then I stiffened as I felt his tongue trace the brand . . . Joe’s brand, on my neck. Any arousal I had flew out into the Wasteland. I held still, waiting for his lips to move on to my upper back. Instead, I felt his teeth grind against the seared skull on my flesh. Having woken up into a morning of my dreams, it had quickly moved into uncomfortable territory. Reluctantly, I reached behind me giving his head a playful shove “Max . . . it’s Furiosa wake up. C’mon, I know we both want it” teasing “but it’s better if you’re awake” shoving his head again. Slowly his eye opened, meeting mine in the daylight.

He groaned . . . “Morning . . .Furi why’d you wake me . . .” His eye widened, slowly realizing his left hand was secured to my waist and his face was nuzzled into the nape of my neck. And like that . . . It was over. “Fuck . . . I’m so sorry” followed by some grunts and mumbling. Within seconds, his hand retreated from my side, the gap between our bodies widened, and I could hear his pants slapping the mattress, followed soon after by his boots. I saw him standing against the wall, half mumbling half trying to get his leathers on. I tried to get a read on his face, but he hid behind his mask. I guessed his quick retreat was worrying he was too close for comfort and that it was likely stirring up memories of someone he lost. Whatever the case, he was certainly bolting.

As soon as that clicked, I got up, grabbed his shoulders, kissing him deeply. My hand caressed his face, my teeth biting his lip. Fucking pointless. He didn’t pull away but he gave nothing back. After a few minutes, I finally let go, frustration all over me. “Max . . .Ive been waiting 94 days to do that . . . I kinda expected a bit more fireworks,” sitting down on the bed, shooting daggers at him.

He grumbled another apology as he slipped a boot on.

Max was fucking gone . . . But I had one more card up my sleeve. I reached out, taking his hand in mine. “Max . . . Please, if you’re ever going to listen to me, listen now.” I could feel tears watering my eyes, “I can feel you’re about to wander again . . . I wanted to give you a couple reflections before you walk away from a fucking open home.” Leaving his boot untied, he slid to the ground, his eye never leaving mine.

“I wanna make it clear . . . You don’t fucking owe us anything. Not a god damn thing. Not even me. Taking care of you near two months, doesn’t even go halfway to clearing our debt. You could have left us racing off into oblivion. Made your own way. Instead, you rode after us and showed us the path. The path to green, the path to life, the path . . . For redemption . . . Without you, we’d still be out there, driving across the salt. For that alone, you’ve earned your right as a citizen of the Citadel. The right to come . . .” Voice breaking “the right to go.”

“With that said . . .” Chuckling, “I was still fucking angry when you left. I didn’t blame you, held no ill will . . . Angry all the fucking same . . . Since the day I killed Joe, the day you . . . Saved my life, I’ve held strong feelings.” I could see a blush start creeping across his face. “First time . . .I’ve felt attraction . . . it’s a powerful fucking emotion. That attraction still burns bright now. I can’t tell if it’s just a crush or if it grew into something more . . . I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you beside me, in war . . . in bed . . . and for everything in between.” I stood up, naked and open in just a shirt and sleeping shorts.

“But throw that aside, as much as I selfishly want to stay there . . . The Citadel is truly a place you can call home, as much as the heart of the nomad draws you elsewhere . . . The six of us have grown since you left, turning these rocks into what hopefully can be a well of prosperity. We’ve got much use for someone with your skills. Capable’s running the War Rig now, could use some help keeping the War Boys in line. Dag’s got a full run on the hydroponics area and the various gardens throughout. Planning on eventual expansion to the Wretched. Put Toast in charge of Gas Town a couple weeks ago, wouldn’t hurt the two of us make appearances now and then, show the rig workers we got her back. Cheedo spends most her time babysitting Dag’s sprog,” I noticed that last word made Max visibly wince, “trying to take up the role of History Man from Miss Giddy. The remaining Vuvalini are helping her. I bet someone like you, who was there before the old world fell, would be invaluable. And I know I would benefit greatly from your tactical knowledge. Help each other see between the lines. But that’s not what’s important. What is . . . Is we all want you here.” I reached the other side of the room, leaning against the door.

“But . . . I understand if you go. Just do me two favors . . . Max. First, forget the tension between us and focus on your fucking leg. Wait until the limp is gone. You’ll be easy pickings for scavengers otherwise. I’ll be sleeping in the War Boy hammocks ‘till then . . . Give you space.” I waited until I got something resembling a nod. “Second . . . Give me a proper goodbye this time . . . One that shows I actually fucking mean something to you.” I hadn’t meant to end my rant in anger, but I quickly stormed into the shower, time to get ready for fucking work.

As I washed down my side, I glanced back into the room. Max was sitting on the bed, his leathers still on but his boots and shirt were off. Back to where he was when I hauled in his body . . . staring along the horizon. Part of me felt guilty but honestly . . . it fucking felt good to get that off my chest, to make Max think from passion instead of instinct. After I got dressed, and attached my arm, I walked over, taking a knee. He let me slink my hand over his shoulder, my fingers rustling in his hair. I pulled our foreheads together, hoping to give him some peace. All I felt was conflict. I kissed his cheek, whispering “Whatever you do, you’re always welcome here.” Closing the door, I was a bit taken aback at how quickly it bolted shut behind me.

The rest of the day flew by in a haze. I saw Capable and the rig off to Gas Town. After wishing her well, I gave her the Vuvalini goodbye, seeing how it felt on someone not Max. I felt at peace, that I was sharing it with Capable, but it lacked the passion and intensity that coursed through me last night. As they drove off into the distance, I instructed the lift boys to not let anyone up or down unless I said so. I meant that Max could come and go as he pleased . . . But I wasn’t letting him bolt just yet. I checked in on Dag and little Valkyrie . . . Thankfully she looks nothing like her father. Back down to the fight pit, spent a few hours throwing War Boys around. The purpose was to train them but today I used it more as an opportunity to get my anger towards Max out of my system. After grabbing some dinner in the mess, I wove my way back up to the top. Gave the lift hands free rein on who to let up or down and reluctantly began setting up my hammock amongst five War Boys, rather than joining Max in our . . . My room as had been the norm for the past month. I then chatted with Charon, a War Boy I stationed around the bend from my quarters. Told me Max briefly left for some time in the afternoon, but came back an hour ago, hasn’t left since.

As I lay here, finishing this day, I think about the sniper’s shoulder. Where Max trusted me to take the shot, one bullet left, my torso and breast leaning on his back, my elbow propped up. In the moment, it was all about survival, looking down the scope, waiting for the perfect shot. In hindsight, it was the thought of us working together . . . Being together . . . as one. My body enveloped in his. Our deep breathes fueling each other. Our slow heartbeats drumming in unison. Once again . . . His aroma hitting my nostrils. Before I close my eyes, I take one last look at the door, hoping Max is in my room because he wants to be . . . Fuck.

Chapter Text

The Days I Do Remember 7098

Past four days, I fell into a routine. Wake up in the morning . . . Staring at my door . . . Shaking the distraction before getting on with my day . . . Racing all over the Citadel dealing with one problem or another. Spent hours figuring out attack strategies to take back the Bullet Farm . . . Hard thing to plan with almost no bullets. Found a few meals when I had time to spare. Come back up at the end of a long shift, exhausted, looking at Charon for some good fucking news. Three days in a row, same fucking message

“Max left for a few hours, came back hasn’t made a peep since.”

Figured he was packing up a ride to head out, doing it while I was busiest. Fucking hurt, won’t lie. Then came last night. I pulled the elder War Boy aside, asked him again.

“Funny thing. Shortly after you headed to the showers, your man rolled out a bike, hit the lift. Was halfway to Gas Town before noon.” My heart sank . . . Fucker so scared of attachment he can’t say goodbye. “But a couple hours ago saw him back at the lift top, chatting with the pole man. Stashed the bike somewheres and carried some bags to your room. Actually, ten minutes ‘fore you showed up, full life stuck his head out, kept looking towards your bunk. Got frustrated, slammed the door.”

Thanking him, I sat on the hammock perplexed . . . why did he come back? Toast could have put him up, driving back here wasting whatever guzzoline you left for . . . Didn’t make a lick of sense. What’re you after, Max? I was tempted to bust the door down, get some answers . . . But as mad and confused as I was . . . I didn’t want my last memory of Max to be a fight. By morning, curiosity got the better of me. After slipping on a shirt and tying down my arm, I walked over, rapping the door loudly with my metal hand, so there’d be no mistaking who it was.

“Max . . . it’s Furiosa . . . time we talked.” Hearing nothing, I figured I'd got nothing to lose and cracked,“ ‘Sides I want my bed back-” the door snapped open, Max pulling me inside.

“Where were you last night . . . Looked everywhere.”

I raised an eyebrow. “West Tower, making modifications to the Rig. Didn’t turn in till late.” He got up, awkwardly rubbing his neck, pacing back and forth . . . With no limp in his right leg. Saw I noticed “went to Cheedo each night ‘fore last, she knocked the kinks out” blushing. “Why didn't you come to me?” admittedly a bit jealous.

“Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Surprise? But . . . Figured you pulled me in here to say goodbye.”

A grin I’d never seen before appeared on Max’s face as he closed the distance, his arm snaking around my waist. “What if I don’t want to say goodbye?” Pressed his lips to mine, with me all too eager to reciprocate. Soft, gentle kisses, me resisting the urge to go full throttle. Feeling my passion, he broke the kiss, bashfully admitting “been at least a decade since I’ve done this”

“You’re forgetting, it’s my first time, Max” resuming the embrace, soon his tongue inside my mouth.

Wasn’t long before I felt his length pulse along my thigh. I snickered “Not the only one excited to see me,” deepening the kiss, doing my best not to crush his shoulder with my prosthetic. Seems he had the same idea as I caught his fingers fumbling with its straps. Chuckling, I pushed Max on the bed, my free hand undoing the knots, “You’re in for a bigger fight than the morning we met.” I crawled atop him, our lips meeting while my hand danced down his chest. My thumb teased his nipple before my fingers slowly traced each and every ab.

He responded in kind, groping my breast through the shirt, my erect nipple poking his palm. Max’s other hand slid down my back until it rested on my ass, giving it a firm squeeze. I growled in happiness, but something didn’t feel right. I sat up, looking into his eye.

“Furi, what’s wrong? I thought this was what you wanted.”

Fuck me. While Max was into it . . . doing it more for me than himself. Like he doesn’t deserve happiness. Shaking my head, I leaned down, nibbling his earlobe. I whispered, “Remember what I told you . . . Nothing wrong with feeling good . . . Especially with someone you care about.”

That lit a fire under him, biting my neck in reply. “Good thing I’m staying then. I . . . Oh fucckkkkk . . . I can draw this out. Take a month to do a night’s work.”

I gave him a shove, using the reprieve to toss aside my shirt. “You take that attitude in the motor pool, I’ll tan your fucking hide.”

Giggling like how I imagined old world teenagers caught in lust behaved, we both stood up and removed our leathers and boots. Looking down, I couldn’t help but lick my lips. His cock was on full display and ready at attention. I’d never touched one before but spending my teenage years surrounded by testosterone fueled War Boys with no one else but each other to fuck . . . I think I got the basic idea.

Resting my left arm on his shoulder, my hand slithered down, cupping his balls ‘fore squeezing them. I felt . . . Him . . . Max shivered in my grip, leaning into my chest, his hot breath hitting my forehead. I playfully gave him a nudge with my own, motioning him to lie on the mattress. I sat next to him, my wetness dampening the sheets before I comfortably nuzzled against his side, our foreheads pressed together.

Wrapped my fingers around his shaft . . . I heard happy expletives escape his lips, like he couldn’t imagine this was happening. At that moment my clit pulsed on his leg, causing another round of whispered bliss from Max. Couldn’t help myself; nudged our noses together, as my fingers began slowly pumping up and down his shaft, his undervein tickling my skin.

Fool responded by softly kissing me, panting a mumbled but grinning reply. Not at all how I imagined the morning going . . . No fucking complaints.

I suckled his neck, hearing him groan as my hand roamed his length . . . Just made me yearn for him further. Surprised I didn’t burst a blood vessel gripping him quite hard when he slid his knee between my legs . . . Pressing it firmly against my wet folds before moving up to my clit . . . After hovering for awhile, teasing me, he removed his knee without ever touching my clit. I began to protest but he grinned, “I taketh away but I giveth Furi.” His hand was trembling near my pussy.

“Fuck . . .” My entire body tingled as he pressed down on my clit. “Hopefully I last longer than the day I first tried this.”

“When . . . Was that?”

“Day we took the Citadel . . . Mmhm fuck . . .”

Bastard grinned, “Thinking of me?”

I rolled my eyes, “Who else would it be, Fool?”

As his fingers massaged my wet folds, I groaned, briefly releasing his cock, precum dripping on my thigh.

I gasped as two fingers slid inside, my hand instinctively grabbing his wrist to push him out. He hadn’t done anything wrong . . . Just not used to it. But as I felt my cunt grip him like a vise. . . I let him go, biting my lip. . . my hand slowly returned to his cock, caressing it with soft strokes. I was overcome with . . . Joy, both in my grasp and between my legs. This was nothing like the War Boy ‘romances’ I witnessed growing up, the black thumbs and gear heads only thinking of lust and release. Here . . . It was passion first.

We kissed again, this times our tongues dueling each other. His fingers swapped from steady as she goes to full bore back and forth inside me, my hand on his shaft incrementally increasing the pace. We were soon reduced to heavy panting, hot breath searing our necks, my stump gently resting on his cheek. I was . . . Content. I wanted to be stuck in that moment.

However, soon after I released, shooting hot cum down his arm. He came in buckets, drenching my chest in a sticky load stopping just short of my neck. Seeing me like that . . . Max blushed. Fool actually tried to apologize before I pointed out my own ‘crime’ dripping to his elbow. Fully spent, I somehow managed to joke “Am I allowed back in the room now?”

Max chuckled,“I think the real question is did I do enough to stay . . . with you?” Sincerity shining from his eye . . . He wasn’t worried he did a bad job, but was making it clear he cared how I felt. Tears flowed as I kissed him before pointing to the mattress, afterwards my finger sweeping the room. “You’ll always have a place beside me . . .as long as you don’t break my trust,” hitting him in the chest with my arm.

“Guess I’m stayin, Furi”

I blushed and grinned at the same time, “Well then, best get cleaned up.” Grabbing a towel, I wiped down my chest before pulling Max into the shower, water soon dripping down our bodies. I pressed up close against him, our foreheads rubbing together.

Max raised an eyebrow with a blush of his own, “Furi . . .what does this” nuzzling my face “mean? I know it’s important and damn if it doesn’t feel good . . . But why?”

My gaze met his, “It’s a Vuvalini bond . . . It means I’m home . . . I’m safe . . . I’m where I want to be. You’re the only man I’ve ever done it with.”

Max leaned back, pondering the information. He then leaned in close, one hand on the curve of my waist, the other on the back of my head. He gently bit my earlobe, whispering . . . “Home.” For what felt like an eternity we stood there in a silent embrace, the only sounds being our breath and water hitting stone.