Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

MODERN TIME

Furiosa walked quickly down the street, prosthesis swinging. It was a cool morning, but the tension in the air promised for a scorching afternoon. The sun was just beginning to rise, turning the sky lavender at the eastern edges. Every other business was still closed. Though she spent most of her time working in the bookstore, Furiosa made sure to always get to the café first, before any of her employees. She liked to make coffee for them before they had to clock in. Some saw this as a sign of generosity, but Furiosa knew that tired workers meant more mistakes in the long run. She was a morning person. “A lark” as Dag put it. Furiosa didn’t feel much affinity with larks, but she did love cool blue mornings. She loved watching the rest of the world wake up: bleary-eyed employees rushing in and turning the signs from Closed to Open, the early dog-walkers, the construction workers getting their caffeine before a heavy day of work. It was like winding up an old clock.

After her family died (and the less thought about that the better), Furiosa had spent her significant inheritance buying the three buildings on Green Street. It had proved a good investment. As gentrification began moving into Citadel, the street became a busy shopping area. Furiosa had turned the buildings into Green Place Florist, Angharad’s Books, and Blackthumb café. She herself was the manager of the bookstore, though she ping-ponged between all three, making sure that her girls were all keeping up.

***

At night the homeless would sleep under the awnings like piles of stones. Most business owners let them, as long as they were gone by the time the stores opened. As Furiosa passed they began to shift and stir, the only other people who shared her early hours. One man at the corner was already awake, sitting cross-legged with his dog lying beside him, its head in his lap. Furiosa hoped that she could catch the walking signal before she had to stop and interact with him, but no such luck. She stared resolutely forward at the orange hand, trying her hardest to block him out. He cleared his throat. She knew she couldn’t start handing out change to all the bums on the street, but this one had a dog and God help her she was a sucker for dogs. She began to rummage in her pockets for change, hoping that she could pull some out without revealing the twenty she had in there. She found three quarters and turned to drop them in his cup, when she froze. She knew those eyes.

Those eyes looking at her from the passenger side of the truck.

“Rockatansky?” The man jumped, waking the dog on his lap. His eyes darted back and forth. It was definitely him, from his worn leather jacket to his leg brace. He had grown a beard, and his hair was long and dirty, but it was him.

Furiosa knelt in front of him, the walking signal ignored. She grinned, she couldn’t help it.

“Rockatansky.”

He licked his lips.

“Mm. Rat-” His voice cracked. “Rator?”

“It’s Furiosa, remember? Rator wasn’t real.”

She held out her hand to help him up.

“Come with me, I’m going to buy you coffee. We need to catch up.”

Margaret Penny Rator was the name she had been given by the FBI for this mission, and she grated under it like it was an itchy sweater. Her aunts had made fun of her for days, calling her “Little Maggie” until she tackled them. Still, she hadn’t been in uniform since her discharge from the army, and she had missed it. She didn’t mind seeing the name M.P. Rator stitched over the pocket of her uniform as long as the uniform was hers.

That was long before Dag had her baby, the squirming little ball of life that slid out onto the table like a bar of soap. When Furiosa put a hand on the baby’s warm head in wonder, Dag smiled and said,

“Her name is Margaret.”

Chapter Text

Blackthumb Café was a unique environment. Toast and Cheedo had both done the decorating, which lead to a strange mix of metal and lace. Huge photographs of motorcycles clashed with motivational posters written in big loopy calligraphy. Flowers sat on tables made out of old machine parts and drinks were served in a strange mix of delicate teacups and whiskey glasses.

Furiosa busied herself with the coffee machine, grateful for the movement.

“You want a bagel or a croissant or something?” She looked over her shoulder. Max stayed by the door, looking all the world like a trapped animal. His dog sniffed around the tables and chairs, much more at ease than its owner.

Furiosa set two mugs of coffee and two apple turnovers down on the table and gestured for him to sit. He sat on the edge of his chair as if he might spring up and run at any moment. Furiosa took a long sip of coffee, then asked,

“So how long have you been out?” Max had just taken a large mouthful of hot coffee and swallowed too fast, coughing.

“Um. Ten months.” Furiosa’s eyes widened. She wanted to ask why he hadn’t come to her sooner, but she knew he didn’t have an answer. Max tore his apple turnover in half and gave half to the dog.

“You been sleeping on the street that whole time?” Max shook his head and stuffed the remaining half of his turnover into his mouth, showering his beard with powdered sugar. Furiosa tried to hide her laugh, and he reddened, reaching for a napkin.

“Been at a hotel till last month.”

“Who’s your PO?”

“Ace.”

“Ah, he’s not too bad. Treats you like a person, at least.” Max grunted and nodded.

“Stays outta my business s’long as I pee in the cup.” Furiosa nodded and they finished their coffee in silence.

The door jingled and they both jumped as Toast trundled in with her huge backpack in tow. She spotted Furiosa and smiled, then froze when she saw Max.

“Hello.” The word came up at the end, not quite a question. Max had turned around so fast Furiosa worried about whiplash. She took a deep breath. She hadn’t thought about how the sudden appearance of a man from their past might affect the girls.

“Uh, Toast, you remember Max. Or, inmate Rockatanski.” Max stiffened at the title. Toast nodded slowly. Her eyes travelled from his tousled dirty hair to the backpack and sleeping bag at his feet, finally landing on the dog sniffing for crumbs on the floor.

“What’s your dog’s name?” She asked it carefully, delicately, unlike her usual manner of interrogation. Furiosa breathed a sigh of relief.

“Dog. His name is Dog.” Toast smiled.

“You named your dog Dog?” Max nodded. Toast knelt on the balls of her feet and held out a hand for Dog to sniff.

“Hm. With my dyslexia sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder if Dog exists.” Furiosa and Toast stared. It was one of the longest sentences they had ever heard him say. Then Toast burst out laughing. She laughed so hard she toppled backwards from her precarious squat, landing on her ass on the linoleum floor. Max looked very pleased with himself. He rubbed his nose and grinned, embarrassed. His smile transformed him. It shifted his entire face, giving his wrinkles a purpose and fitting it all together like a jigsaw puzzle. Toast took a deep breath and wiped tears from her eyes.

“So what are you up to nowadays?” she asked. Max froze. Furiosa held her breath.

“Mm. Surviving.” Toast stopped smiling.

“Furiosa, there’s an opening in the bookstore, right?”

“Yeah, Liz is on maternity leave, but I doubt she’s going to be coming back.” Toast nodded.

“She seems pretty invested in her kid.”

“We’d have to ask the other girls, of course, see how they feel about it.”

“But you’re the owner, it’s your decision.”

“They should have a say though, it might bring back memories.”

“True.” Max’s eyes were ping-ponging back and forth between the two women. Furiosa checked her watch.

“The girls will be coming in soon, Dag is opening today. And I should open up Angharad’s. You good here?” Toast nodded. “I’ll see you during my lunch break.” Furiosa stood and took her dishes to the bin in the corner. Max hesitated, then followed her actions. “Hey Max, come on, let me show you the bookstore.”

She first saw Max in the Mess Line. She watched man after man walk by; an army of blue denim and shaved heads, lined up like a row of dominoes ready to topple. Max was an exception. Where the other men were closed off and emotionless, Max was a buzzing ball of anxiety, jumping at every noise and jostle. The other men kept their eyes hooded and if they made eye contact with Furiosa they meant it as a challenge, a threat. When Max looked at her she felt like she was looking into his soul, and it was a broken mirror of her own.

Chapter Text

Furiosa opened up the shop and ran to the back to turn off the burglar alarm. When she came back Max was still standing stiffly by the door.

It was a quirky place, every possible surface covered with new and used books. Capable had painted the signs for each section and had gotten carried away, making every genre nearly unreadable with curlicues and illustration. A picture of Angharad hung over the main counter in a frame of silver flowers. Underneath was a shiny black-and-gold plaque, giving a brief biography. It was her store, after all, she just hadn’t lived long enough to see it. Furiosa gestured around, silently introducing him to the place.

“Of course I wanted to turn it into an autoshop, or at least a bar. But it was Angharad’s last wish. Not to mention a bookstore fits better with the location.”

Max nodded, running his hand over the dusty spines of books.

“Not that I don’t read,” Furiosa continued, correcting herself, “I love to read. I just never really considered myself a real reader until I got the store. Does that make sense?” Max grunted in agreement, and Furiosa figured that that would be the most she was going to get out of him for a while. She turned on the lights and music (Alt J today, she was feeling mellow), and flipped the sign on the door from Closed to Open.

“You’re welcome to stay in here today, get out of the heat,” she said, “Or you can go back out there. No obligation. But if you need a place to sleep tonight I have a hide-a-bed in my apartment. It’s not the Ritz, but it wouldn’t be the street.”

Max nodded somberly, then cleared his throat.

“I’ll go back out till it gets hot?” he asked, half questioning, “Need the money. Then, back here? For the hottest time?” Furiosa nodded, and he left with the tinkle of the bell above the door.

            The ghostly sound of rattling bars and shouting rippled up from the block. Upstairs in his plush office, Warden Joe M. Ortan paced back and forth. Like a good soldier, Furiosa stood with her hands clasped behind her back, waiting instructions.

            “Why are they so loud? Why?” Joe yelled, running his hands through his white hair. Furiosa kept quiet. She had never seen Joe so distraught. “They need me! Without me they would die! I am all they have, I am their savior. Without them, they are nothing! They are husks of men!” Furiosa bit her lip to try and keep her words in. The inmates were angry because Joe had lowered their pay to five cents an hour. Joe fixed his dark eyes on her.

            “That’s it! That’s the answer!”

            Furiosa’s confusion must have registered on her face, because he explained,

            “They forgot how much I do for them. How much I care for them. They just need a reminder.”

Furiosa continued to look baffled.

            “Rator, tell Officer Colossus to turn off all the water.”

            Furiosa’s jaw dropped.

            “Sir?”

            “Water is a privilege!” he shouted, “I control it, just like I control them. They forgot that. And I am reminding them.”

            “Sir, it’s going to be over a hundred degrees tomorrow.”

            Joe’s cheeks rose in a smile below his mask.

            “All the better to remind them with.”

            Furiosa nodded, then went to find Colossus.

“Remember to bring a full water bottle!” Joe called after her.

With every pound of anger in her ears, she thought of the microphone hidden in her metal prosthesis.

The next morning the inmates woke up to get their showers and, aside from a few initial splatters of dirty water, found the showers, sinks, and toilets dry. The cooks found no water for their powdered eggs, juice, oatmeal, or coffee. All of the milk had been brought out of the mess hall and stored in Joe’s office. The inmates lined up for breakfast and got nothing but dry cereal and canned fruit. They were already beginning to sweat in the heat of the day. They went to commissary to buy drinks, but it was closed. The soda machines had not been filled. The people in the med line swallowed their medication dry, feeling the pills inch slowly down their throats.

The already angry men went wild, throwing their trays down, yelling, and throwing furniture. Three men were sent to solitary confinement for disruptive behavior. From his office, Joe simply watched and smiled calmly. His passivity scared Furiosa more than his rage the night before.

“Watch and learn, Rator. By the afternoon they’ll be like docile little lambs. It’s better than drugs.”

He was right. By the time the noon heat hit in full force, the men were doing nothing but lying on their beds trying not to sweat. Any time they stood up their heads swam and pounded and they had to sit down fast again. Their lips chapped and bled, and they licked it up to make their mouths water.

On the second day Officer Eric Tuss walked up and down the aisles of cells, drinking out of his sweating Nalgene until the water spilled down his chin. Several men fainted. One man drank his own urine, which normally would have caused shouts and jeers, but nobody had the energy.

In the office Furiosa sipped iced tea and rubbed her forehead with her metal hand. If this went on much longer she would have to call her superiors at the FBI, breaking her cover and not getting the information that she needed. She knew Joe. He was crafty, and had a whole platoon of lawyers behind him. If she called in the Bureau now he would walk free, and they would never get the information she was sent in for. Furiosa had been placed there to find evidence against Warden Joe M. Ortan, after allegations that he and his guards were keeping confiscated drugs for themselves and not handing them over to the proper authorities.

But one more day without water and men would start dying.

On the third day Joe turned the water back on. The men cheered and seemed to forget all about their previous grievances.

In the mess line Furiosa sought out Max with her eyes. He looked at her, steadily this time, none of the previous fear in his gaze, and nodded.

Chapter Text

Capable rushed in in her usual cloud of spicy perfume and fiery curls, but she stopped when she spotted Furiosa and narrowed her eyes. Furiosa narrowed her eyes right back, wondering, as she often did, if Capable was psychic.

“What.” She asked.

“I should ask you the same thing,” Capable responded. “You’ve got that reminiscent air about you.”

Furiosa snorted.

“Reminiscent air. You sound like Dag.”

“You’re standing in parade rest,” Capable said, standing overly rigid to demonstrate. Furiosa immediately slouched.

“I am not.”

“You were. And you only stand in military position when you see somebody from your past.”

Furiosa sighed.

“Ok, yes. Toast and I saw Max this morning.”

Capable tilted her head, confused.

“Inmate Rockatansky,” Furiosa explained, and Capable brightened.

“Rockatansky? Wow. That’s great! How’s he doing?” Furiosa briefly explained Max’s situation, and to her surprise Capable’s expression only brightened.

“This is wonderful! Now that Liz is on Maternity leave, he can take her place at the store.” She went to the back office to clock in, calling over her shoulder, “Cause we all know that as soon as Liz sees that new baby she’s not going to want to come back.”

Max came back into the shop at eleven forty-five, pushing sweaty hair out of his eyes. Capable took one look at him and squealed like a skidding tire, vaulting over the front counter and embracing him. Max froze, his arms out at his sides.

“Oh I missed you so bad. I like this beard! Beards are in now. Will you come work with us? You don’t have to. But you do have to come out to dinner tomorrow night. That’s a necessity.”

Furiosa emerged from the back room with an armful of books and laughed at Max’s panicked expression.

“Capable, let the man breathe.” Capable let go, apologetically, and focused her attention on the dog. Max shot Furiosa a look of thanks.

“You are totally welcome to join us tomorrow night if you’d like,” Furiosa said, “Wednesdays we usually all go out for Mexican.”

The girls briefly introduced Max to the store’s other employee, an angry little man named Carl. Then Max and his dog spent the next four hours curled up on one of the many armchairs around the store, reading The Things They Carried. Around five he nodded at Furiosa, grabbed his backpack, and he and Dog went back outside to catch the pre-dinner rush.

That night after work Furiosa found Max on the same corner as the morning. He saw her and smiled. She leaned down to scratch dog and asked,

“Where have you been sleeping?” Max looked over her shoulder.

“The bus. They let me sleep there if I help with tune ups.”

“My offer still stands. I have a futon with your name on it.”

Max considered, then looked her full in the eyes and nodded, once.

Furiosa’s apartment was on the third floor, and Max’s braced leg was aching by the time they reached it. The place itself was made up of three rooms. The door opened onto a narrow kitchen-living room combo taken up mostly by a kitchen table littered with car parts and tattered paperbacks. A short hall led to a tiny pink bathroom with an orange and yellow striped shower curtain. Her bedroom was the most open room in the house, with a large window that looked out on two pine trees. Her double bed took up half of the space, with a small dresser and a desk in one corner. Furiosa gestured to the floor.

“The living room gets really noisy, so I was thinking we could pull the futon out in here,” she said. Max looked at her in shock. Furiosa snorted. “Come on, Max, I won’t judge your nightmares. I saw you have them all the time in the pen, believe me, I get them just as bad.”

Furiosa made quick grilled cheese sandwiches that they ate in silence. She had picked up a bag of dog food during her lunch break, which she poured into a little bowl for Dog. After brushing their teeth and saying goodnight Max and Furiosa stared at the ceiling in the dark, waiting to fall asleep, both hyper-aware of the others’ breathing.

Furiosa learned about the wives by accident. Citadel Correctional Facility had both male and female inmates, though they were carefully separated and their paths rarely crossed. Men wore khaki uniforms, women wore white. Men lived in the East Building, women in the West. The mess hall, library, and rec yard was shared between the two, but at different times. There was absolutely no intermingling allowed.

Furiosa usually worked day shift, as it allowed for more interaction with Joe and the inmates. A few weeks after the water crisis, though, a nightshift guard called in sick and Furiosa was asked to pull a double.

It was strange coming in at night, with the lights dimmed (though never all the way off). Everyone was locked away. Some men lay quiet, some cried, others screamed in their sleep. It was dull work, duller than the dayshift.

After an hour of sitting in the guard’s booth she got up to stretch and take her rounds. She paced up and down the aisles of cells, glancing into each one to make sure there was nothing suspicious going on. Feet hanging off of beds, furry heads bundled under pillows for quiet, backs huddled against the wall like boulders. Furiosa twirled her baton, considering how Joe saw all these men as objects. He never walked up and down these halls, never wanted to risk seeing them as people. People pissing in steel toilets, People doing sit-ups on the floor, people brushing their teeth, people jerking off under the covers to smuggled playboys, people tacking photos of their mothers and children and wives to the walls.

Max’s cell was at the end of C block. Furiosa tried to suppress her feeling of apprehension as she walked by his cell. For a moment looking in she thought he was having a seizure. He was thrashing and yelling, twisted up in his blankets. Furiosa banged on the bars with her baton.

“Inmate Rockatansky?”

The man in the bunk above Max sat up and stared down at Furiosa blearily.

“Oh hey officer Rator,” the man said, rubbing his eyes, “You don’t usually do nights, huh. Well, Max here does this every night. Donchu worry bout him. He’s got the night terrors. Waking him up just wakes it worse.” Furiosa nodded, then walked away. She knew the night terrors well.

She was flustered by this interaction, which was odd to her. Furiosa had seen combat, she had led her soldiers into war, she had seen her arm being torn off before her eyes, all without trepidation. Yet somehow the look in inmate Rockatansky’s eyes had wheedled its way into her mind and tore like barb when she tried to get it out.

She shook her head and assured herself that she was just tired. She went to the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water.

On the way back she heard it, the quiet slapping of bare feet on cement, a faint brushing of cloth on cloth. She saw a flash of white dash around the corner into J.M. Ortan’s private office.

Her sniper training kicked in, and Furiosa edged towards the corner, silent as floating fabric. She was able to see the female warden, Warden Giddy, lead two bound and gagged female inmates into Joe’s office. Before the door shut completely, one woman turned as if by instinct and for a fleeting moment she looked Furiosa straight in the eye. Then the door was locked and bolted, and Warden Giddy walked away.

Furiosa stayed in front of the door for a while, listening for any faint sounds coming from inside the room. Once she thought she heard a slap and a cry and reached for the microphone in her prosthetic, but she knew it wouldn’t be able to pick any of it up. After five minutes she walked back to the block, thinking.

Chapter Text

Furiosa was pleased to see that Max and Dog both shared her early morning routine. Her apartment was about a mile away from the shop, and they walked easily quiet in the early lilac light. Dog sniffed along in front of them, tail going like a metronome. After ten minutes Furiosa broke the comfortable silence.

“You heard Toast and I yesterday,” she said, “One of our employees is having a baby and we’re short. Would you like to work with us?”

Max stared. He scratched his nose.

“Mm. Don’t have much experience with retail.”

“We could teach you. If you want.”

The side of his mouth jumped up.

“I been sleeping on busses and working the sidewalk. Of course I want.”

Furiosa clasped his shoulder with her metal hand and grinned.

“Good. Welcome to your new job, employee Rockatansky.”

            Furiosa introduced Max to their fourth employee, a former member of the Buzzard gang named Tina. Then Tina and Capable took care of the store and Furiosa spent the day teaching Max how to use the ancient cash register and wrap gifts quickly. He watched her carefully, silently memorizing every move. His steady scrutinizing gaze made Furiosa very aware of her own skin. She found herself moving her hands more than normal, and listening to herself talk until the words sounded strange to her ears. Capable took over during Furiosa’s lunch break and Furiosa retreated into the back room with a sigh of relief. She splashed water on her face and shut her eyes, grateful for a moment of solitude but inexplicably missing Max’s presence.

That evening Furiosa, Max, Capable, and Toast drove to Mamacita’s Taqueria. Cheedo, Dag, and Dag’s little toddler Maggie met them there with shouts and hugs that made Max flinch. Cheedo and Dag had spent the weekend volunteering at the church youth group. Dag introduced her daughter Maggie to Max. Max gave a little wave and the two-year-old burrowed her face into Dag’s neck.

“She’s feeling shy,” Dag explained, “She spent the weekend without mommy. She’s deaf, so it’s hard being around strangers. They don’t understand what she’s trying to say.” Max’s mouth turned to a silent understanding O, then he smiled.

“She sign?” he asked. Dag nodded. He smiled and tapped the little girl on the back. She looked up with angry, frightened eyes. Max gave the hello salute, then with deft fingers signed “I have a dog”. The little girl broke into a grin, showing all her tiny new teeth, and clapped her hands in delight.

The restaurant was noisy and crowded and Furiosa watched as Max drew closer and closer inside himself, jumping and twitching and darting. She nudged Capable and whispered, and Capable nodded.

“I have an idea!” Capable crowed brightly, “Let’s get the food to go and we can have a picnic in the park!” Toast groaned and muttered about bugs, but the others were all on board. Max seemed to deflate in relief.

They laid their food out on Dag’s big blue poncho and lolled about on the grass. Toast braided Cheedo’s hair, Capable put her head on Dag’s lap, and Furiosa lay back on the buggy grass and stared up at the sky. Dag’s daughter Maggie was charmed by Dog, and girl and beast went galloping around the little group in circles. Dag was talking about her day with the youth group.

“I saw these kids giggling over a hymnal,” she said, “And while I love the old hymns, I’ve never found them particularly funny.”

“Turns out it’s a game. It’s called Hymns Between the Sheets,” Cheedo chimed in, grinning wickedly, “You know, you just take the title of a hymn and stick ‘between the sheets’ to the end.”

The women giggled, Max smiled.

“Very inappropriate, of course, and we were supposed to put a stop to any kids caught playing it,” Dag continued, “And I totally would have if it wasn’t so hilarious.”

“‘How Great Thou Art’ is a whole lot more interesting when you add ‘Between the Sheets.”

Toast barked out a laugh.

“Go Labor On between the sheets,” she said.

“Great is thy Faithfulness between the sheets.” Capable added. The girls roared with laughter.

“It had better be. Otherwise you’re going to have a Silent Night between the sheets.”

“As Shepherds Watched.”

“Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.”

Max covered his eyes and leaned forward, unable to breathe for laughing. He laughed like a stuck engine, a raspy rumble that made everybody else laugh even more until they were all rolled together, their stomachs aching and eyes watering, little Maggie dancing around them all.

After her double shift, Furiosa had the next two days off. She spent the first day in bed, listening to meditation podcasts, trying to keep her panic at bay. She tried to sleep but she was haunted by the expression on the last girl’s face, the mask of resignation and terror that relaxed into a shimmer of hope on seeing Furiosa. The girl was blonde and thin, with a long bruise down her cheek. About as different from Furiosa as a woman could get. But when Furiosa looked at her she felt as though she was looking back in time at herself, when she was young Corporal JoBassa, promised an honorable discharge if she kept her mouth shut about Sergeant Bento and his insatiable desire for non-consenting pussy.

She called her therapist, Doctor Seed, and left a message cancelling their appointment for the day. She knew that today of all days she needed therapy, but she was too scared of making herself any more vulnerable.

Then she screamed into the pillow until her voice was gone and ran six miles to the grocery store, where she bought a plastic container of mini-cupcakes and a bottle of whiskey.

Her phone was buzzing when she got back. It was Doctor Seed.

“Hey Doc.” Her voice came out a faint rasp.

“Hey Margaret, what’s up?” Though it was most likely a needless precaution, Furiosa insisted that Seed call her by her false name on the phone in case the apartment was bugged.

“I, uh,” Furiosa thought fast, “I need to work today, there’s been a situation at the prison.”

“Uh-huh.” Seed didn’t sound convinced. “And is that why you’ve been screaming into your pillow? Your voice is hoarse.”

Furiosa sighed and sat down hard on her bed.

“I never should have told you that.”

“And let me guess, you also just ran to Safeway for a bag of donut holes and a bottle of Jameson.”

“Mini-cupcakes, actually. You’re slipping.”

Furiosa filled Seed in on what she saw. She could feel the doctor nodding and writing on the other side of the line. After a moment of silence Seed asked,

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. It’s too much, too soon. I’m not ready.”

“Will you ever be ready?”

Furiosa groaned.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“You see yourself in that girl. Do you not want to save her? Or do you not want to save yourself?”

Furiosa didn’t answer.

“Think about it,” Seed said.

Furiosa did think about it. She would continue thinking about it for the rest of her life.

Chapter Text

Furiosa woke up to the sound of thrashing and a high squeaking, like the high-frequency sound of an appliance left on. She leaned over the side of her bed and saw Max on the floor, his face pulled into a scream, silent except for the quiet whistle that comes from deep in the throat. She knew that sound well. She was well acquainted with voiceless nightmares, where you scream as loud as you can but don’t make any sound. Tears caught in the crevices of Max’s contorted face. His legs pedaled furiously, tangling the sheets until he was wrapped up like a mummy. Furiosa lay back with a sigh. She knew not to wake somebody up during a nightmare. Doctor Seed had been very insistent on this. “Dreams are telling you something,” she’d say, “If you wake up you won’t ever learn from them. You’ll just keep having them, night after night, until you’re done.”

Furiosa stared up at the ceiling and listened to Max whimper. She wanted to consume his pain, to mop it up like a sponge until it wasn’t there anymore. She didn’t believe in God the way that Dag did, but she hoped that if there was something out there, some Deity, it could be a receptacle for all that hurt.

Inhale, exhale, she counted her breaths until she opened her eyes and it was morning.

Max woke up with a dry mouth and a sore throat, the kind that always follows a bad night. Furiosa didn’t mention anything, for which he was grateful, but he noted that she made herself a cup of instant coffee in the apartment rather than waiting until they got to the café.

The usual morning newspaper was waiting by the door of the Blackthumb when they arrived. Though the newspaper industry was fading, Furiosa liked to have one every day for the old-timers who still got their news from the Citadel Sentinel.

Furiosa carried it inside and went about her usual morning café routine. Moving chairs off tables, setting up the coffee maker, putting the day-old pastries in the day-old basket. She heard Max grunt in surprise behind her and she turned to find him staring at the paper. On the cover was a picture of an older man with a hooked nose and deep-set eyes wearing a long black robe. Across the front were the words “RICHARD KALASHNIKOV ADMITS TO PAYING AND RECIEVING BRIBES”. Furiosa looked at Max in interest.

“Kalashnikov,” Max said, jabbing at the photo, “He’s the one that oversaw my release.”

Furiosa’s eyes widened.

“Was he bribed to do that?”

Max snorted.

“Nobody’d pay for my sorry ass. But there’s something else.” Furiosa waited. “On the day of my release, he was…” Max licked his lips, “He was on something.”

Furiosa’s jaw dropped.

“He was high?”

Max nodded.

“As a kite. The other members of the parole board were too scared of him to say anything about it at the time. But with his judgment called into question, they might be reexamining some of his old cases.”

Furiosa sighed.

“But that was almost a year ago.”

Max shrugged.

“I don’t know. Probably nothing will come of it. I’m just gonna have to keep my head down for the next few months.”

When Dag came into the café ten minutes later, Maggie asleep on her shoulder, she had already heard the news.

“I remember Kalashnikov,” she said, “He was good friends with The Unmentionable.” Max looked confused at this title.

“They spit whenever they say the former Warden’s name,” Furiosa explained, “so it’s tidier to call him The Unmentionable when indoors.”

Dag shivered.

“Kalashnikov had terrible breath.”

Even without saying his name, the thought of Joe Ortan and his abuse hovered in the air like a ghost. Dag hurriedly handed the sleeping Maggie off to Furiosa before grabbing a chocolate chip muffin and stuffing it in her mouth, as if that would erase the taste of Kalashnikov’s breath. She sat down at the table with a sigh and stared at her daughter.

“Who knows,” Dag said around a thick mouthful of chocolate, “Maggie might even be his.”

Max shook his head and Dag looked at him curiously.

“You don’t think so?” she asked.

“Maggie is yours,” Max said, his voice a low rumble, “Nobody else’s.”

Dag gave him a smile that wobbled at the edges.

“Maggie is ours,” she said, “All of ours.”

On her second day off Furiosa drove her old truck out of Citadel City and into Gas Town. She did some shopping, got some car parts that she couldn’t get in Citadel, and walked around the open-air mall. When the sun started to sink she went into Morrie’s Sports Bar and Grill. It was the World Series, and Morrie’s was loud and noisy. Furiosa ordered a basket of chicken strips and a can of Tecate and waited at a corner table.

It didn’t take long for Ryder to show up. Ryder Wrock had been working at the FBI for thirty years, and each year showed clearly on his worn and rugged face. She didn’t consider Ryder a friend. She doubted anybody did. But he had known Furiosa when she was still in the army, and he was the first person she told about Sergeant Bento. He had been the one who pushed the Bento case when all the others were too afraid to. He had paid attention to a frightened female soldier, and he was the one to see the case through to the end. However, Wrock did nothing for free. He made it clear that Furiosa owed him a significant favor. So when he came to her needing an informant to investigate Warden Ortan, Furiosa was not in a position to disagree.

Ryder Wrock slid into the seat across from her with his plate of nachos. Furiosa nodded in greeting and he nodded back.

“Any news?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Furiosa took a deep breath. “I want out.”

Ryder’s eyebrows arched up to his hairline.

“So soon?”

“Joe has women. I saw them. Female prisoners who he takes and…” she swallowed hard, “uses.”

Ryder nodded slowly.

“You know my history, Wrock.” Furiosa tried to keep her voice from shaking. “You know why this is hard.”

“You were placed there to investigate Ortan’s handling of contraband.”

Furiosa nodded. He continued,

“You get evidence of that, you bring him down, and the girls benefit, right?”

Furiosa shook her head.

“Somebody else can do that. Not me. This is too close to home. This isn’t what I signed up for.”

“You’re staying on the case, JoBassa.”

Furiosa hit a hand on the table, not enough to draw stares, but enough to make her can rattle.

“You of all people should know why I can’t do this. Do you remember how I was when I met you? I couldn’t look anybody in the eye. I couldn’t get out of bed.” She drew back the sleeve on her right arm, showing the long jagged scar down her good wrist. “I’ve come so far. I can’t go back now.”

Ryder shook his head.

“We had a deal.”

Furiosa knew that was the end of the discussion. Ryder Wrock was notorious for keeping his promises no matter what. She drained her beer, then filled him in on the rest of Joe’s coming and goings.

Chapter Text

Max soon fell into a routine at the store. He organized and worked the register and helped carry heavy boxes of books. He struggled with customer service until Capable wrote him a list of things to say: “Can I help you find anything?” “Would you like that gift-wrapped?” “I’m sorry, that’s not in stock anymore. We have another book by that author, though.” The words sounded foreign in Max’s mouth, but his desire for the job outweighed his fear of communication.

Two weeks into his employment Furiosa walked into her apartment and heard him practicing in the bathroom mirror. “Would you like us to put that on hold for you? We’ll give you a call when it comes in.” She smiled and crept back outside, then came in again with a loud jingle of keys and slam of the door to let him know she was there.

            After his first paycheck Max went to the bank and set up a new checking account. Then he went to the corner store and bought a cheap men’s shaving kit. When he came to work next Capable gave a low wolf whistle that made him blush all the way to his ears. Dag cut his hair that evening, and when he looked in the mirror that night he saw somebody he recognized for the first time in months.

            Dog also became a fixture at the store. Cheedo came by the bookstore one day to shyly drop off a bag of dog toys, which they put in the staff room. Dog stayed back there most of the time, occasionally coming to sleep in the front window. Kids began to remember him, calling Angharad’s “the store with the dog”. Furiosa once remarked on how well behaved he was and Max looked at her like she was crazy.

            “He’s a support animal,” he said, “Of course he’s well behaved.” On seeing Furiosa’s shocked face he went on. “Didn’t I tell you? He’s a former military animal, trained to sense ptsd-induced panic attacks.” Furiosa nodded and wondered why she hadn’t caught on before.

Nobody was more charmed by Max than little Margaret. Dag couldn’t afford a nanny, so Maggie spent most of her time at her mother’s side in the Green Place Plant Nursery, learning signs about plants and flowers and playing in the dirt. Every chance she got, however, Maggie would run next door to the bookstore to find Max and Dog. Max became proficient at running the register with one hand and holding Maggie with the other. She was two and a half years old, with white-blond hair like her mother and fat little ginger-root legs that were quick to run into trouble.

Max scanned the newspaper every day for word about Kalashnikov, but there was nothing, and after about a week he gave it up. Either they were going to send Max back to prison or they weren’t. There wasn’t much use in worrying over it.

If the store was a machine, Max was the gear that had been missing before. He fit in perfectly, even with the easily annoyed Carl, and the business hummed along better than it ever had.

She was resting in the Officer’s booth when she got the call on her radio.

“Rator, the Warden wants to see you.”

Her heart pounded as she walked down the long hall, feeling more like an inmate than a guard. A line of sweat tickled her neck. She waited a moment outside his door before knocking, trying to relax her face into an expression of bland innocence.

“Come in.” Joe was resting with his feet on his desk when she entered. She stood at parade rest in front of him, eyes cased on the wall behind his head.

“Jesus,” he said, “You look like you’re holding in the world’s biggest shit.” He gave a wheezy giggle that ended in a cough.

“You wanted to see me sir?” Joe took his feet off the desk and leaned forward.

“Yeah. Take a seat, soldier.” She sat in the chair that he gestured to. He let her squirm for a moment, then said,  “You’re a good one, Rator, that’s for sure.” Furiosa tried to hide her surprise.

“I try, sir.”

“Hm. Makes me wonder what you’re doing working at a place like this.”

Furiosa didn’t have an answer to that.

“Do you have a family, Rator? A boyfriend, kids?”

“No sir.”

“Why not?”

Furiosa furrowed her brow.

“Too busy working, sir.”

Joe smiled around his mask.

“That’s what I like to hear.” His paper hospital mask moved in and out with his breath. Furiosa tried not to stare at it. Some inmates said he wore the mask to cover up his deformed teeth (“huge fangs, like beaver teeth, they could bite through bone! I saw them with my own eyes!”).

“Rator, I’ve been watching you these past two months. And I think you’ve been watching me.” Some inmates said he wore the mask because an old enemy had once tried to kill him with poison gas, and Joe was paranoid that they would try again.

“Sir?”

“One of my girls said that she saw you the other night.”

Furiosa could feel her eyes dilating. She didn’t answer.

“I’ve waited six weeks,” he continued, “and I haven’t heard one word about it. Not to anybody. And like I said, I've been watching you. I know you stay in your apartment, you don't have any visitors. You order in. I've been watching your emails, nothing." Furiosa was grateful for her hyper-awareness to confidentiality.

“It wasn’t any of my business sir.”

“You’re right. And if you had said something it wouldn’t be believed.”

Furiosa nodded.

“You’re trustworthy, and you’re willing to turn a blind eye,” Joe continued, “Which is why I’m promoting you.”

Furiosa’s jaw dropped and Joe laughed. “Not what you were expecting, huh? I like that. You’re right to be surprised, you don’t deserve it. But I’m a generous man.”

“Yes sir.”

“Cancel all the plans you don’t have. You’re pulling a double tonight.”

Chapter Text

Max continued to sleep on Furiosa’s floor, with the unspoken assumption that he would begin looking for another place to live as soon as he made enough money. Furiosa showered in the morning, Max showered at night. Dog’s bowls found a place under the kitchen table. Most evenings Max went for a run, giving Furiosa space to herself. Furiosa would return the favor by going down to the garage and working on her car. They alternated cleaning the bathroom. When they shared shifts at work they walked together.

For the first two months neither of them really thought about their relationship. It just was. It was easy and safe, not something that had to be thought about.

This began to change on August 10. Furiosa was clocking back in after her lunch break when the phone rang in the back. She turned to get it and nearly toppled into Max, who was standing immediately behind her waiting to get past her in the narrow doorway. Furiosa gasped and apologized, and Max mumbled something vaguely. Then, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, he placed his hand on the small of her back and ushered her through the doorway. A wave of electricity pulsed through Furiosa. She felt suddenly very aware of the blood in her veins, all of which seemed to be rushing to her head. She reached for the telephone and couldn’t remember how it worked. She stared at the phone in her metal hand, stunned.

Furiosa was not a romantic. For most of her adult life she had seen herself as a machine. She used it as a coping mechanism when she lost her arm in Iraq. She simply had a broken part. When a machine loses a part it’s not wept over, it’s just replaced.

In therapy Furiosa began to see herself as a beautiful, important machine, deserving of maintenance. But a machine nonetheless.

She looked over her shoulder at Max’s retreating back and shook her head. If she was a machine, Max was causing her circuitry to overheat.

His touch made her chest ache, like working a muscle that hadn’t been used in years. Long ago Furiosa had paved over the part of her that felt emotion, and now the stirrings of attraction were cracking through the cold concrete veneer. Soon she worried it might crumble altogether, and all of the things that she was hiding from would rush in, toxic, poisoning her to the roots. The phone rang again, making her jump, and she answered it.

“Angharad’s Books how can I help you?”

There was a rushing on the other end of the line. She repeated her greeting.

“Yes, hello. Does a man name Rockatansky work there?” Furiosa felt a creepy prickling at her neck and tossed a crumpled piece of paper in Max’s direction. When he looked up she signaled for him to pick up the other line. He did so, quietly, holding down the tone button.

“Hi, sorry, the store is really busy right now,” Furiosa said blandly, “Rockatansky, you said? Who wants to know?” There was more whooshing noises, some crackling, then,

“Justice.”

“Well I’m sorry Justice,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and sarcastic, “But Rockatansky is gone. Left without a trace a week ago. We have his last paycheck here though, so if you find him let him know.”

The phone clicked off on the other line and Furiosa and Max both looked at each other.

“Did you recognize the voice?” Furiosa asked. Max shook his head.

Cheedo looked up from where she was reading on the floor. She had come over to the bookstore on her lunch break to read the newest young adult fad novel.

“Somebody looking for Max?” she asked. When Furiosa nodded Cheedo pulled out her phone and looked something up.

“Creepy deep voice talking about justice?” she asked. Furiosa and Max gaped at her.

“I thought you guys knew. There’s some vigilante going around and threatening all the people Kalashnikov released.” She pointed at Max. “Weren’t you one of those guys?”

“Why didn’t I read anything about it?” Max wondered. Cheedo snorted.

“Cause you only read the paper, you old fart. They’re trying to keep it hush hush. But I’m part of an online support group for former inmates. It’s all the buzz.” She checked her watch and slid the book back onto the shelf. “I need to get back to work. But how about you two luddites come over to Capable’s and my place after work and we can look it up on an actual computer.”

“I have a computer,” Furiosa protested.

“Yeah I know, but I have snacks.” Cheedo said, winking.

With the promotion came a new break room, though it looked no different from the old one. Same ratty sofa, same microwave, same coffee makers.

Furiosa didn’t spend much time fraternizing with the other guards, though Ryder Wrock encouraged her to. This antisocial behavior wasn’t unusual for her. She kept herself to herself, and had never been great at making friends. She had always felt as though other people were born with a communication rulebook that she had been missing. When she was a teenager she blamed it on her mother and her strange radical upbringing. It wasn’t until she met Doctor Seed that she learned that nobody had that rulebook, they were all just bullshitting, testing what worked and what didn’t in real time. Furiosa didn’t have the patience for bullshitting, and testing what worked and what didn’t just made her tired.

So while she had seen Officers Nux and Slit Lancer around, she never actually spent any time with the men until the first night of her promotion. They were brothers, former military like her, and they were notorious for their violence and their dedication to the job. Rumor had it they could work five shifts straight without sleeping. Rumor had it Slit had been a member of Xe Services, formerly known as Blackwater, and had gotten his face split open like a jack-o-lantern as a POW in Afghanistan. Rumor had it Nux had never even left the country, serving at a secret nuclear testing plant where he was exposed to brain-scrambling levels of radiation. Rumor had it Nux had tumors on his neck that would speak to him at night. Rumor had it Slit’s dick was three feet long and had a fanged mouth at the end, like a snake. Furiosa tried not to put too much stock in rumors.

When Furiosa finally met the Officers Lancer up close she was shocked to see how young they were. Slit was maybe thirty, but Nux could still be carded at bars. They shook her hand firmly, congratulating her on her new promotion.

“I hear you’re pulling a double tonight,” Slit said, smiling in his twisted way, “So’re we. Although for us it’s our fourth shift.”

Furiosa tried not to show her surprise and failed. Slit laughed.

“Try the coffee, Rator, it’ll keep you awake, we promise.” The two boys cackled and walked away, batons twirling.

Furiosa lasted nine hours, then she found her eyes drooping and her head being yanked up like it was on a bungee. Nux laughed and handed her a cup of coffee.

“It’s from the new break room,” he said, winking, “It’s special.”

Furiosa should have known not to drink it, the wink was indication enough of that, but the night before had been filled with nightmares and she was too tired to think straight.

It was very good coffee, and it worked well for the first forty minutes. She felt jumpy and awake, and she thought that next time she might weaken it with some cream. She started to sweat and her heart rate beat through her fingertips. She became aware of every cell on the block, every sound, every color. She could feel her skin lying over her muscles like fondant on a cake.

She didn’t sleep again for thirty more hours.

When she woke up in her apartment three days later she felt as though all of her blood had been drained. Her eyes were lodged deep in her skull and everything hurt. She stumbled to the sink to get some water but it didn’t come out fast enough to fill her thirst, so she stuck her head under the bathtub faucet. She lay that way for a long time, letting the cold water fill the tub around her, fully clothed.

When she finally felt the strength to move again she stood up and lurched, dripping, out of the apartment. She walked down to the bus station, where she knew there would still be an old payphone. She stuck in the quarters and dialed Ryder Wrock. He picked up on the third ring.

“JoBassa?”

“I’ve-” her voice broke from disuse. “They drugged me.”

“Do you know where they got the drugs from?”

“What? No. No, I-”

“Find out where they came from. That was our deal.”

“But-”

“We had a deal, JoBassa.”

There was a click and a tone. For the first time in years Furiosa JoBassa sank to the ground and cried.

Chapter Text

That night Furiosa and Max drove over to Cheedo and Capable’s shared house. When Nux had succumbed to cancer a year earlier he had left his house to Capable, his bride of two weeks. It wasn’t a large house, just a typical GI bungalow, but after his death it seemed enormous and drafty, filled with the echoes of hospital equipment and nurses’ soft feet and Nux’s infectious laugh. Cheedo moved in to help Capable clean it out and sell it, but Capable hadn’t been able to let it go. Instead they slowly began to fill it with new things, little symbols of a new life. Dag helped them plant a garden. Cheedo hung some drawings. Furiosa installed stained-glass panels on either side of the front door. The mantel began to fill up with photos and ceramic animals and odd things that Capable found on the beach.

Cheedo sat on the squashy red armchair and began to research Kalashnikov. Furiosa and Max sat on the sofa eating kettle chips and drinking hard lemonade. Capable knitted in the rocking chair.

“Ah yes, here we go,” Cheedo said, “Fox95 says that his mom got a call two nights ago, weird whooshing noise, this voice asked if he was there, and of course she said he wasn’t, cause that’s creepy as fuck. Then it said ‘Justice is seeking him.’”

Max and Furiosa exchanged glances.

“Then this other guy, FreeMe432, he comments and says that he got the same call last week.” She scrolled down. “A total of six people got that same weird call. Seven, including you. Probably more who just aren’t members of this group. His message changes a little bit. Here he says ‘Justice will make right Kalashnikov’s mistakes.’ I guess he was feeling chatty that day.”

“Just calls, right?” Furiosa asked, “Nobody has been attacked or anything?”

Cheedo typed furiously, then her eyes widened.

“One guy, Marcus Guerra, was found dead in his apartment this morning. That’s Fox95. They think it was a drug deal gone wrong.”

Capable’s hand sprung up to her mouth.

“Oh Cheedo,” she said, “I’m so sorry, were you close?”

“Nah, barely knew the guy,” Cheedo said, though she was visibly flustered. “He seemed alright. One of the few who shared his actual name. He said he was turning his life around.” She continued typing, and received some pinging noises on her computer.

“Another one of the Kalashnikov people says that somebody broke into her house the other night,” she said, looking vaguely sick, “She chased him off with her shotgun. And here’s another who says he got mugged but escaped. Assumed it was an old rival.”

By this time everybody was staring at Max. He shifted nervously and didn’t know what to do with his face.

“We should call Ace,” Furiosa said, “He might know what’s going on.” Max gave a slight jerk of the head that Furiosa took as a sign of agreement. She stood up and walked to the other room to make a call.

“Ok, so say that somebody is doing this,” Capable said, “Who would it be? Who’s the most angry about Kalashnikov’s bribes?”

“Well…” Cheedo tapped her upper lip in thought, “Any of the victims of people he released. Or the victims’ families. That’s a long list.”

Max shook his head.

“He’s not going after individuals,” he said, “He’s going after everybody. This is somebody very vocal. And he really believes it, he’s not just doing it because he loves the killing. Look up people who have been really outspoken in their hatred of him.”

Cheedo’s fingers clacked away.

“We have a woman here named Sharon, whose rapist walked free. Yikes, what a nightmare. A man whose business was destroyed by a corrupt banker. And a lawyer, a mister Patrick Poleder.”

Max’s eyes brightened.

“Tell me more about him.”

“He’s from Gastown. Known as the People Eater, not just from his convenient initials but because he’s been known to rip other lawyers to shreds. Relentless. He’s never lost a case.” Her eyebrows jumped. “Until now. He tried to get everybody Kalashnikov released put back in prison. It didn’t work, he appealed it, it didn’t work again. Tough blow.”

Furiosa came back in, holding her phone out to Max.

“Ace wants to talk to you, Max.”

Max took the phone and left the room. Furiosa sat down on the couch with a whump and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“You ok little momma?” Capable asked. Furiosa was too absorbed to even glare at the pet name. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair.

“Ace knew about it. He was Marcus Guerra’s Parole Officer. There have been two other murders, too, but none of his parolees.”

Capable set down her knitting and sat next to Furiosa on the couch, placing a cautious hand on Furiosa’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry honey. It’s so hard to see somebody you love in danger.”

It was silent and tense, nobody knowing quite what to say.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Furiosa said, “Something shallow. Just for now. I just want to listen to you guys gossip.”

Capable and Cheedo exchanged a glance. They had never heard Furiosa say anything positive about shallow gossip before. They didn’t know where to begin.

“Well… I think Dag has a crush,” Capable said, “A blind guy.”

“A blind guy?” Cheedo asked, “How does that even work, her daughter’s deaf.”

“So? They’re both missing senses. Maybe that’s a connection point.”

“She met him at this music thing for deaf people.”

“That sounds cruel. I mean I know Beethoven could feel the music, but a symphony where you can’t hear anything? That sounds even more boring than an ordinary symphony.”

“No, it’s like a club where they turn the bass up really high so the deaf people can feel it in the floor, and then they all dance together.”

“It would suck to live next door to that place.”

Furiosa felt herself relaxing incrementally in the flow of Capable and Cheedo’s banter. She smiled slightly and her eyes began to drift shut when Cheedo said,

“She should ask Furiosa for love advice.” Furiosa’s eyes snapped open so fast she was surprised they didn’t make a sound.

“What?”

Cheedo was smirking.

“Nothing. You and Max just seem to have a very chummy situation going on.”

Furiosa held her hands up like a shield.

“Me and Max? No. No no no. We’re just coworkers.” Her eyes darted between the two girls. “And stop with all the eyebrow waggling, both of you, you’re starting up a breeze.”

“Do you like him?” Capable asked.

“Yes, of course I like him, he’s Max.”

“Do you like like him?” Cheedo demanded with a grinchy smile.

“Like like? What are we, in middle school?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Look, even if I did, nothing would be able to come of it,” Furiosa said, “Max was married. He had a kid for Christ sake. I’ve never even had consensual sex.”

Before the girls got a chance to answer Max came back in, frowning.

“Officer Ace wants me to leave town,” he said. The girls gave a communal outcry. “I’m not going to,” he added hurriedly, “But if there’s anything more sketchy going on, any more phone calls, or if I see anything suspicious, I’m going to have to stop working. Ace said I could stay with him. As a favor to Furiosa.” Furiosa nodded.

“Back when Joe was in charge, Ace got suspicious. Overheard some things,” she explained, “Started prying. I talked Joe down, saved Ace’s ass.”

Furiosa’ prosthesis had been a gift from the FBI, with a hidden lead-lined compartment down the length of the forearm for smuggling documents, USBs, or other small artifacts. In the weeks following her promotion Furiosa used it to smuggle in Five Hour Energy shots. She did this to keep her energy up, so that she wouldn’t need to resort to the drugged coffee. When Nux or Slit handed her a cup she would take a sip or two to appease them, then pour it out as soon as they left.

She told herself that those few sips were necessary to maintain her cover. However, Joe was having her work for thirty hours straight and she found herself needing more than just energy drinks to keep her awake. She couldn’t deny that she liked the feeling of it, the confidence and energy and razor focus. With the coffee she didn’t worry about Agent Wrock or the mysterious girls or Inmate Rockatansky’s all-seeing eyes. She forgot about everything but her job. She went from drinking four bottles of Five Hour Energy to three, then to two. She was lost weight and her eyes were red and bloodshot. Her skin dried out and cracked, especially in the places where her prosthesis rubbed.

She would lurch home after twenty to thirty hours of work, too tired to feel anything, and wake up hollow and raw. Every time she woke up she swore to quit, to run away regardless of Wrock’s deal, to leave the job and everything else behind, but by the time her next shift came along she found herself pulling up to the prison again.

On the night of July 21, Furiosa shuffled into her apartment ravenously hungry. She hadn’t quite crashed yet, so she called for pizza and lay on her bed, watching a fly walk across the ceiling on its little barbed legs. She was so busy listening to her breath she didn’t here the pizza man at first and he had to ring three times.

A piece of paper was lying on top of her pizza. The grease had run through it, making it almost entirely translucent, but the writing was still clear.

Furiosa woke up eleven hours later, her face inside the pizza box, cheese and sauce congealed to her cheek. The fly that she had seen on the ceiling was now marching around on her pizza with some of its friends. She sat up, grease trickling down her neck, and saw a crumpled piece of paper wedged into her prosthetic fist. She opened it and read:

“Please forgive me for what I am doing to those girls. I heard that you saw them. I have no choice. I may be warden of the women’s prison, but I have no control. The things that Joe can do, you have no idea. You have to get them out. I will help, but I can’t do it on my own. Can’t say much more. When you empty out the apron pockets after the men’s breakfast, leave your response in the pocket of Mess Hall Apron 4. I know the girl that uses that one, she’ll bring it to me.

– Giddy”

Chapter Text

On August 12 Furiosa woke up to the sound of something frying in the kitchen. She padded sleepily in to find Max flipping an omelet onto one of her fiestaware plates.

“Can’t pay rent,” Max explained, “So the least I can do is make you breakfast.”

Furiosa cautiously took a bite and her eyes widened in shock.

“Jesus Max, just how much cheese did you use?”

Max froze, apologetic.

“Nobody ever puts enough cheese,” she continued, “Man, this is the best fucking omelet I’ve ever had.”

Somehow the fact that Max could cook fit in well with Furiosa’s image of him. She watched his thin calloused fingers crack an egg and then pry the shell apart, releasing the wet insides into the bowl. It crackled beautifully on the pan. Furiosa had never realize quite how sexy frying an egg could be, and she began devouring her omelet faster than necessary.

“Today’s Toast’s birthday,” she mentioned between bites, “We’re going over to her mom’s bar to celebrate.”

Max’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t get her anything.”

Furiosa shrugged.

“I’m painting her bedroom for her gift, you could help out.”

“It’s a plan.”

They ate in silence for a moment, then Max asked,

“Toast’s mom?”

“Adopted,” Furiosa explained, “By my aunt.”

Max’s eyebrows flew up.

“So you and Toast are, ah.”

“Cousins, yep. My mom was a foster kid, had ten foster sisters. You met some of them during the breakout.” There was a moment of awkward silence. Neither of them had really brought up their past before. Max remembered some of the women. He remembered their crumpled van lying on the side of the road. He shook his head to clear it, then nodded.

“There’s only two left, they adopted all the girls.” Furiosa said.

“So you’re all cousins?”

“Yep. One big happy family. And everybody will be there tonight.” She grinned. “You even get to meet my sister.”

Max shot her a look of sheer terror and Furiosa laughed.

Furiosa read the note over and over for the next two weeks and weighed the possibilities in her mind. It was possible that Joe had sent her the note as a test of her loyalty. It was also possible that Warden Giddy sent her the note to entrap her, then bring Furiosa to Joe for some sort of reward. Of course, Giddy could be telling the truth, and genuinely need Furiosa’s help.

Furiosa was pondering this when her radio crackled to life.

“Rator. Ortan wants you in his office.”

Joe was doing paperwork when she walked in.

“Rator. My star officer.”

Furiosa twisted her mouth into a smile.

“Only because of your supervision, Warden.”

“You are right,” he said, “Which is why you’re my best. You are not like the Lancer brothers, those mediocre addicts, needing drugs to keep them going. I’ve seen how you subdue rowdy inmates. Your military training has made you an excellent guard.”

Furiosa vaguely remembered pounding a man to the floor in her drug-induced state. She realized with a pang that she couldn’t remember how many times that had happened.

“Thank you sir.”

“You have done a difficult thing, that not many people do. You have gained my trust.”

“I only hope to prove my loyalty, sir.”

Joe ran a hand through his white hair.

“I have a problem, Rator.”

“Sir?”

He sighed.

“You know I have distinguished… tastes. You have seen them.”

“Your women sir?”

“Not just women. The best of the best. Goddesses. They could do anything with their beauty, and yet they debased themselves into lives of crime. I want them to be educated, to become objects of class and privilege. I brought them out of the dregs of the prison, I am polishing them and turning them into the beautiful ornaments they were born to be.” Furiosa thought of the look on the girl’s face and tried not to shiver. “Women are amazing, beautiful things. The ability to create life in their own image, like gods, what power! I am teaching them that.”

“But there is a problem sir?”

“Yes. One of my most cherished officers, Officer Eric Tuss.”

Furiosa knew Eric Tuss. He was developmentally disabled, but his rage and violence had raised him up to Joe’s innermost circle.

“I know of him.”

“Then you know Tuss has problems with self-control.”

Furiosa tried not to roll her eyes at this understatement. Everybody knew about Eric’s insatiable lust for violence and pussy, preferably at the same time. He talked about it loudly, confiscating inmates’ dirty magazines and looking at them while on the job. Rumor had it he once killed a trans-woman who refused to have sex with him, broke her neck in two, then wandered the halls, weeping and confused.

“He found out about the women,” Joe continued, “I don’t know how, I tried to keep him away. Now he wants them for himself.” Furiosa nodded. “You are the only guard with the skills to keep him away.”

“Yes sir.” This was true. What Furiosa lacked in brute strength she made up for in speed and strategy, two things that Tuss did not possess.

“Rator, I want you to guard my wives.”

Chapter Text

The bar was everything that a bar should be, in Max’s opinion. It was filled with a dim yellow light that glinted off the rows of bottles on one wall, and everybody seemed to be a regular. Elaborately decorated motorcycle helmets lined the walls, with a name on a plaque underneath each one. A stage for live performance stood in one corner, though it was empty for the night, the only music coming from an old jukebox in the corner.

Furiosa pointed to one of the helmets. It was blue with red and orange flowers painted on it, and the name “MARY JOBASSA” written underneath.

“That one was my mom’s,” she said. Max nodded solemnly, as if greeting her mother in person.

There was a shout from a table in the corner and they saw the girls sitting with three women Max didn’t recognize. The youngest of the three women jumped up and pressed her forehead to Furiosa’s. Furiosa turned and introduced her to Max.

“Max, do you remember my sister Val? Val, this is Max. He’s a…” She looked to Max for help and he shrugged, curious to see how she defined him. “He’s one of the tribe.”

Val smiled, but shook his hand with a force that delivered a silent threat. He met her gaze and nodded to show that he understood.

“And that’s Gilly, Toast’s mom,” Furiosa said, pointing to the oldest, “And the other one is Dag and Cheedo’s mom, Mel.” The two women waved cheerily and the two slid into the booth next to them. Val scooted in close to Furiosa and whispered something into her ear, causing Furiosa to turn red and give her sister a withering stink-eye. Val burst out laughing and hugged Furiosa around the waist. Then she turned to Max.

“So Max. To become part of the family, you have to learn our special birthday song.”

            Gilly threw her arm around Toast and began to sing in a slow dirge,

            “Wheeeen yoooour eyes are all baggy,” All the other women cheered and joined in.

            “You’re wrinkled and saggy,

Your nosehair could use a good shave.

When your hair is all graying, your teeth are decaying,

You’re one step away from the grave.

I’ll still rub your back when you’re sore my dear,

And I’ll trim the white hairs that grow in your ears

And when it’s your birthday I’ll sing only of you,

Because that’s how you know that I’ll always love you.”

Warden Ortan had a tunnel connecting his office with Warden Giddy’s, and every night the women would crawl through it, bound and gagged. The only reason Furiosa had seen them before was because the one named Daria had tried to run. Daria had only gotten halfway down the hall before tripping on her shackled feet and being caught again by Giddy.

Every night Furiosa stood in front of the door, counting her breaths and trying not to hear what was happening inside. She listed the names of all her aunts, she sang her mother’s old lullabies in her head, she recited old lines of catechism from her years at Catholic School, but nothing managed to drown out the muffled noises from inside.

She encountered Eric Tuss twice in that time, and each time nearly cried in relief at the distraction.

The first time she told him the wives had been moved to the rec hall. He thanked her for her information and left to find them. She almost pitied him as he lumbered down the hall, taking big weaving steps.

The second time he didn’t believe her and they fought. She was able to knock him out on the hard concrete floor, depleting his already limited brain-cells, but she didn’t pity him anymore. She may have won, but she woke up the next morning with a bruised rib and a black eye. She hated Joe for what he did, she hated him more than anybody she had every met, but she knew that Officer Tuss would be ten times worse.

Her hatred bubbled inside her stomach, fermenting, at times so strong it made her feel sick. But it fueled her unlike anything else. She stopped drinking the coffee altogether, the rage inside of her keeping her focused and energized as good as any drug.

She stopped visiting her therapist, but still called once a week. Seeds encouraged her to act, to take Giddy’s words to heart and help the girls escape.

She continued to meet with Wrock as well. He pushed her to stay focused, to ignore the girls and focus on the drugs. That was their mission. That was their deal.

Furiosa did neither. She hovered between these two obligations for weeks, too afraid to act in either direction.

Then, in August, the one called Splendid made another escape attempt.

Chapter Text

Furiosa helped a wobbly Max out of her car. Max hugged her, spilling what was left of his beer down the back of her jacket. Furiosa pushed him away, laughing. Aside from her first beer she had only had one rum and coke, just enough to numb her tongue and keep her loose.

“Man, you are wasted!” she said.

He stared intently at her forehead. “I’m not wasted. I’m drunk… but not wasted…” He swayed. “But I might just, you know. Take a seat.”

Max tried to sit on the hood of the car, but slid off onto the ground. Furiosa laughed.

“Sit down here,” he said. “Come here. Join me in the dust.” He opened his arms wide.

She stood in front of him and laced her fingers through his.

“Sit,” he ordered.

She sat next to him, leaning against the side of the car, suddenly shy. His head nodded back and forth.

“Furiosa.” He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. She was shocked at his closeness. She rested her head on his shoulder, breathing deep, unable to from any coherent thought. He smelled like air after a rainstorm. His thumb stroked her side. “Furiosaaaa…” he sang.

She giggled. (When was the last time she had giggled?)

He shifted to face her, his nose nearly touching her forehead. “Are you laughing at me?”

Furiosa didn’t trust her voice, so she just smiled at him and squinted. His head swayed on his neck like a bowling ball on a pipe cleaner.

He touched his forehead to hers. “Hey. Furiosa.”

“Hmmm?”

“You’re beautiful.”

She looked down, breathless.

“I’m serious. You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.”

“Really.”

“I mean it.” He looked up at the sky. “FURIOSA IS FUCKING BEAUTIFUL!” He shook her shoulder for emphasis.

Furiosa looked at him. His expression was triumphant and confused in the dark. She reached her hesitant real hand and put it on his cheek. His face was rough and warm and surprising.

He leaned into her hand, then took it in his own. “This is a great hand.” He touched her palm with his finger, making a nerve in her thumb twitch. He grabbed the metal one as well. “I love this one too. I missed your hands.” He looked at her, the world blurring and focusing around them. “I missed you,” he said, softly, “After you left, I missed you so bad.”

She loved the way he smelled. Even when he was sweaty and drunk, she just wanted to wear his smell like shampoo. She wanted to roll around in it like a dog in a cow pie.

“Every night since I met you,” he said. “I’ve never wanted to leave your side.”

She tried to focus on words, but her thoughts were trembling. “You’re drunk,” she whispered.

He smiled and leaned in close. She couldn't have moved if she’d wanted to. He touched his nose to her chin, her cheek, her eyebrow. She wanted to fall into his breath. He blinked and she could feel his eyelashes. Her fingers curled into his left breast pocket. She didn’t breathe.

Then he kissed her under her left eye. Furiosa recoiled at the wet feeling of his lips on her face. She scrambled back like a spider. Her eyes watered and she stood up, embarrassed.

“Um. We should—” her voice cracked. “We should go inside.”

He looked up at her and blinked, as if seeing her for the first time. He looked like an enormous baby. “Okay,” he said.

She reached out her metal hand and pulled Max up. He leaned against her, giggling as she helped him up the stairs. She gave him a glass of water, then tossed him onto the futon like a sack of rocks. Within minutes he was asleep.

Furiosa wasn’t tired, the caffeine from the coke still running in her head. She climbed out the bathroom window, onto the roof and sat in a daze. She watched millions of miles of stars unfold in front of her and knew that if she were to look in the mirror she would without a doubt see beautiful things looking out of her eyes.

At twelve thirty she finally climbed back down the fire escape and into bed. She grabbed her pillow and hugged it to her chest. She would deal with reality in the morning. Right now she was just happy.

That night Furiosa heard the yelling inside Joe’s office, but didn't focus on it too much. The girls tried not to give Joe the gratification of hearing them cry, but sometimes they couldn't hold back. Then there was a shout of “Run! Run!” and the door behind Furiosa slammed open, nearly ramming her down. There was a flash of white as the woman slipped past and darted down the hall. There was another shout, Joe’s this time, shouting “STOP HER!” and another figure, this one in a uniform, followed the woman down the hall. Furiosa stood frozen for a moment, Seeds’ voice echoing in her ears, encouraging her to stop, to let the girl run. Then Furiosa shook the voice away and followed.

Warden Giddy had her arms around the woman’s upper-body when Furiosa approached, and the inmate was not going easy. She was a white whirl of elbows and knees, spitting and screaming and cursing them all to hell. Her yellow hair made a pale net around her face as she struggled. Furiosa dove for the girl’s knees and held them tight. She heard Warden Giddy whispering,

“Not now, Splendid, not like this, remember, we have to be patient, just a little while longer.” The girl called Splendid sagged in their arms, crying.

“That’s right honey, that’s right, relax, it’ll be okay.” Furiosa looked up and noticed for the first time the girl’s enormous globe of a belly. She felt a cold sinking sensation. The woman was pregnant.

They lifted Splendid between them and carried her back to Joe’s office. With every step Furiosa felt the bile rising up inside of her, she felt like a nuclear reactor waiting to blow, the rage inside of her was toxic and sickening, and she looked at Warden Giddy’s hopeless face and whispered,

“I’m in.”

Chapter Text

Furiosa woke up to the sound of Max vomiting into the toilet. She felt exposed and raw, like she had been scrubbed all over with a hard brush. She blinked in the morning light. She was happy, but the elated feeling of the night before was deflating like a busted beach ball.

“Good morning sexy,” she called out to Max, who gave her the finger. He made strangled yelling noises as he vomited; puke poured out of his mouth in a surreal, alien way. She got up, groaning as the blood pounded into her eyes. Her mouth tasted like a litter box. Furiosa stumbled into the tiny bathroom, stepping over Max to get to her toothbrush. Max rested his elbows on the toilet seat and put his head in his hands, panting slightly.

“Feel better?” Furiosa asked, moving her toothbrush to the side of her mouth to talk. Max nodded.

“You sure drank a lot last night. Never saw you so chatty.” Max shot her a Don’t-Test-Me eye. “Don’t worry, you didn’t embarrass yourself.” He hacked and spat the last mouthful of bile into the toilet, then grunted,

“What’d I do?”

“Nothing.” He raised an eyebrow. “No really, you didn’t embarrass yourself. You were sweet.” Furiosa gently cuffed the back of his head with her half-arm. “It was nice seeing you relaxed. Almost didn’t recognize you.” She spat in the sink, splashed her face, then reached out to help him stand. “Go back to bed, fool.”

When Max woke up again an hour later Furiosa was gone. There was a plate on the floor next to him with three slices of now-cold toast and glass of orange juice. A note read:

“Morning fool. I told your boss you were taking the day off. She wasn’t happy, but then, she’s an asshole. Made you some toast, cause it always helps w/hangovers. (The food, not the girl, Toast the girl will yell in your ear just out of spite). And speaking of Toast, remember we’re painting her bedroom after work.”

One of the benefits of Furiosa’s high status was the ability to look up anybody on the prison database, guard or inmate. She had only overheard the girls’ first names, so it was largely a shot in the dark, but she figured Ortan only took the youngest, most beautiful women. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. Furiosa was still not entirely sure if she wanted to learn any more about Joe’s women than she already did. The commitment she had felt while carrying Splendid’s swooning body back to Joe’s office had ebbed slightly with the morning light, and she suspected that if she waded any deeper into these women’s lives she would soon be in over her head. Then she thought of the pregnant belly and sighed, and began to type.

The first girl was easy to find. Not many inmates were named Splendid. Splendid Leder had been arrested two years earlier for protesting at a nuclear power plant. Her medical records listen her as five months pregnant. She had been kept in solitary confinement for most of her stay, though there was no explanation as to why. Furiosa guessed it was Joe’s deep jealousy, and felt rage twitching in her belly.

Chelsea Fragile was the youngest, having just turned eighteen. She was a Juvie transfer, a child computer wiz who was arrested at sixteen for hacking the US stock exchange. Her mugshot looked like a yearbook photo.

Furiosa recognized Daria Green’s photograph as the girl she had first seen running. She had been arrested for drug dealing three years earlier. Her most recent medical examination labeled her as five weeks pregnant. Furiosa cringed, knowing that she had been standing complacently outside Joe’s door when that happened. It also listed Daria on several powerful anti-psychotics.

Tessa Noing had been in for eight months for second-degree murder and listed her as a member of the Buzzard biker gang. It also added that she was working on a degree in mechanical engineering.

Clarissa Abel had fiery red hair and a fuck-you expression. She had been imprisoned the longest, three years in Citadel, one year in Gastown before that. She had been a burlesque dancer in a little boardwalk town a couple of hours away before she had killed a client. It labeled the offense as a “crime of passion,” which Furiosa took to mean self-defense.

Furiosa typed in the name Jennifer Giddy and felt her law drop in shock.

Warden Jennifer Giddy had once been Jennifer Ortan. She had been prisoner herself, until DNA evidence proved that she had been falsely accused of killing her father. She became warden on a platform of prison reform, declaring that she knew what prison was like from the inside, so she knew how to reform it the best. It was then that she met and married Joe Ortan. Furiosa scrolled through photos of Jennifer Ortan, and saw a haunted look in her eyes that had not been there before the marriage. Jennifer Ortan began wearing thick concealer and lines grew around her eyes and mouth. They divorced after three years of marriage. If Furiosa was expecting the divorce to liberate Jennifer Giddy she was wrong. Warden Giddy’s face became even more drawn and pinched, her eyes darker and often bloodshot.

Curious, Furiosa looked up Giddy’s retrial, fifteen years ago. The technician who had presented the saving evidence was none other than Doctor Joe M. Ortan.

Furiosa rested her head in her hands, letting the pieces of the puzzle come together. Joe had DNA evidence that proved Giddy guilty, but he held onto it in exchange for her services. For a moment her anger blazed at Warden Giddy, sending the girls to Joe's sweaty embrace to ensure her own freedom. Then Furiosa shook her head. She had seen the power that Joe could exert, and Jennifer had been married to him for three years. She saw how Jennifer Ortan's vivacity had wilted the longer they were together, until he left her an empty husk. And yet she was still trying, still reaching out for hope, not for herself, but for the girls.

Furiosa looked down at her watch. She still had ten minutes before her rounds, so she hesitated only a moment, then typed in Max Rockatansky.

Max Rockatansky, born in Australia, former cop, given a life sentence with chance of parole for killing at least two men, suspected in the death of nine more. Furiosa whistled low. She looked deeper. The men killed were gang members, suspects in the murder of his wife and baby. Furiosa felt herself feeling sick again and turned off the computer. Max was a distraction. No more distractions. 

Throughout the rest of her shift Furiosa repeated the names of the girls in her head like a mantra. Chelsea, Splendid, Tessa, Daria, Clarissa, Chelsea, Splendid… She continued when she got home, she fell asleep chanting it, and when she woke up she had a plan.

Chapter Text

Toast had chosen a light yellow color to cover up the garish magenta that had come with the apartment. Her room was small but had large windows and a view of downtown. She was staying with Dag while it was being painted.

The apartment had no air-conditioning, and the late August heat clung to Max and Furiosa, making their clothes stick and their faces shine.

“Jesus I haven’t sweated so much since the military,” Furiosa said, lugging the can of primer up the stairs. Dog’s tongue hung out like a ribbon bookmark, and as soon as they got inside he trotted to the bathroom and fell asleep on the cool tile floor.

Max and Furiosa laid out the plastic sheeting over her carpet and taped down the windows. A breeze blew, like the opening of an oven door. They were only priming that day, coming back the next to finish the job. The pale yellow could not stand up to the magenta on its own. The magenta shone through turning the yellow into a strange orange color. Luckily that morning Max had run into one of his former cellmates at the Home Depot who offered to throw in two gallons of primer for free.

“You must have been one hell of a cellmate.”

Max shrugged.

“I helped him write the Innocence Project. Man was innocent but barely knew his ABCs.”

They tied bandanas around their noses and mouths to keep out the fumes. It didn’t seem to do much but make them sweat, but Dag had given them such an earful earlier about carcinogenic paint fumes that they kept them on. Furiosa tugged off her prosthesis with a sigh of relief, rubbing her sweaty nub arm and cricking her neck.

Max dragged in Toast’s archaic boom box, which she had gotten for five dollars on Craisgslist. She had a CD of old blues music that they listened to while they painted.

Furiosa loved painting rooms. It was one of her odd quirks. She loved the sticky sound of the roller on the wall, she loved how the paint went on in smooth broad strokes, she loved how physical it was, how it used her whole body. She loved stepping back afterwards and seeing how one color changed the entire room.

Max bobbed his head along to the music as he painted, sometimes humming and swaying. Furiosa doubted he even noticed that he was doing it. She had never seen him react strongly to music, and she smiled under her bandana. At one point, during a Louis Armstrong song, Max couldn’t contain himself any longer and burst out singing, “You ask my wife for some cabbage and you ate just like a savage”. Furiosa started to laugh.

“Is that so.”

Max turned as red as the paint they were covering. He mumbled an apology, only half-heard under his bandana.

“Max, did you just apologize? Cause I think your singing is beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

“No I mean it. That was a really fantastic Louis Armstrong impression.”

Max rubbed his forehead in embarrassment, leaving a streak of white.

“My dad used to play it a lot when he worked on his cars,” he explained, “It was kind of our thing.”

Furiosa liked the idea of a little boy Max and his dad. She tried to imagine it as she painted, listening to the music like it was some secret key to Max’s life. She let it carry her as she sank back into the meditative repetition of painting a wall.

She jumped back to attention a few minutes later when a drop of paint hit her on the forehead. She turned and saw Max on his step-stool, studiously painting around the window, only a hint of a smile twitching around his left eye.

“Max?” Her voice had a ring of danger in it and Max looked at her with an expression of exaggerated innocence. “Did you just try and hit me with this carcinogenic-smelling paint?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

Furiosa picked up one of the smaller brushes, meant for windows and doors, and flung a spot of primer onto his forearm. He raised an eyebrow. Furiosa raised hers right back.

And then they were at it, a full-fledged war; Max jumped down off his step stool, brandishing his brush, Furiosa jabbed at him, smearing paint down his face. He dipped his whole hand in the bucket, then ran it over the back of her head, making her yelp and drop to the ground, pulling him over on top of her. They grappled on the floor, her forcing his hand back onto his own hair, rolling over on the drippy plastic, laughing, until there was a clang and they both froze. Max felt something wet and cool on his back and they both looked over to see one of the buckets of primer spilling onto the floor.

They stared at each other, then at the bucket.

Then Max wrapped his legs around her waist and rolled on top of her, landing her in the growing puddle of primer with a shout of “I win!” Furiosa responded with “Not on your life!” and grabbed his face with her paint-covered hand.

They were well matched. She had known Max could fight, but it was still surprising to see how well they worked together, toeing the line between reality and play, seeing how far they could push it without getting hurt.

Furiosa found herself sitting on his chest, her hand on his collarbone, his hand on the back of her neck, both straining to bring the other to the ground. Their eyes met and they froze.

A drop of primer dripped off Furiosa’s ear and landed on his chest.

She could feel his heart beating under her hand.

He gently pulled her head forward and she let him, until their foreheads touched. Her hand tightened. He pulled his bandana around his neck, then did the same for hers.

“Carci-” she mumbled, “Carcinogenic fumes.”

Max smiled.

“Don’t tell Dag.”

Her eyes were lost on the shape of his mouth as he talked. As if he knew her thoughts he darted his tongue out and licked his lower lip nervously.

“I’d like to…” he looked down shyly. “I’d like to be… something…” he looked back up at her, eyes shining. “With you.”

Furiosa’s face grew hot and she felt like the world was spinning twice as fast as usual. For a brief moment she wondered if she might vomit.

“Max.” He hummed sleepily. “Max I can’t.” His eyes focused back on her and he frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Then her phone rang.

They sprang apart, Max sliding slightly on the spilled paint. Furiosa picked up her phone.

“Miss JoBassa?” It was the nasal voice of her next-door neighbor Barbie.

“Yeah?”

“I think you’ve just been robbed.”

“What?”

“Yeah, the door is smashed in, there’s clothes and stuff all over the floor.”

“Oh my God. Thank you so much for telling me. I’ll be right there.”

She hung up and looked over at Max, still dripping paint onto the plastic. He looked at her confused.

“Max, you’re going to stay with Ace.”

The owners of Mother’s Milk Bleach had realized early on that they could outsource jobs to the Citadel Prison and pay the inmates only a few cents an hour. Nine hours a day every day, inmates would send electric currents into vats of saltwater, making caustic soda and chlorine. This was then diluted with 75% water, which often splashed drops of undiluted bleach into inmate’s faces. Even with rubber gloves the workers’ fingers blistered and split and they were never able to fully shake the smell. Most prisoners suffered from serious lung diseases.

Mother’s Milk was an expensive organic brand, which prided itself in being “totally local”. Most buyers didn’t care to know where exactly “local” meant.

As unjust as this outsourcing may have seemed to the inmates, barrels were going in and out of the prison every day. They were X-rayed on course, but if Furiosa manned the X-rays it might just work. The trick would be getting the women from their confinement into the garage where the barrels were kept, three floors below. Splendid would be especially difficult, as she was in solitary confinement. She was only released when they had their nightly trips to Joe’s office, so it would have to take place then.

She briefly considered dressing the girls in her spare uniforms, but their striking features would never go undetected.

She met with Warden Giddy at Doof, a Gastown nightclub with pounding bass that would cover up any secret conversations, and lesbian cougar talking to her younger girlfriend wouldn’t be looked twice at. Furiosa explained what she had of a plan quietly. Giddy nodded along.

“We need something to draw everybody away,” Giddy said.

“A prison riot?”

“That might work. What happens when the girls don’t show up in his office? He’ll go looking for us.”

“How long does it take for Joe to get to your office?”

“A few seconds with the tunnel.”

“And if we blocked the tunnel?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“You get the girls, like you usually do for Joe. There’s a riot in Women’s Block, I’ll run the girls down to the garages while you save face there. That buys us time too, you can say the girls can’t get to Joe because of a lockdown.”

“Oh, no, even on lockdowns they still go.”

“Shit. Ok, well it still buys a few minutes before he gets suspicious, the girls are late because you’re dealing with this other stuff. I run them down, tell the guards in the garage to get upstairs and help.”

“Won’t the guards down there notice that you’ve got five beautiful inmates with you? And then there’s the security cameras. And who will be driving the truck?”

Furiosa kneaded her forehead.

“I don’t know about the first two.” She smiled slowly. “But I do have a whole lot of aunties who would love to drive a truck.”

Chapter Text

Max stayed in Toast’s apartment while Furiosa went home and surveyed the damage. Drawers had been emptied onto the floor but nothing seemed to be missing. Furiosa told the police that it was just one of those freak things, nothing to worry about.

The car ride to Ace’s was quiet, and not the easy silence that Furiosa was used to with Max. She felt shaky and tense. Her sweaty hands slipped around on the steering wheel no matter how high she turned the air conditioner. Finally she broke the silence.

“Max, when I said I couldn’t-”

“You don’t need to explain.” He said it gently, and Furiosa knew that he meant it.

“I know. But I want to. You deserve it.”

He looked at her expectantly.

“I can’t be with you, because I physically can’t. I want to.” Her eyes rolled up. “I mean I really want to.”

“But?”

She turned very red, then sighed.

“It’s called Vagismus. Sounds like Vagina Christmas, I know, but I guarantee it’s not that fun.”

His mouth twitched a bit, then went back to serious.

“Is it… What is it?”

“Oh, it’s not an STD or anything. It’s one of the many joys of sexual assault. Basically I tense up whenever anything starts going… inside… so then it doesn’t fit. Not even a tampon. Or a pinky finger. I’ve tried, but if I force it it just gets—” She shivered involuntarily. “Not nice.”

He nodded, watching her carefully. They had never directly addressed the issue of her past sexual history before.

“It’s supposed to be one of the most curable sexual disorders there is.” She snorted. “I wish. There’s a little kit you can buy on the Internet, full of little plastic things of various sizes to try sticking in. Which just seems counter-intuitive to me. Trying to ram stuff up there to make you relax. I’ve never been quite—” Here her sardonic smile faltered slightly, “brave enough to try it out.” She lets out a deep breath. “The other girls have it, too. Dag can only fuck when she’s stoned. Capable never had such a problem, but she used to take Magnesium before sex to relax her muscles. Cheedo says hypnosis helped her out.” She looked at her paint spattered fingers on the wheel. “I should try going back to therapy, I know. But ever since Seeds died I haven’t been able to find a good replacement.”

She looked at Max for a response. He was staring at her seriously. He cleared his throat.

“So you think…” His eyes darted and he licked his lips. “So you think you can’t be with me… Because we can’t have sex?” Furiosa shrugged halfheartedly.

“Partly. I don’t know my boundaries. I don’t know what’s going to make me cry, I don’t know when I’ll have to stop. And I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t want to get you excited and then let you down.” He looked down at his hands and nodded. They sat in silence for a moment, then Furiosa pulled up to the curb next to a large brownstone.

“This is Ace’s house,” she said, killing the engine, “He’ll probably take you to another safe house, not here.” She saw the door to the brownstone open and Ace Warrig approached them. Furiosa, Max, and Dog got out of the car. Ace raised his eyebrows and whistled when he saw them, and Furiosa realized that they were both still covered head to toe in primer.

“Jesus, JoBassa, what did you do?”

“Not important.” She clasped Max’s shoulder. “You have my number, lemme know if I forgot to pack anything.” Max gave her a thumbs up and he and Dog followed Ace into the house.

“Aunt Maddie?”

“Well if it isn’t my little Furious Vexation. I thought you were on a job?”

“I am. But I need your help. We’re breaking five girls out of a prison.”

Maddie Vuvalini squealed on the other end of the line and Furiosa smiled for the first time in a week.

“Let me put you on speaker, Fury, so that the others can hear. This is why we have you around, you keep us from getting soft in our old age.”

Furiosa knew the plan would not be possible were it not for the women’s skeletal physique. Though Dag, the tallest, was five foot eleven, she barely weighed 120 pounds. By tucking her head down between her ankles she could fit easily into the empty canister. Furiosa hoped that the girls wouldn’t have to remain in that position for more than twenty minutes, but they were in agreement that being cramped and bruised was better than being in Joe’s company. For the first and only time Furiosa was grateful that Joe liked his girls skinny. Splendid would be more of a problem, with her big pregnant belly, so they would have to wait until after the baby was born. Babies born in the prison were immediately sent to foster care, so they didn’t have to worry about transporting an infant. It would have to be soon after the pregnancy, but that was still four months away.

It was no secret that inmate Janet Howard was queen in the women’s ward. Furiosa sent Howard a message through Tessa Noing, offering a smartphone in exchange for causing a riot big enough to call every guard from every part of the prison. Janet Howard didn’t ask any questions. A smartphone in Citadel Penitentiary was worth more than anything else, and asking questions was risky.

On the day of the escape Warden Giddy would usher Furiosa’s aunt Gillian in under the guise of a mechanic. Gillian was a notorious hardware hacker, and while there she would disable the security cameras, putting them on a loop of the day before. She would also hack the cell doors, setting them on a timer to open at 8:30, releasing all of the prisoners at once.

Janet Howard was already beginning to spread rumors and cause tension between rival gangs in the prison, and on the night in question she would bring it all to a head, starting a fight so big that it would bring in workers from all over the prison. Furiosa and the girls would run down to the garages. If they were caught she would act as a guard apprehending the girls. Her aunt Melita would have five empty barrels waiting, with holes drilled around the base for air. It would be stuffy but not airtight. Her aunts Joy and Antoinette would be inside the truck, ready to drive. Furiosa would then go to the man who X-rayed all of the canisters and relieve him, taking his place, and the girls would be gone.

Four months turned into three, which turned into two. Kinks in the plan began to even out with the aunts’ help. Furiosa met with Giddy twice more at Doof and talked to her aunts on burner phones, which she then disposed of. She woke up energized and excited for the first time in years.

A month and a half before the break, she was called into Joe’s office again.

He was standing when she entered this time, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, his white hair sticking out in every direction. He was holding a gun and the look of rage on his face made Furiosa’s blood slow to a crawl.

“Rator.”

“Yes sir?”

“We have been betrayed. Somebody is talking to the feds."

"Are- What- Sir?"

"Lockdown. Now.”

Chapter Text

Furiosa started to tidy up the mess that the invaders had made, but she was too tired. She had never put too much value on her living space. She had grown up always on the move, and knew that spaces were temporary. But looking over her trashed apartment she felt violated, like somebody had climbed into her head and read her thoughts. She took her gun from her desk drawer and placed it under her mattress.

Furiosa lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, unable to sleep. She thought about their conversation and cringed so hard her eyes rolled up. Did I really just tell him about Vagismus? Jesus, what was I thinking. She wished she could talk to Seeds.

Work the next week was much the same. Furiosa tried to always leave her personal shit at home, but there was no denying that her temper was shorter and she was much more distracted. The Now Hiring sign went back in the window and she sighed her way through interviews. She didn’t joke with her employees anymore, hardly spoke at all unless necessary. She accidentally shelved Carrie in the young adult section and romance novels in the mystery section. She moved slowly and worked long hours, spending as little time in the apartment as she could. The girls all tried to help out. They bought her drinks and invited her out dancing, Dag’s daughter gave her a bouquet of flowers, they all tried to talk to her about it and offered themselves up to listen, but Furiosa crawled inside herself, internalizing her hurt.

One day Capable came into the back room to find Furiosa standing in the corner, her face to the wall, taking deep shaking breaths. Capable knew that Furiosa didn’t want anybody to see her crying and respected that. She didn’t say anything. Instead she slid down the wall to sit on the floor next to Furiosa and patted Furiosa’s foot. They sat that way for a while. Then Furiosa put a heavy hand on Capable’s short red curls and rubbed her head.

“You sleeping ok?” Capable asked. Furiosa shook her head. Capable was about to give up on the conversation when Furiosa croaked,

“I get it.” She wiped her nose noisily on her sleeve. “I get why you needed Cheedo to move in with you. It’s just so quiet. And empty.”

Capable nodded.

“It sucks.”

Furiosa slid down to the floor and rested her head on Capable’s shoulder.

Furiosa had been eating take-out for the past week, but that night she went to the grocery store and got the ingredients for kachadi. She ate it out of the pot while watching reruns of Bob’s Burgers.

She was just putting the leftovers in the sink when she heard a knock on the door. She peered through the peephole and saw a Max’s distorted face through the fish-eye, looking uncomfortable and edgy. He had exchanged his usual leather jacket and T-shirt for a big grey hoodie that looked strange and soft and out-of-place on his body. Furiosa opened the door.

“Max, you shouldn’t be here, it isn’t safe.”

“I was careful.”

“Is everything ok?” Furiosa didn’t think she’d ever seen him more nervous.

“Been thinking.” He paused and shifted from one foot to another, then continued. “We. Mmmm both— both have boundaries. That we don’t even know about yet.”

She was thrown for a minute, then nodded. He grunted. His eyes darted back and forth again in that disconcerting way he had. “Would you want to—maybe—explore them?” He breathed out fast. “With me?” Furiosa felt herself get hot and cold, and her skin felt like it was covered in buzzing sparks.

“Why don’t you come in?”

“Nobody leaves,” Joe growled, “Not guards, not staff. East and West Wards. Everybody will be polygraphed, everybody will be searched. And somebody won’t be leaving at all.” He paced in front of his wall of security cameras, which bathed his silhouette in a dull blue halo.

“How do you know the feds are onto us?” The alarm rang for lockdown and sweat trickled down under Furiosa’s prosthesis.

“Doesn’t matter,” he rumbled, “All that matters is we find the rat.”

Joe was paranoid, often believing things without basis. Furiosa doubted anybody had ratted her out, but she knew that his paranoia had consequences. She had once seen him break a guard’s jaw because he’d dreamt that the guard had disrespected him. She had to think fast.

“What about your women?”

Joe spun and stared at her.

“What about them?”

“What if they get found out? We have to move them.”

“Yes. Good idea.” He reached down to his radio. “Giddy, I need all the swans in solitary. All the swans in solitary, over.” She felt the ember of hope inside her fading when he spoke again. “Rator, I need you to set up the polygraph. I’ll do yours first, then together we can do everybody else’s.” He thought for a moment. “Do it in the mess hall, more space.”

“Yes sir.” She ran down the corridors, trying to think. She knew if she didn’t go to the mess hall Joe would see her on his bank of cameras and catch her quicker than she could get to Giddy. She looked at her phone, but Joe had blocked all of the signals.

She pounded down C block, where row after row of inmates were lined up behind their bars, yelling questions in the dark. She barely noticed that the last cell was strangely quiet, barely noticed that only one inmate stared out at her, and that inmate was not Max.

That was when her radio crackled to life.

“Rator, we need you,” It was Giddy. “It’s Splendid, she’s bleeding, we need an ambulance now. Tell Ortan, then come here immediately.” She felt the ember fan to life again in her chest. If anything would make Joe turn cell signals back on, it would be his favorite slave.

Chapter Text

Max sat on the counter and dried dishes as Furiosa washed them. They talked about the store and the hotel where Max was staying and the failed job interviews that Furiosa had conducted over the last week. She told him about the latest book that had come in, a cheap thriller, the classic bumbling detective and his beautiful young lover. Pure adrenaline from start to finish. Once they began talking books Max opened up astonishingly. He spoke more with his hands than with his words, gesturing emotions and ideas in large sweeping motions.

“Books like that are my guilty pleasure,” she said, draining the sink and wiping her hands on the towel. “Just fun, no intellect.”

Max chuckled.

“Just fun, no intellect? Sounds like me.”

She narrowed her eyes and swayed towards him, grinning.

“Why do you think I like you so much?” The kitchen was so tiny it didn’t take two steps until she was standing between his legs. Max breathed in sharp and shallow. His hands shook. She smiled at this and grabbed them in hers. She squeezed them tight to get them to stop trembling, and he squeezed back.

“Scared?” The question was more breath than word. Max gave an almost imperceptible nod and huffed half a laugh from his nose. Furiosa smiled.

“Me too.” She leaned forward and put her arms around his neck, her prosthesis sticking out awkwardly. She rested her cheek on his, her nose under his ear. He was scratchy and warm, and he smelled like rain. He sat still for a moment, then carefully put his arms around her waist, his thumbs rubbing her back. They both exhaled together, softening into each other’s curves and planes.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He mumbled questioningly.

“It’s been so long. I don’t even know how to start.” She felt him smile against her neck. His hands moved up to her shoulders, and pulled her in so that their foreheads were touching. Her breath caught. Then he moved in, the last fraction of an inch, and placed a tiny kiss on her lower lip. Furiosa started and pulled back. Max let her, confusion and concern written on her face. She buried her face back into his neck, trying to ignore the prick of tears behind her eyes. Max drew large circles on her back with a wide flat palm.

Furiosa considered, breathing him in. She could leave it like that. That one little kiss was as far as she’d gotten with any man in the past five years, with a similar emotional response. She could walk away, say that she’d tried, that it was too difficult. At least she’d made the effort. That was something. That could be good enough.

A comforting hum rumbled out from deep in Max’s chest. Furiosa felt it more than she heard it, his throat vibrating against her cheek.

No. Good enough was not enough. Max was worth more than just one try. She pulled back to look at him again. Then she shut her eyes and carefully, slowly, shifted her head and ducked in for another kiss. And then another.

The kisses were soft and sweet. A gentle purse and release, breath on breath. She angled her head to the right, letting their lips slip together wetly with a quiet moan.

His hand ran up her sides, then down, and he slid his fingers through her belt loops and tugged her closer, making her fingers tighten around his neck. She bit down on his lower lip and he whimpered. She grinned.

“You like that?”

Max just growled and pulled her roughly forward. She opened her mouth, not knowing what she was doing, not thinking, gasping against his chin.

Max licked into her mouth and she froze, momentarily reminded of Sergeant Bento’s thick tentacle of a tongue clawing it’s way down her throat. She opened her eyes.

Max’s eyes were still shut, and he looked soft and peaceful, like he was sleeping. She never realized what long eyelashes he had. Max. This is Max. Not anybody else. He wasn’t forceful. Just tasting her. She slowly relaxed back into him, circling her tongue around his. He tasted like the smell of books, like lake water, and she ran her tongue over his crooked teeth and stopped thinking.

Finally, feeling dizzy from lack of breathe, she pulled back and gently knocked her forehead against his. He opened his eyes, hazy and dark with pleasure.

“Mm. This ok?”

Furiosa laughed out loud. She felt giddy and alive. He furrowed his brow, confused.

“I don’t think I’ve been this ok since…” She thought. “Ever.” He smiled and pulled her back to him.

She loved the sound of his heavy breathing, his soft groans, the wet noise of lip on lip. He kissed her above each eyebrow, then under each eye.

“Ace will-” he started. Furiosa’s teeth caught his earlobe and his voice cracked. “Ace will be wondering where I am.”

“Hmmm yeah, you should get going then.” Furiosa grinned wickedly. He stared up at her in wonderment. She looked at his dreamy expression and giggled, kissing his nose. He took advantage of the position and nuzzled in behind her ear, kissing from her hairline down her neck. Sweet gentle kisses, like little pink shells on the beach. Furiosa moaned and pressed against him. She wanted more than just gentleness, and Max obliged. He sucked and licked her skin and she dug her nails into his shirt. He bit down and she groaned, moving her hands down his chest, his stomach, then gripping at his thighs. He nosed at the neckline of her shirt. Furiosa moved closer against him, improving his view. He laughed quietly and kissed her right below her collarbone, then gently pushed her away.

“Ok,” he said, “I need to go.” She clung to him and he leaned back in to kiss her again, quickly. Then again. Furiosa’s arms found themselves curling around his neck again and he laughed, disentangling himself. She followed him to her door, walking with a swagger that she hadn’t used in years. She leaned against the doorframe.

“I work late tomorrow,” she said, “Can I come by in the morning and see?” she asked. Max smiled and wrote down the address on a slip of paper.

“You’d better.”

After he left Furiosa slid down the wall, dazed and dizzy, grinning like a teenager after prom.

Furiosa skidded into the solitary unit at top speed, nearly falling on a slick puddle of blood.

It took Furiosa a moment to take in what she was seeing. Splendid sat in one corner, pantsless, her thin white-blue legs standing out against the heavy pulses of dark blood that were leaking onto the cement floor. Furiosa turned to Giddy for an explanation.

“She did it to herself,” Giddy said, “She stole a hand mirror from Joe’s office, used a shard of glass as a knife.” Furiosa knelt down next to the woman and surveyed the damage. On closer examination the blood wasn’t coming from between her legs like Furiosa expected; instead it was coming from a spot in her upper thigh, where a new wound glistened deep purple. It was about three inches across, jaggedly cut, and bits of glass still sparkled in the laceration. The Femoral Artery had been nicked but not sliced, and Furiosa knew that a tourniquet would do more harm than good. She took off her jacket and put pressure over the wound.

“My name is Margaret Rator,” Furiosa said, “I’m going to help you.”

Splendid’s eyelids fluttered.

“I know,” she said, “We all know.” She put her hands on her enormous pregnant belly. “Call an ambulance, get us out.” Furiosa nodded and reached for her radio with her metal hand while putting pressure on the wound with her other.

“Ortan, this is Rator, we have a situation. Splendid Leder is having a miscarriage.” Splendid nodded conspiratorially. The radio chirped in response, at first there was just white noise, then Joe’s voice crackled out, sounding scared and rough.

“What do I need to do?”

“Lift the cell jammer. We need an ambulance. Our own hospital is not equipped for this.”

“No, we need discretion.”

“I have a friend who drives an ambulance, let me call her.”

Splendid took this opportunity to give a loud cry of pain. Furiosa wasn’t sure if it was real or simply acting for Joe’s benefit, but she could feel Joe thinking.

“You go with Splendid, keep her from talking.”

“Copy that.”

Furiosa checked her phone, it had bars. She dialed Valkyrie, who picked up on the first ring.

“Val, are you on shift?”

“Just finishing up, why?”

“Oh thank God. Splendid is in trouble, we need you here now. This is happening. Tell the aunts.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“I’m on it.”

Furiosa hung up and looked at the scared girls huddled together in the corner.

“Change of plan,” she said, “We’re leaving tonight. Giddy, I need your riot gear. Masks, shields, suits, everything. We need four.” Giddy nodded and left. “I’ll talk to Joe, try to get him away from his surveillance wall, but no guarantee that he’ll do it,” Furiosa explained, “When Giddy comes back everybody has to change as fast as possible, because other security guards are watching the screens as well.” The girls nodded, and she radioed Joe.

“Ortan. Start the polygraph with Patton and Jones.”

“Patton and Jones?” Joe asked.

“The guards on the security cameras. Think about it, they see everything. Get them down to the mess hall, test’em.” Splendid signaled to her frantically and Furiosa turned off her radio.

“He’ll kill them, Rator. He can’t kill them, they’re innocent.”

Furiosa snorted.

“Nobody in this hellhole is innocent.”

“You can’t kill them.”

Furiosa sighed, then spoke into the radio again.

“Ortan, don’t hurt them. It’s just a hunch. Polygraph them, then we’ll see.”

Chapter Text

            Furiosa got up early after a restless night and had to remind herself that the previous evening had really happened. She was anxious and excited, not entirely sure that she wasn’t making a horrible mistake. She had spent many years believing that all relationships, especially romantic ones, were dangerous traps. However, as she ate breakfast and brushed her teeth her eyes kept being drawn to the slip of paper with Max’s address on it, and she began to wonder if it wasn’t time for her to take a risk.

            So instead of going to the gym, her ordinary Tuesday routine, Furiosa dug around in her closet and found an old blond wig from several Halloweens ago. She might be taking risks, but she sure as hell wasn’t getting Max hurt because of them.

            She parked down the street from his hotel and stopped in a gas station, where she put on a long-sleeved shirt and the blond wig. She looked in the slab of polished metal that passed for a mirror in the gas station bathroom and sighed. She felt absurd, but she knew that without her prosthesis and her shaved head she was almost unrecognizable to anyone who may be following her.

She knocked on the hotel room door nervously and bounced on the balls of her feet. Max opened it, his eyes widening at her wig. Furiosa blushed.

            “I, uh, wanted to be careful.” He smiled and gestured her into the room.

            The hotel room was small and dark and made a Motel 6 look like the Ritz. Furiosa slid the wig off her head, making Max give a disappointed pout. She raised an eyebrow at this response, and he shrugged and grinned. They both stood a little awkwardly. The tension buzzed off the walls. Max started to sit on the bed, then changed his mind and scooted onto the table. Furiosa smiled and sidled up into him, hands on his chest. His hands slid down over her ass, making her breath hitch. He chuckled and she responded by kissing him hard on the mouth, moving up against him until he rumbled a groan.

            Max was noisy, moaning and grunting and growling deep when she bit his lip. She laughed into his mouth.

            “I never thought you could be so loud,” she murmured.

            “Sorry.”

She ground up against him, making him whimper.

            “I like it.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Oh yeah.”

            She felt herself growing warm and wet in her panties. He kissed her again, running his warm hands over her shoulders and then down to her breasts, holding them carefully at first, testing the new territory, then pressing them, kneading them in his hands.

            Furiosa hurriedly worked to remove her prosthesis, a task that was usually second nature but now suddenly seemed clumsy and complicated. She threw it onto the bed and then turned to look at Max. His hair was up on one side and his eyes were glazed and sleepy. He had a big dumb smile on his too-pretty mouth and Furiosa giggled giddily before pushing him further back on the table and then climbing on top of him. He hummed appreciatively and grabbed her hips, kissing and biting his way down her neck, his stubble stinging Furiosa’s chest and making her writhe under the harsh feeling. Max put his hands on the hem of her shirt and looked up at her, waiting for her permission. She was nervous, thinking too fast, but then she nodded. He pulled it off and looked at her with a sigh of contentment. He ran his big hands over the front of her bra in wonder, as if he was touching some ancient artifact. The straps of her bra fell down and he paused, then carefully slid them back up onto her shoulders. Furiosa looked him in the eyes and pulled them down again. Max tugged the bra down around her waist and put one pale nipple in his mouth, then the other.

            Furiosa stared down at him, suddenly detached from all sensation. It was a coping mechanism she had picked up in the army. Whenever Bento would come at her she would escape from her body and float up around the ceiling until he was done, watching all the goings-on from above, unharmed. She realized with a curse that now she couldn’t turn it off.

            Max looked up at her.

            “Hey,” he murmured, “You okay?”

            “Yeah, I’m fine.” He scooted to the edge of the table, holding onto her.

            “Let’s take a breather. This is going kind of fast.”

            Furiosa smiled, relieved.

            “We can do that?”

            “Here, get up.” He patted her ass and she stood. “Lemme get you some water.” He handed her a glass of water and they sat down on the edge of the bed. Furiosa drank and then flopped back, sighing happily. Max lay down next to her and rolled over so that they were facing each other. Furiosa ran a slow finger from his forehead to his chin. He bent his head to kiss it. They lay there staring for a moment. Then Max reached up over his head to where the wig was lying and turned it over in his hands. Furiosa grabbed it and put it on herself so that it slipped over to one side.

            “You like it?” Furiosa asked, grinning. Max grunted an affirmative. She put it on his head and burst out laughing. He looked like a very stubbly Marilyn Monroe.

            “I’ve always had a thing for blonds,” she said between peals of giggles. Max chuckled along with his stuck-engine laugh. Then he rolled over on top of her and kissed her laughing mouth, colliding teeth and making them laugh even more, and they laughed and kissed and rolled around until the wig was long forgotten on the floor at the end of the bed.

            Then his hand slid down her thigh and Furiosa stopped laughing, though her eyes were still bright. She grew very still, breathing thickly as his finger followed the seam of her pants down the inside of her leg. She was sure that he could feel her wetness through her jeans, and she wanted him to, she wanted him to know how much she wanted him, and he pressed down on the denim nub at the center of her jeans and she cried out and writhed against him and he pressed harder and she pressed back, harder and faster, neither letting up on pressure, until she swore and tore at the blankets around her and then went limp.

            They both breathed out heavy. Then Max grabbed her hand and moved it down to his own pants. She felt his cock pulsing underneath the denim, hot and big and real. She could feel the earth turning beneath her. She ran her fingers over the warm bulge and felt something inside her mind slide into place.

            “You see?” he whispered, “You see what you do to me?” Furiosa couldn’t do anything but nod.

            Then her phone rang and they both jumped.

            “It’s my alarm,” she explained, “I have to get to work.”

Max looked so forlorn Furiosa laughed and kissed him sloppily on the cheek. She put her shirt and arm and wig (much the worse for wear) back on, then went into the bathroom to cover up any marks with concealer she had brought in her purse. Then she gave Max one last lingering kiss, then another, then she slapped his ass and walked back to the gas station to change.

Splendid’s eyes were drifting shut and her breath was getting shallow. The blood was soaking through Furiosa’s jacket, and she sighed.

“The ambulance won’t be here in time,” she said, “I’m going to run to the medical ward and get some supplies. Keep pressure on the wound, I’ll be right back.”

She didn’t wait for a response and ran out of the room, feeling the energy pulsing through her neck. The medical ward was four flights up and all the elevators were closed in the lockdown.

Every hallway had two automatic cage doors on each side that normally opened with a slow melancholy clang when triggered by a guard’s ID card. Furiosa slid her card, but nothing happened. She slid it again.

“Ortan, turn my card on, I need to get to the medical ward!” she shouted into the radio.

“Not until you’ve been polygraphed.”

“Great, and while I’m being tested for something you know I didn’t do, your son is fucking dying on the cold cement floor of the SHU!”

“My… son?”

“Yes, your son, she’s in labor right now, let me get to the hospital before it dies.”

“Go.”

This time her ID beeped cheerily and the gate began to slide slowly open. She bounced on the balls of her feet as the gates crawled their way up, ducking under before they could open all the way.

“Come on, come on…” She pounded down each deserted hallway, waiting with mounting trepidation as each gate squealed open. Finally she arrived in the medical ward, quiet and white and spotlessly clean, strangely placid in the midst of the chaos everywhere else.

Furiosa ran to a set of drawers and tried to open it, but they were locked. She cursed and punched the drawers with her prosthesis. There was a clang, and Furiosa stared as the cheap tin material buckled under the metal of her FBI-enabled arm. The drawers contained basic supplies, after all, not drugs or scalpels, nothing that could be truly dangerous in the hands of an inmate. She punched it again, over and over, until the drawers bent enough for her to pry them open with her prosthetic arm. She grabbed an armful of needles, gauze, gloves, and saline solution, and threw them all into a pillowcase to carry.

She spun to leave, and came nose to nose with a sniper rifle. On it’s trigger were the twitching fingers of Max Rockatansky.

“Inmate Rockatansky, put the rifle down.” Furiosa said, trying for her most authoritative voice. Max didn’t move. She looked him over, saw the IV dangling out of his arm, saw the way he swayed on his feet. She guessed he had slid under one of the beds when the lockdown started. She silently cursed whoever had been on duty in this ward to allow for such a sloppy oversight.

“I know what you’re doing,” he rumbled, “I know what you are.” Furiosa briefly considered lying, then changed her mind.

“And what, you think you tell Ortan and you become the big guy?” she whispered, “You think he’ll reward you?” Max’s eyes darted between her own. “Do you really owe him your loyalty? Your love?”

Before Max could react she thrust a hand up, catching the gun by the barrel and pointing it up to the ceiling. His finger compressed on the trigger, there was a click and then nothing, the gun wasn’t loaded. She sent a knee flying up between Max’s legs but he darted out of the way in time, tackling her to the floor.

“I know you’re a good man, Rockatansky!” She shouted, rolling on top of him, metal hand at his throat, “You’re only here because you loved your family!” He punched her hard in the stomach, making her collapse on top of him, out of breath. He twisted her arms behind her back and slid out from under her, pinning her on the ground. She thrust her ass into his stomach, knocking the air out of him and loosening his grip. “Your son died!” she yelled, spinning an elbow into his nose, “But there’s a baby being born downstairs that still has a chance, and you can help me save it!”

Max froze, blood dripping out of his nose and down his chin.

“A baby?” he asked. She nodded. “Downstairs? Now?”

Furiosa felt like weeping in frustration.

“Yes. Just let me go help that baby.”

Max shook his head as if to clear it, then licked the blood off his lower lip.

“Let me come with you. To help.”

Furiosa had no time to bargain, so she nodded and they ran down to the Solitary Unit together.

Chapter Text

            Half of Furiosa’s mind wanted to keep her and Max a secret forever. They were both very private people, and it was nobody else’s business. The other half of Furiosa’s mind wanted to put “MAX+FURIOSA” on the Goodyear blimp and fly it for all the world to see.

Before leaving the car Furiosa double-checked her face and neck for any signs of stubble burn or hickies, then realized her shirt was on backwards and hurriedly righted it. She reapplied her deodorant to mask any smell of Max and put on chapstick. Outside the store she realized that she was swaggering and tried to walk in her usual way.

            “You need some of my Easylax? You’re walking like you have a truck up your ass.” Tina called. Furiosa flipped her the bird cheerily as she walked to back room. Capable was waiting for her there.

            “How’s Max?” Capable asked. Furiosa put on a mask of innocence.

            “I dunno, I haven’t heard from him since he left my place.”

            “Geez, how were you in the FBI so long? You’re a terrible liar.”

            “I don’t know what you’re-” Furiosa sighed in defeat. “Ok, how’d you know.”

            “You have your special Max smile.” Furiosa immediately tried to twist her face into a frown but it didn’t work, leaving her in a strange half-grimace. Capable laughed. “You can’t hear his name without making that smile. You can’t even think of him without making that smile.”

            “Maybe I’m just smiling because it’s a beautiful day.”

            “Yeah see, ordinary Furiosa doesn’t do that.”

            “You can’t tell anybody,” Furiosa said, waggling a finger, “Not just cause he’s in hiding, but people make shit complicated.” Capable agreed and they got back to work.

Fifteen minutes later Dag came in and bought a picture book called I See Without My Eyes.

“Things getting serious with you and that blind guy?” Furiosa asked as she rang Dag up.

“Oh yeah,” Dag said, blushing, “He’s coming by to officially meet Maggie on Friday, so I figured it would be good to teach her more about blindness.” She grinned conspiratorially. “Maybe soon we could have a double date.”

Furiosa glared at Capable, who held her hands up defensively.

            “I didn’t say anything I swear!”

            “She didn’t,” Dag said, “Just consider it my sexy radar.” She winked and floated out of the store.

            During her lunch break Furiosa went to the café to get a bagel. Toast looked her up and down.

            “Bout damn time,” she said, smirking. Furiosa rolled her eyes and sat down across from Cheedo, who was on the computer. Cheedo looked at her nervously.

            “Furiosa? I might have something important to tell you.”

            “Sure, what’s up?”

            “I’m… looking at Joe’s old files.” Toast spat in the sink at the mention of his name, but Cheedo was too busy gauging Furiosa’s response to partake in the ritual.

“How’d you get those?”

Cheedo turned red and looked at the ceiling.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Cheedo, what did you do?” The girl took a deep breath and blurted,

“I hired one of the inmates to get into Joe’s safe after he died.”

“What!?”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“Yeah, you should have. When was this?”

“Right after the breakout. Giddy didn’t know how to open it and didn’t really want to, so it was just sitting up there.”

“Cheedo, you could have been sent back to prison, what were you thinking?” Cheedo looked as if she might cry.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. I didn’t want to go back. Joe built his empire on blackmail, we all know that, and I figured he had to have some sort of record of everybody’s secrets. I knew we could get sent back to prison at any time, I mean we did break the law when we broke out and it would be so easy to get us put back in there, and even if Giddy is better than Joe I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.” She was rambling, her chin quivering under the weight of the words. “I thought that maybe if a friend of Joe’s or somebody was trying to get us back in there, maybe if we knew something about them we could protect ourselves. I know that’s blackmail, but I was so scared.”

“That was a stupid thing to do, Cheedo.” Furiosa sighed and shook her head. “But you know that already. You already have the information, it’s not like we can give it back.”

Cheedo looked at her hopefully, and Furiosa’s curiosity got the better of her.

“So why are you looking at it now?” Furiosa asked.

“I was wondering if there was anything about Patrick Poleder on there. You know, the lawyer that I thought might be following Max.”

“And?”

“And I think he’s our guy.” Furiosa came around to look over Cheedo’s shoulder. “He and Joe went to law school together, Joe got a lot of dirt on him. See? He’s a justice freak, to the point of taking it into his own hands. He once beat a witness into a coma for refusing to testify in court. Threatened several jurors.” She shook her head in admonishment. “Guy needs to chill.”

“Where is he now?”

“Making a stink about Kalashnikov, but otherwise laying low. After losing that case he pretty much shut down his firm.”

“Could we get him for any of the stuff in that file?”

“Nah, he’s too good at his job. He can slip through the justice system like a bar of soap. We have to wait it out. We could try using Max as bait to catch him in the act, but that would be risky.”

“Too risky. Send this stuff to Ace, he might be able to figure something out. A way to trap the guy. But make sure he doesn’t tell Max. If Max heard about this he’d go do something stupid.”

Cheedo grinned.

“From what I can tell you’ve both been doing something pretty stupid.”

Furiosa groaned.

“What the hell, are you guys psychic?”

Furiosa and Max screeched into the cell and found Splendid crying and clutching her belly. Giddy was kneeling beside her, holding her hand, the four riot suits forgotten against the wall.

“You are not a thing,” Giddy was chanting, “You are not a thing.”

“I am not a thing,” Splendid repeated.

“Giddy, what’s happening, I thought the miscarriage was just a ruse!” Furiosa yelled.

“The shock to her system sent her into labor,” Giddy said, “We need to get her out of here!”

Furiosa tossed Giddy the pillowcase of supplies and the warden began quickly cleaning the wound. Furiosa’s phone rang. It was Valkyrie.

“Val, please tell me you’re here.”

“Yes and no. I can’t get closer than the outer gate. You’ll have to bring them out here.” Furiosa swore. The outer gate was half a mile from the SHU.

“Ok, stay there, we’ll be there.”

She radioed Joe.

“Ortan, where are you?”

“Just leaving the mess hall. Patton and Jones were clean,” he growled, “I’d like to know where you got your tip.”

“I’m bringing Splendid to the ambulance now, then I’ll help you test the others.”

She gestured for the others to put on the riot gear and the four girls began to scramble into the stiff black suits and slide the helmets on over their hair. Giddy didn’t move from her position next to Splendid but nodded to a garbage bag under the pile of gear.

“The suits were in the armory, I grabbed some guns too.”

Furiosa nodded in thanks.

“Which of you girls can shoot?” she asked the other women. Tessa raised her hand.

“I used to know,” Daria said, “But I’m on meds. I wouldn’t be a very good shot.”

“Take one anyways.” She looked at her watch. “Ok, Joe is getting suspicious, I say he’s going to come down here pretty soon. We need to be in the ambulance in five.”

“She can’t make it in that time,” Giddy said, tying a sloppy suture, “She can barely walk and I’m not strong enough to carry her and run, I doubt any of the girls are either. And you should have your hands free.” She began unbuttoning her uniform and pointed to Max, who had been cowering in the corner. “Have him wear my uniform and carry Splendid. It’ll be too small but it will do. I’ll stay here and stall Joe.”

“You can’t, he’ll hurt you!” Furiosa’s protest was drowned out by a scream from Splendid, having another contraction. Water seeped from between the girl’s legs, mixing with the blood on the floor and turning it to a swirl of pink.

Giddy was down to her underwear, her skin hanging off of her like a chicken, stretched and wrinkled tattoos swaying when she moved. She nodded for Max to take her uniform and he quickly shimmied out of his pants and into hers. Giddy wore her clothes loose, but it was a tight fit. He wore the jacket unbuttoned over his undershirt. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than the prison uniform. He and Furiosa both took Splendid by an arm and hauled her up, causing a shout of pain and a red stain to seep through the thick bandage on her thigh. Furiosa tossed Giddy the last gun.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” she said. Giddy saluted. Then Furiosa, Max, and the five girls ran out of the cell and down the narrow hallway to find Valkyrie.

Chapter Text

Furiosa had intended to wait another week before seeing Max, to protect his location, but after just two days, she was jumping out of her skin with desire and restlessness. So on Friday morning, her next day off, she drove back over to his hotel. This time she left the wig behind and instead changed into an old hoodie and sweatpants at the gas station, grateful that the weather was cooling enough for easy disguises.

Max invited her in and put Dog in the bathroom with a box of toys.

He asked about her day, kissing her ears and face and neck as she talked, smirking when her voice rose in pitch or she lost her train of thought. She told him about a new book they got on Rwanda, she told him about Dag’s big Meet-the-Family date, she told him about Cheedo’s haircut. Then she wasn’t telling him anything, just trying to see how much of her body could be touching him at one time.

She reached for the hem of his shirt and he froze, tense for a moment. Furiosa let go.

            “I, uh.” He licked his lips. “Have some tattoos.”

            “Ok.” She wasn’t going to force him, but she couldn’t just let it go. “I do too.” She grinned wickedly. “You wanna see ‘em?”

            Max’s eyebrows skyrocketed and he nodded mutely. She took off her hoodie and pointed to the watercolor phoenix on the back of her neck.

            “Well there’s this one of course. I got it after I left the army.” She looked down for a moment, and when she spoke it was with a carefully natural tone. “My sergeant used to burn me there. It’s a cover-up job.” She took off her tank top and pointed to her left hip, where there was a small outline of a wolf. “You might have seen that one earlier. It’s the sign of my mom’s old motorcycle gang, Swaddle Dog.”

            “I thought they were the Vuvalini?”

            “That’s their last name, so most people call them that. There are a couple of different groups among them.” Max nodded like a student studying for a test. Furiosa smiled and pulled up the leg of her sweats to show a moth on her right calf. “I got this one after my mom died. She had a thing for moths.” She put her hands on her waistband and held eye contact as she dropped them to her ankles. Max swallowed hard. Her upper left thigh was decorated with a pattern of gears and machine parts intertwined with vines.

            Max reached out a tentative finger and brushed the pattern gently, barely touching it. Furiosa felt herself prickling for more contact, but she backed away a step. She met his gaze with a challenge in her eye and nodded at his shirt. Max sighed, then took it off, slowly, looking down at his lap.

            Furiosa knelt down in front of him.

            The name Jessie was emblazoned over his right hip in curling letters. On his chest was a clock with no hands, done with a clearly homemade gun, one that Furiosa had seen frequently at Citadel Pen. She traced it with a finger.

            “The work of Billy Octane?” she asked. Max nodded.

            His left upper-arm had a police badge and the words “Brothers in Blue”. On his right shoulder was a hand with the index, pinky, and thumb extended in the ASL sign for “love”.

            “That’s for my boy,” he explained, hoarsely, “My Sprog. He was deaf too.”

            She crawled around to see his back and he stiffened, trembling slightly. His back was badly scarred as if he had fought when getting tattooed, or tried to scratch them off after he got them. The largest one was the label “BASTARD COP” in big black letters with a picture of a pig underneath.

            Under that was the newest and darkest tattoo, the words, “Universal Blood Donor, saved the lives of Nose, Alvarez, Mirtz, Holloway, Officer Nux, and Garrett’s woman Tracey.”

            Beneath that was a rectangle, nearly entirely unreadable it was so scarred and scraped, but Furiosa could barely make out a playing card, the ace of hearts.

Furiosa’s breath hitched. The heart card usually meant a prison bitch. She felt Max shaking under her hand.

“You were—” He nodded. “Whose?”

“Nicholas Orga.” Furiosa nodded slowly. She knew Nick Orga, knew his power, the protection he offered in exchange for sex. Citadel Pen wasn’t Shawshank, most guys kept their dicks to themselves and fulfilled their sex drives with dirty magazines. The main currency was drugs, but if you had no drugs you went to Orga for protection.

            “You can leave,” Max said, quietly, “I’d understand.”

            Furiosa bent down and gently kissed the scarred mark that was once a playing card. Max jerked in surprise. She moved up and kissed each name on the list of people he’d saved. She kissed the pig, and the BASTARD COP. She moved around to his front, where she kissed his badge, and the sign for love, and the handless clock. He was breathing heavily as she dragged her lips down his chest and his stomach to plant a sound wet kiss on Jessie’s name. She sat cross-legged between his knees and stared up at him with dark eyes. Then she reached for the waistband of his boxer-briefs and, with his help, pulled them slowly down.

            Furiosa took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and sank her mouth down over his cock. Max cursed. It was warm and salty and soft and wet, and Furiosa smiled around her mouthful. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been dreading giving blowjobs, but as she bobbed her head she found herself moaning with pleasure. Her hand was wet with spit and pre-come, and she stroked his base in a slow corkscrew. This made him groan and buck and she slid her mouth off to grin at him wickedly, a line of saliva dangling from her bottom lip.

            “Fuck, Furiosaaa…” She plunged back onto him swallowed hard, taking him as far as she could before gagging. She bounced there, swirling her tongue around him, licking up and down. His knuckles were turning white and Furiosa picked up the pace. When her jaw got tired she tongued his length into her cheek like a kid with a lollipop, and let it rub up against the outside of her teeth. His moans got louder, a barely coherent scramble of her name and curses and encouragement.

            “Wait—Furiosa, wait, stop.” She pulled off of him with a wet slurp that made his cock twitch. He was hoarse and out of breath. “Stop, I’m gonna come.”

She leaned her cheek on his thigh.

            “And?”

            “And if you don’t stop I’m going to cum in your mouth.”

“And?”

Max stared at her, confused. Furiosa bit his thigh, making his breath hitch, then kissed the spot to soothe it.

“Max,” she murmured, “I want you to coat every inch of me, inside and out.” Max let out a low filthy moan and Furiosa filled her mouth up with him again, humming and bobbing her head until he let out a yell and she felt her throat fill up with warm salty cum, thick and slippery and sliding down her throat. She swallowed, then lifted her head, white strands dripping down her chin. Max jerked again, then again from aftershocks, and Furiosa stroked the last remnants out of him.

Max exhaled long and slow. He rolled over and pulled Furiosa up with him so they were both lying fully on the bed, their heads on the hard Styrofoam pillows. Furiosa wrapped both her legs around his right one and put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. He rubbed a gentle pattern on her back with his thumb. She listened to his steady breathing and tried to match it, her eyes fluttering half closed.

“I could fall asleep like this,” Max rumbled. Furiosa smiled.

“Hmmm it’s perfect. Right here.”

The Segregated Housing Unit was located behind the rest of the prison, so to get to Valkyrie at the first gate, the strange parade of escapees had to run through the rec field and past the library and visitation rooms, each one with slow moving gates. Max held Splendid like a bride over the threshold as they ran. She cried out, her body wracked with another contraction.

“Breath Splendid, breath through it,” he said, panting, “You can do this.”

“It’s too soon!” she yelled, “He wasn’t supposed to come for another five weeks!”

Furiosa’s key card chirped and they were out of the SHU, pounding across the rec field. A spotlight landed on them and a voice over a loudspeaker called for them to stop.

“This is Rator to the watch tower, hold your fire!” Furiosa said into her microphone.

“Sorry Rator, didn’t see you,” the loudspeaker said, “Carry on.”

Daria whistled under her riot mask.

“You must really be high ranking. Did we pick the right guard or what.”

Splendid’s voice was now just one long wail and her face was glistening with tears and sweat. They had reached the main building, and paused for the gate to roll open sonorously. Max was panting, his leg nearly giving out. Furiosa looked at the IV still dangling from his arm.

“Max, are you sick?” He shook his head, barely able to speak for wheezing.

“No. I was. Giving blood. Mm. Universal donor.”

“Give the girl to me, I can go faster.” She hesitated briefly, then handed her key card to Max. “You open the gates.” Max nodded and they clumsily moved Splendid into Furiosa’s arms.

As they ran through the dark hallways, Splendid’s yells quieted and she began to talk, babbling softly. Furiosa shushed her at first but Tessa shook her head.

“Let her talk,” Tessa said, “It’s how she processes pain. She distances herself from it.”

“I am an Angharad,” Splendid muttered, “That was the name of my mother and my grandmother and her grandmother, since before they left Wales.” They reached another gate. Max ran the card and the door slid open, too slowly.

“My stepmother changed my name to Splendid, but she could not change the Angharad in my blood.” That same blood was now trickling down her leg, staining Furiosa’s uniform. They ducked under the gate and continued to run. Splendid’s eyes drifted shut.

“No, Splendid, keep talking, stay with me,” Furiosa said.

“Call me Angharad,” the girl murmured, “Angharad is my name.”

“Ok Angharad. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re going to do when you get out of here.” They were past the library now.

“I’m going to start a bookstore, a bookstore for myself.” They were at the gate by the visitor’s center. “Angharad’s books, that’s what my mother—” Her voice raised up into a contraction, her hands tightening around Furiosa’s neck. She screamed, tensing, her stitches tearing on her thigh. “That’s what my mother always wanted.”

“You’re doing great Angharad, we’re almost there.”

“No you’re not.” Everybody stopped at sound of the voice. A pale figure walked slowly out of the dark, gun drawn. Furiosa looked down at the weapon, recognizing it as one from Joe’s personal vault.

“Yes,” the man said, following Furiosa’s gaze, “Ortan gave me one of his guns after polygraphing me. Said to look out for any funny business.”

Max and Tessa raised their own guns.

“No killing,” Angharad murmured, “No more killing, please.” Then, before anybody knew what was happening, Clarissa had removed her goggles and ran forward, between the standoff.

“Nux?” she said, stunned, “Nux Lancer?”

Chapter Text

“Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Dunno. Something from your childhood.”

“You first.”

Max thought a moment.

“My dad was a mechanic in town, but he was often called out to fix farm equipment. I’d go with’im. Sometimes I’d play with other farm kids, usually I just liked the animals. Specially cows.”

“Cows?”

He grunted in affirmation and pointed at the scar that cut through his right eyebrow.

“Got this one from a cow. She had a hell of a hind kick. But those big beautiful eyes, man. Worth it.”

Furiosa grinned.

“Is that where you got your love for dangerous females?” Max hummed and bit her earlobe.

“Your turn.”

“Well… Val is my only biological sister, but we grew up with a whole tribe of kids. We all lived on an old ranch by the ocean. No horses by the time we got it, but lots of space for lots of people. We kids got in all kinds of trouble.”

“Bet you were cute.”

“I was all scraped knees and elbows. Had long hair though.” Max raised his eyebrows. “Yup. All the way down past my ass. Had it till I was nine.”

“Then what happened?”

“We liked to play detectives, and were trying out how to make the best fake cigarettes. Cause of course you can’t be a detective without a cigarette. We usually used those Pirouline cookies, but I always ate them too fast, and Val wanted realistic smoke. So I rolled up toilet paper into a cigar shape and lit it.” Max was grinning already. “It went up so fast. Set my hair on fire. I amazed we didn’t take down the whole house.” She could feel Max’s laughter rumbling under her hand and she wiggled closer, tightening her legs around his. His laugh turned into a deep hum, almost a groan.

He reached out a finger and gently traced the waistband of Furiosa’s panties. She looked up at him, biting her lip, and he moved his finger lower, tracing her warm wet slit over the thin fabric until she whimpered and tried to buck against him. He smiled and kissed her, lip sliding against lip, and Furiosa instinctively spread her legs. He pressed down harder and she jerked, her head snapping back with a moan.

“Max,” she groaned, “I want your mouth.” Max bit her neck and grinned.

“Like this?” he teased.

“Nooo-o-o.” He rolled over on top of her and ground his naked cock down over her panties, running his teeth down her neck and onto her left nipple. He nibbled at it while pinching the right one, almost too hard, until Furiosa was writhing under him, cursing and encouraging him in the same breath.

After an agonizingly long time spent on her breasts Max scooted down between Furiosa’s legs and focused on her thighs, sucking and biting everywhere except where she wanted.

“Max,” she whined, “Max just—oh fuck— do it already.” Max shot her a wicked look from between her legs and pulled her panties down around her ankles. Then he lifted her legs so that her knees were around his shoulders and, with one last wet bite to her thigh, spread her wide with his fingers and buried his face in her soaking pussy.

Furiosa was so stunned by the image of Max’s face between her legs she didn’t feel anything at all. Max. Between her legs. It was so bizarre that for a moment she just froze and stared at him. She felt herself floating back up around the ceiling again, the way she used to with Bento, and she thought that if she did she might cry with disappointment. Max saw that something was wrong and he stopped.

“You ok?” he asked. Furiosa nodded, sniffing back unshed tears. Max scooted up next to her. “That was a lot. Let’s try this.” He gently turned her face so she was looking into his eyes. “Keep your eyes on me,” he said, then stuck two fingers in his mouth to wet them. He then moved them down between her folds, keeping his grey eyes on her green ones. His hands were hard and callused, but he moved his finger gently, using his saliva and the slick juices that had leaked down her thighs as lubricant. He drew a long wet line down her cunt, from her clit to her entrance, one end to the other. Furiosa tensed at the foreign feeling, but one look at Max’s eyes, just inches from her own, and she felt her soul sliding back into her own body with a sigh of relief.

He gently teased the inside edges of her lips, then moved straight to her clit, drawing light circles around it until Furiosa’s eyes snapped shut with an obscene groan. Then he went for the gold, pressing down hard on her clit, rubbing it fast and dirty until her pussy made wet noises and Furiosa came with a shout, tensing around his hand and thrusting up, her one hand instinctively grabbing his and holding it down on her. He continued to move after she thought she was done, causing more shocks of pleasure to wrack through her body until she collapsed, spent, next to him.

She was silent and overwhelmed, her eyes shut, mouth open and panting. She held up a hand to signal “give me a minute” and just lay splayed out on the bed, unable and unwilling to move.

After a moment she rolled over, smiling and soft.

“Well now,” she said, “That was something else.”

Nux spun in the direction of her voice, his deep-set eyes wide.

“Capable?” he asked, his voice cracking. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. Clarissa stepped forward.

“Nux, do you remember me?”

Nux laughed a little.

“Remember you! How can you even ask that? We spent every summer together for how many years?” Furiosa’s eyes darted between the two most unlikely of friends, astounded. Clarissa smiled.

“It’s been a while.”

“I came back home and heard you were gone but nobody would tell me anything about it! Capo, what are you doing here?”

“Breaking out.”

“No, I mean at Citadel Pen.”

Clarissa opened her mouth to speak but Furiosa cut in.

“No time, Clarissa, we have to go!” Clarissa grabbed Nux’s hand.

“Nux, you have to trust me the way you did when we were kids, ok? Trust that I’m doing the right thing and come with us.”

Nux hesitated.

“Clarissa NOW!” Furiosa shouted. Angharad writhed in Furiosa’s arms.

“I would never hurt you Nux, come with us!”

Nux took one last look behind him and grabbed Clarissa’s hand. They started to run right as the gate began to close. Furiosa and Angharad went through first, then Chelsea, then Daria, it was halfway closed, Clarissa had to bend to get through, then Nux, Tessa rolled under, and finally Max dove beneath the metal door, which clanged shut right behind his toes. He stood up, panting.

“Close one, fool.”

He nodded.

They were outside the main prison entrance and Furiosa could see the ambulance at the bottom of the hill and she pounded towards it, Angharad babbling in her arms. She saw two shadows separate from the ambulance and start running towards them, carrying a stretcher.

Warden Ortan’s voice crackled out of Furiosa’s radio.

“Rator, where are you?” Furiosa ignored it. “Where are my women, Rator?” She heard Giddy’s voice in the background yelling, “They are not yours! They are not things!” Then there was a yelp and Giddy’s voice went silent. “Bring me back my property!” Joe roared, and Furiosa tore the radio from her belt and left it behind as she ran. They met the stretcher near the bottom of the hill, and Furiosa nearly cried in relief when she saw Doctor Seeds and her Aunt Gillian pushing it. They helped Angharad on, then pushed it the rest of the way.

Valkyrie had already started the ambulance by the time they reached it. Gillian and Seeds hefted the bed into the back and reached out hands for the others to jump onboard. The ambulance was gaining speed, and Furiosa made sure that all the other girls got on before running and jumping on last. Then they were gone.

Chapter Text

They bundled up in their disguises and took Dog out for a walk along the shoreline. It was grey and windy, so the beach was mostly deserted. Max and Furiosa found a dry little cave out of the wind. They sat in the sand and watched Dog snap at the waves in ebullient joy. Max took off his shoes and buried his feet in the sand.

“You never did tell me what I did at Toast’s birthday party,” Max said.

“You didn’t do anything. Well, you told some naughty jokes.”

“Oh no, not the one about the Australian kiss?”

Furiosa raised an eyebrow.

“Actually no. But now I’m intrigued.”

“Ok.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Have you ever heard of an Australian kiss?” Furiosa grinned and hugged her knees.

“No, what is an Australian kiss?”

“It’s like a French kiss…” He turned red and his voice lowered to nearly a whisper. “But down under.” Furiosa laughed and rocked onto her back, knees still in the air like a beetle. “So which one did I tell?” he pressed.

“You told several. My favorite was the one about the man and woman who went to the forest at night to have sex, and he says ‘I wish I had a flashlight’ and she says—”

“Oh no. Not that one.”

“She says, ‘me too, you’ve been eating grass this whole time’.” Now Furiosa was really laughing, and Max was laughing too. They clung to each other, giggling, until they were lying face-to-face in the sand.

“I must have made quite the impression on your family.”

“You danced, too.”

“No.”

“Mmm hmmm.” She reached down and grabbed his ass. “Man did I want you. You were just shuffling around to the music, waving your arms around, but God it got me wet.”

Max hummed and kissed under her ear.

“It was wonderful,” she went on, “There you were at your most uninhibited, truest self, and you were just kind and gentle. You bought us all drinks and told everybody how much you appreciated them.”

“And told naughty jokes.”

“That only wins you points in my family’s book.” She paused a moment, looking up at the rolling grey clouds. “You kissed me.”

Max’s eyes widened in surprise and he got up on an elbow, his face lined with concern.

“I did?”

“Yeah. On the cheek.”

“I’m sorry.”

Furiosa shrugged.

“It was gentle. It was…” She searched the sky for a word. “It was beautiful, really.”

“What did you do?”

“I cried,” Furiosa said, bluntly. Max inhaled sharp, ashamed and apologetic. “It wasn’t a bad thing,” she explained, “Just overwhelming. It was something I’d wanted for so long, something I thought I’d never have and didn’t think I’d ever have again. It didn’t get rid of all my issues, they were still there. But you were there, too.” She laced her fingers through his. “It wasn’t magical, it was real.” Max relaxed down beside her again.

“Wish I could remember it,” he said.

“Nah, it was just a kiss.”

Max brought her hand up between them and kissed it.

“So, you… ah… wanted this for a long time?” he asked, a shy look on his face. She nodded. Max traced the side of her face with careful fingers.

“Furiosa,” he whispered, “Since the day I first saw you, I…” He trailed off, his eyes darting around in search for the right words.

“I know,” she said, barely audible, “I know.”

It was cramped in the ambulance, but Furiosa felt as if she could breath for the first time in over a year. She turned to Seeds and hugged her tight.

“Seeds, what are you doing here?”

“You think I’d really miss this? Come on. I don’t have much time left for adventures, I’m going to take every one I’m offered.”

“I’m amazed Val got you guys together on such short notice.”

“It’s better than that, even. Your other aunts are waiting in their trucks at a rest area a few miles away. Just in case we’re followed.” Sirens began to sound from the prison. “See, speak of the devil, we’re being followed. Step on it, Val!”

Furiosa squeezed up to the front and slid into the passenger seat next to her sister.

“You really outdid yourself this time, Val. Thanks.”

“Hey, I thought it was just gonna be a few scared supermodels. You know the capacity in this thing is supposed to be five tops, right?”

“I know, I’m sorry. It just sort of… happened.”

“The more the merrier.” Behind them Angharad’s voice rose in another contraction. “So what’s the plan?”

“The Green Home.”

The Green Home for Battered Women had been the dream project of the Vuvalini family. The eight sisters had bought out the old ranch together and turned it into a refuge for abused women and their children.

Valkyrie shook her head.

“The Green Home isn’t around anymore,” she said.

It took a moment for Furiosa to process the words.

“What?”

“Yeah. This creepy old developer named Crowe bought the land out from under them and the whole thing went to shit.” Furiosa felt like she’d gotten punched in the stomach.

“No.”

“Yep. It was awful.”

She put her head in her hands. The mangled fingers of the prosthesis pressed into her forehead.

“The house, the land? All gone?”

“The land’s still there, but there’s a shopping center on top of it now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“It all happened so fast. He came by in June and by August it was all gone.”

“What are we supposed to do now, Val? I have six escaped inmates, a rogue guard, soon a fucking baby. What am I supposed to do?”

“Keep moving. That’s all you can do.”

Chapter Text

That evening Furiosa and Cheedo planned to stake out Patrick Poleder to see what he was up to, but when Cheedo’s old van pulled up outside Furiosa’s apartment at five thirty she found all of the girls in the back.

“I’m sorry, Furiosa, they all wanted to come,” Cheedo said.

“But we brought pizza!” Toast crowed, holding up a greasy pizza box. Furiosa sighed and climbed into the van.

“There’s been another murder since we last checked,” Cheedo said grimly, “And from what I can tell they’ve all occurred on Mondays and Fridays. I hacked his computer calendar, and he has a meeting until six, so we’re going to go to his office and follow his from there. Toast, do you have the camcorder?”

“Check!” Toast held it up in affirmation.

They drove the van an hour to Gastown, and waited outside the luxurious office of Poleder Law. It was the old white van that Dag used for floral deliveries, with four seats and a wide back for storing flowers. Toast sat on the floor and handed pizza around.

“Where’s Maggie?” Furiosa asked Dag.

“She’s spending the evening with the moms, getting spoiled rotten.”

“Look, there he is!” Cheedo said, and sure enough they saw a large man in a well-fitted suit exit the building and get into a glistening black Bugatti. Toast whistled.

“If he’s trying to stay low-key he should not be in that car. That thing costs more than my entire neighborhood.”

Cheedo stayed two cars behind as they followed him onto the freeway and up into the hills where the wealthy people lived. There it got more difficult, as they were driving down narrow residential streets, empty and winding. Furiosa looked down at the GPS.

“His house is near here, maybe he’s going home. We could skip a few streets and get there another way while still maintaining an eye.” Cheedo nodded and they turned right when the Bugatti continued straight. They still caught glimpses of the car from one street over, but were not as obviously following him. They parked a few doors down from his mansion and watched as he pulled into the enormous garage.

“I can’t tell if that’s an airplane hanger or a garage,” Dag said in awe, “Do you think if I sold my organs I could afford a place like that?”

“If you sold your organs you might be able to afford the garage,” Toast replied.

“Still bigger than my place now.”

The sat back and watched the front door in silence for a few minutes.

“Hey Toast, you bring anything to wash this pizza down?” Cheedo asked.

“I did!” Capable said, and passed up a bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade.

“You guys know we’re staking out a potential serial killer, not going to a picnic,” Furiosa said.

“Why not both?” Dag said. Then on seeing Furiosa’s expression she added, “Look, we know that this is serious stuff. If we’re right about this guy he’s a first class sicko, the kind who could give the Unmentionable a real run for his money. But that’s the thing. Creeps like this shouldn’t scare us anymore. We want to bring them down, but that doesn’t have to bring us down. We have to bring this asshole down, but we have to be ourselves while we do it, or else he wins a part of us.”

Furiosa thought about this, then turned to Capable.

“Hey Capable, pass me one of those lemonades.”

“They’re still behind us!” Chelsea called from her spot by the window. Valkyrie stepped on the gas, causing the speedometer to slide up to 100 and making everybody lurch forward and knock into each other.

“Furiosa!” Gillian called, “We need everybody who can shoot back here. Trade places with the little one.” Furiosa climbed over her seat and squeezed back to Chelsea’s position. Max stood on the other side of the door and they watched the police car lights rise over the hill behind them, not yet in shooting distance.

“The other aunts are waiting about a half hour away,” Seeds said, “Hopefully we can lose those guys by then, get you in the truck without them noticing.”

“Will Splen—sorry, will Agharad be alright without an ambulance?”

“She would be best in a hospital,” Seeds said.

“You put me in a hospital, they’ll send me straight back to Joe,” Agharad murmured, shaking her head vehemently, “I’d rather die.”

“In that case there’s only so much we can do. Joy’s truck already has some medical equipment in it, but we can transfer some more over from here. I patched her leg up, but the artery is weakened and the stress of childbirth might tear it. If that happens there’s only so much we can do.” Angharad tensed again, moaning in pain, and Seeds encouraged her to breath, breath and relax.

“You’re still in the very first stage,” Seeds said, “Contractions are about fifteen minutes apart, and you can still talk through them.”

“Doesn’t feel like the first stage,” Angharad muttered.

“You need to stay hydrated. Hey, you, little one!” Seeds called to the passenger seat.

“My name is Chelsea.”

“Hi Chelsea, I’m Keeper. Pass me that backpack that’s by your feet.” Chelsea handed it back, and Seeds took out a bottle of water and a Nature Valley bar for Angharad.

“Why’d she call you Furiosa?” Clarissa asked from her spot on Nux’s lap.

“That’s her real name,” Angharad said, gasping after another contraction, “Right? You’re from the FBI.”

“Yes, I am. How did you know?”

Angharad shrugged.

“Heard rumors about a mole. It made sense.”

“Fu-rio-sa,” Daria said to herself, “Fu-rio-sa. I like that.”

“Names are important,” Gillian said, “All the ladies who used to come to the Green Home would choose new names. Sometimes they were very strange. There was one lady who named herself Nose. Remember Nose?”

“You’re all going to need new names,” Seeds said, “You’re fugitives now.”

There was a moment of silence as the girls pondered this.

“My old hacker name was Cheetah93,” Chelsea said from the front seat. “You can call me that.”

“We’re not going to call you Cheetah93,” Tessa responded. “That’s ridiculous.”

“What about just Cheet—OOOH!” Angharad’s thought was broken by a cry of pain as her body contracted again, curling in on herself in agony.

“Ride it out girl,” Gillian hummed, rubbing Angharad’s back, “Just breath.”

“Cheedo,” Capable laughed. “You’re our Cheedo.”

Chelsea opened her mouth to retort, but Daria interrupted, announcing,

I want to be called Ugly.” Everybody looked at her. “Ugly is my new name.” She stuck out her chin defiantly.

“Daria…” Capable started, but Daria cut her off.

“No. Beautiful things are taken advantage of and hurt and damaged. I want to be Ugly. That’s my new name.” For a long moment nobody knew what to say or where to look. Then Max broke the silence.

“Dag,” he rasped. She stared.

“What?”

“Dag. Mmmm. Back home it means a dowdy sort of person. Somebody who chooses to be unfashionable.” He scratched his nose uncomfortably. “You can’t choose if you’re ugly. But you can choose to be a dag.” Then he turned and looked out the window as if he had never spoken. At first Furiosa worried that Daria might shoot Max, but then her mouth twitched into a strange sort of smile.

“Dag. I like that.”

Chapter Text

Toast leaned up against Furiosa to get a better view.

“There’s a light on upstairs,” she said, then looked at Furiosa’s hair with a critical eye. “What’s that in your hair? Do you have lice?”

“No I do not have lice.” Toast rubbed Furiosa’s head.

“Oh it’s sand. Why do you have sand in your hair?”

“Max and I walked to the beach today.”

“Last time I checked you don’t get sand in your hair by just walking,” Capable said with a knowing wink.

“It was windy, ok?” Furiosa said.

“So… How far have you guys gotten?” Dag asked.

“Not important.”

“What’s Max’s dick like?” Toast asked.

“Jesus, Toast, I am not going to talk to you about Max’s dick. You don’t even like penises.”

“Consider it intellectual curiosity.”

“You didn’t ask Capable about Nux’s dick.”

“That’s because she offered up more information than we ever want to know,” Dag crowed.

“5.5 inches, circumcised, leaned left,” Capable said, smugly. Everybody groaned.

“Yeah, Furiosa, is it a decent size at least?” Toast asked.

“Not too big though,” Cheedo chimed in, “Sometimes it’s just too big. I was making out with that guy the other day and it was just way too big.”

Capable gasped delightedly.

“Cheedo! You saw his naked penis on the first date?”

Cheedo scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Firstly, it was the third date, and secondly, I didn’t see his naked penis. I could tell from under his pants. I’m amazed it didn’t rip right through them, honestly, it was that big. It was like the leviathan. I thought I’d be impaled.”

“Is that why you broke it off with him?” Furiosa asked, eager to change the subject.

“Oh, not really. Kind of. He wanted to move faster than I was willing to.” The other girls nodded along sympathetically. They had been there.

“Good for you, girl,” Toast said, “Don’t give up your comfort for some guy. You own your body.”

“You are not a thing,” Dag murmured, and the others hummed in agreement. Cheedo smiled and grabbed Dag’s hand. Toast leaned her head against Dag’s leg and rubbed Capable’s knee, remembering Angharad.

Capable leaned forward on her elbows.

“So Furiosa, tell us about Max’s penis.” The girls cheered and Furiosa threw her head back, covering her laughing eyes with her hands.

“He’s on the move,” Cheedo said, pointing at the garage door that was slowly rolling up. “The vulture is flying, I repeat, the vulture is flying.” A car pulled out, a plain black Prius this time, and drove silently down the street. Cheedo started up their old van and took off after him, staying far enough behind to avoid suspicion.

“Were you born with the name Keeper?” Dag asked. Seeds nodded.

“Yes sir. My mom was just fourteen when she got raped, got pregnant. Everybody wanted her to get rid of the baby. But she just said ‘this one’s a keeper’ and that was my name.”

Dag looked down at her own baby bump.

“I wish I could get rid of this one,” she said, “But it’s too far along.”

“You scared it’ll turn out like its daddy?”

“I know I won’t be able to love it. It was made in cruelty and horror, it’s gonna be horrible and cruel.” Seeds nodded sympathetically.

“Let me tell you something,” she said, leaning forward, “My daddy was a serial rapist. Went from school to school, hurting little girls, one of who was my mother. I got those genes. That’s my blood and DNA. And here’s the thing: I have never raped anybody. Never even felt the inclination.” Dag smiled a little and Seeds sat back. “I had three pregnancies. Kept two of them, aborted one. Can’t say what’s right or wrong for you. But maybe that little one’s a keeper.”

Furiosa was so caught up in this exchange she had stopped paying much attention to the view outside the window, and when she looked again she saw that Joe’s three squad cars were gaining speed.

“Val, they’re gaining on us,” Furiosa called, “Soon they’ll be in shooting range.” Valkyrie swore under her breath.

“Those cars are faster than ambulances,” Max said, “And they’re bulletproof. We’re not.” Furiosa felt her heart racing and Angharad’s voice rose in a high keen.

“She’s dilated four centimeters,” Gillian said, “We’re in active labor.”

There was a bang and a bullet from the closest car fell just short of the ambulance. Seeds got behind Angharad and began to massage the girl’s lower back, murmuring instructions and encouragement. Another shot, this one hitting the edge of the metal door with a ping. Valkyrie accelerated and they could smell burning rubber. “GO!” Furiosa yelled, and Val zigzagged in and out of the lanes. Angharad was breathing in and out in loud gasps.

“Furiosa!” Max yelled, “Do you have any nails?” Furiosa stared at him.

“Yeah, I just carry them around! Why the fuck would I have nails?”

“I don’t know. Anything sharp? Maybe we can flatten their tires.” Catching on, Furiosa started looking around.

“I have a knife and some suture needles.”

“They’d roll right over those things.”

Valkyrie swerved again and the everyone who wasn’t belted down fell to one side like sailors in a storm. Cursing, Furiosa started tearing through the ambulance, trying to find something sharp. Max tapped her shoulder and jerked his head to where Clarissa and Nux were sitting.

“Spare tire,” he grunted, “Throw it in the road.” The words clicked into comprehension in Furiosa’s brain and she nodded.

“Clarissa, Nux, get up,” she said. The two hurried up, frightened and confused, stepping on Tessa’s toes as they tried to squeeze into an unoccupied corner. Furiosa opened up the hatch where they were sitting and pulled out the huge black tire.

Max opened up the back doors of the ambulance, causing Furiosa to nearly topple out. Angharad wailed through a contraction. A bottle of saline solution rolled out the back, smashed, then was gone. Furiosa looked down at the blurred cement below her and realized just how fast they were going. Max grabbed her around the waist and before she had time to reconsider she threw the tire as hard as she could into the road. Then they slammed the doors shut and Valkyrie to floored it.

When Joe’s drivers saw what she was doing they tried to slow down, but it wasn’t fast enough. One swerved out of the way only to be rear-ended by the second. The third stopped in time to avoid any damage, but it was blocked by the other two,

giving Valkyrie enough of a head-start to speed forward. They sped past an exit and Gillian yelled, “TURN HERE! TURN HERE!” and they bounced over the low divider and the police cars disappeared from sight behind them.

Chapter Text

They followed the Prius out of Gastown and into the farmland that surrounded Bulletville. It was dark now, and the orchards were just black blurs against the navy sky.

"This is where we get our sunflower seedlings from at the store," Dag said, gesturing to the dark rows of flower crops out the window. "The season is just ending."

“Do you think he’s taking us on a wild goose chase?” Toast asked.

“It’s possible,” Cheedo said, “Or he’s luring us out here to murder us. That’s possible too.”

“We’ve faced worse odds,” Dag said, shrugging. The Prius slowed, then disappeared.

“Where the hell did it go?”

“It just vanished!”

“What the fuck?”

Cheedo slowed to a crawl and they saw a narrow gap in the wall of wilting sunflowers, with a narrow dirt path and an iron gate that was swinging closed. Cheedo continued along the main road for a minute, then pulled over.

“Cheedo, what are you doing?” Furiosa asked.

“Well we can’t just let him go kill people. We’re following on foot.”

“We’ll be seen.”

“We’re wearing black,” Cheedo said, nodding to the rest of the girls, “And I mean, you pretty much always wear black, so it’s not a problem.”

“You have no idea how hard it was for me to find an outfit that was all black,” Dag said.

“Yeah we can tell,” Capable retorted, which got her a jab in the side. Furiosa looked Dag over and had to agree. Dag’s outfits were ordinarily odd, but tonight she was outrageous in a black slip with a huge lumpy black sweater, latex thigh-high boots, and a black knit hat with bunny ears.

“It has kind of a stripper-after-work vibe,” Dag said, “I think it’s going to be my new look.”

They all piled out of the van and slipped quietly back to the gap in the sunflowers. Cheedo held out a hand to stop the girls before they got too close.

“There’s a security camera over the gate,” she whispered, “Ma has been trying to teach me how to hack hardware, I think I might be able to disable it and the key-scanner. Let me go first.” She snuck forward and the girls waited a tense moment in the sunflower grove. She returned only a moment later, concern etched on her face.

“They were already disabled,” she whispered, “I think he got there before us.”

Furiosa ran a hand through her short hair, then turned to the others.

“I have a gun,” she said, “But we don’t have to do this. We can take him down some other way.” Dag held up a black clutch in the shape of a cat’s face.

“I brought my gun too,” she said. And with that the decision was made. The girls moved out from between the sunflower stocks like shadows, carefully opened the unlocked gate, and slid silently down the dirt path to whatever lay ahead.

Valkyrie’s police scanner buzzed to life. “BOLO for an ambulance, number 4672. Holding several escaped inmates.” Val swore and got on the next freeway.

The aunts were waiting in two semis at a rest stop about ten miles out of the city. The night air was soft and cool as the bedraggled passengers filed out of the ambulance and crawled into the back of Melita’s truck. Seeds and Gillian helped a moaning Angharad shuffle up the back hatch.

“Walking is good for you at this point,” Gillian said. Angharad snorted derisively, making her two nurses smile. After depositing her safely in the truck, Seeds ran to the vending machine and filled her backpack with Gatorade and peanuts and chocolate bars.

Furiosa paused to embrace her aunts, then helped them carry some remaining medical equipment to the back of the rig.

“Melita is driving yours,” Joy said, “Maddie, Antoinette, and I will be in this one, to pose as a decoy and fight if necessary. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

Furiosa nodded and turned to Valkyrie.

“The police will be looking for you now. You stole an ambulance.”

“They were bound to get me sometime,” Valkyrie said with a shrug.

“You should go back. Say that we threatened you, that we hijacked the ambulance.”

“My place is here, with you.”

“Come on Fury!” Gillian called from the back of the truck, “Time’s a tickin!”

“Ok, fine, come with us,” Furiosa conceded, “But if we get caught, you were our hostage.” Valkyrie smiled and touched her forehead to Furiosa’s, then jogged up to the cab to help Melita navigate.

Tessa was sitting on the edge of the trailer, kicking her legs mindlessly. Her eyes were shut and she turned her face to the breeze.

“Crickets,” she said, “I haven’t heard crickets in years.”

“Come on Tessa,” Furiosa said, scrambling up the back of the rig, “We stay out here longer and we’re gonna be toast.” Tessa breathed in the smell of green things and smiled.

“I guess I’ll just be Toast then.”

Chapter Text

The dirt road went on for about a mile through the sunflower fields. The girls stayed in the shadows of the tall stalks, Toast in the lead, her long braids swaying in the dark.

After about ten minutes they saw a distant glimmer of cold blue light. Closer it became clear that it was the flickering of a TV through a window. Closer still and they were at the edge of the sunflower field, staring at a ranch house, dark but for the TV light glowing out of one room. Suddenly Toast whispered,

“Get back, get back!” and pushed the girls back into the dense jungle of sunflowers just as the headlights of Poleder’s Prius clicked on. The car hummed to life, then backed out of its parking space and drove back down the hard-packed dirt road. The girls all held their breath as the headlights slid past them, melting and reforming the shadows across their faces.

After it was out of sight they let out a communal sigh of relief. Toast crept forward, holding the camcorder in front of her like a weapon.

“Toast, what are you doing?” Capable asked. Toast didn’t answer. She reached the window where the TV was playing and carefully peered in through the cracks in the blinds.

“Oh fucking hell!”

Furiosa ran forward at Toast’s muffled exclamation, half expecting to find a knife sticking out of the girl’s chest. Toast was staring through the window, a look of shock and horror frozen on her face. She didn’t turn and look at Furiosa, even when Furiosa gently nudged her out of the way so that she could also look through the window. Upon looking, Furiosa understood Toast’s reaction. A thin old man was hanging from the ceiling fan, very much dead.

It started to rain.

It was pitch dark in the back of the truck, and smelled like dirt and old fruit. It was silent but for the sound of Angharad’s labored breathing and the revving of the engine. The truck started to move and they swayed back and forth. Then there was a dragging sound and a click, and the truck was filled with the bright harsh light of a flood lamp. Everybody groaned and covered their eyes. Gillian quickly apologized and turned the lamp up to face the ceiling, making the light bounce off the walls, causing soft shadows to form under and around everything. Seeds and Gillian had Angharad standing and walking and sitting back down. Max sat in the shadowy corner, almost invisible. Everybody else clumped together, leaning on each other for security. Capable sat between Nux’s legs, his arms wrapped around her, her head on his neck. Furiosa looked at this display of comfort and felt a sudden unexpected pang of jealousy, something that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So how do you guys know each other?” Dag asked with narrowed eyes and venom in her tone. Clarissa smiled up at Nux.

“We grew up together. Well, sort of.”

“I lived with my ma up north during the school year,” Nux explained, “Spent summers with my dad.”

“And with me.”

Nux smiled and ran a hand through Clarissa’s hair.

“Every summer from five to eighteen, we were inseparable,” she continued, “I taught him how to surf.”

“Capable was always better at surfing than me.”

“Damn straight I was. Although you were a close second.”

“Capable?” Toast asked.

“Everybody called me Capo back home,” Clarissa said, “He wasn’t from a surfing town, didn’t know what the word meant when we met. Thought it was short for capable. It stuck.” Dag continued to stare at them with a critical eye.

“And why’d you leave?” she demanded of Nux.

“Army,” he said, shortly. “Thought it was my only option. Tried to find Capable when I got out, but nobody would tell me anything. Got the job in Citadel City just in case she ever came back.” He shook his head in wonderment. “Hard to believe that she was just a few walls away that whole time.”

“And what’s your name, boy?” Seeds asked.

“Nathan. But everybody calls me Nux.”

“You got cancer?”

“Yep. Stage two. In my throat.” He pulled down his collar to show two lumpy tumors. Capable looked at him with large dismayed eyes.

“I’m stage four,” Seeds said, “Started in the lungs, now pretty much everywhere. Never smoke, it’ll destroy you.” She pulled out a bag of M&Ms and poured a handful into her palm. “They say I have six months left, but they’ve been saying that for two years now.” She smiled at Furiosa. “I grateful for Fury here, letting me in on one last adventure.” Angharad began yelling again and Seeds went over to help Gillian talk the girl through Lamaze. She looked over her shoulder at the huddled group. “And believe me, I haven’t had an adventure like this in a long time.”

Chapter Text

They walked back through the field to prevent any footprints in the muddy road. It was the relentless kind of heavy mist that made hair sparkle and surprised you with its power to soak you through. Aside from a brief summary of what they seen, the girls were silent, all in unspoken agreement that they had to get out as quickly and quietly as they could. They trudged through the field, wet stalks smacking them as they walked, and by the time they reached the van half an hour later they were all shivering and breathing on their freezing hands. Cheedo started the car and turned on the heater. Nobody felt like speaking. Nobody had any words.

As soon as Furiosa got home she checked her cupboards for alcohol before remembering that she and the girls had finished it during the last Wednesday taco night. She sat hard on the bed, cursing her sobriety, wishing that she could dull the edges of memory just a little bit, just enough to blur out the image of the old man swinging from the ceiling fixture. She could hear the rain outside gaining intensity and fell asleep to the distant roll of thunder.

She was back in the house and Max was there, hanging from the ceiling, naked and spinning with the rotation of the fan like a rag doll. Furiosa screamed and reached for him, pulled at him, crying. She pulled and pulled until his body came loose in her hands, his head still attached to the fan, and the heavy mist wasn’t water, it was his blood. The girls were there, yelling that she had killed him, she had killed Max, and Furiosa wanted to die.

Max woke up to a knocking at his door. His alarm clock glowed 3:30. He grabbed his gun from the bedside table and warily went over to the door, standing to the side so that nobody could shoot through it. There was another knock, then Furiosa’s voice telling him to open the door. At the sound of her voice the tension drained from Max’s muscles and he opened the door. Furiosa was soaking wet, her clothes clinging to her body, drops of water dangling off her earlobes and nose.

“Furiosa? What are you doing?” She looked uncomfortable and embarrassed.

“Can I… sleep here?”

“Oh.” He blinked, then stepped aside to let her in. “Ok.” She stood awkwardly, dripping onto the nubby carpet. She wiped her nose loudly on her arm. “Let me get you a towel.”

Furiosa wrung her wet clothes out in the sink and put on a pair of Max’s sweatpants and a T-shirt.

“Bad dreams?” He asked. She nodded. He climbed into bed and held the blanket open for her like a cave. She slid in next to him, curling against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her protectively. They both knew that by the morning they’d be on opposite sides of the bed, tangled in sheets and probably with somebody’s foot in the other’s face, but for now they clung together like they were on a raft in a storm.

Thunder rolled outside and the rain dashed against the windows, but Max’s warm arm wrapped close around Furiosa’s shoulder, and when she breathed him in he smelled like home.

Agharad’s contractions were now fifty seconds long, with only two minutes of rest between them. Her face was red and sweaty and blood was running down her leg, both from labor and from where her stitches had strained. She had begun to mumble again, spilling words out in a steady stream.

“Ortan thought we were things, pretty little things to play with, but we are not things, we are not things…” Another contraction hit and her face scrunched like an aluminum can, the creases around her eyes and mouth turning yellow with tension.

Gillian’s walkie-talkie buzzed.

“Truck one, we’ve got a situation here,” Maddie’s voice crackled, “Several police cars on our tail.”

“Don’t fire until they do. We don’t know if they’re hostile.”

“Copy.”

Angharad suffered her contractions in silence now, her face gritted in a silent scream, as if it was too painful to waste energy on noise. Seeds urged her to breath, puffing her cheeks out in example. Outside they heard a bang like a blown tire. The radio came to life again.

“Shots fired, I repeat shots fired!” This time it was Antoinette speaking into the radio. “Returning fire.”

Angharad inhaled a huge breath of air and began speaking again.

“We are not things, we are strong women, we are daughters and sisters and we carry love and wisdom and power…” Sirens sounded behind them and the truck lurched into speed.

“Holy fuck he’s got a fire truck on our tail,” Antoinette said, “Be prepared in case we can’t take them.”

“Copy.” Furiosa and Gillian moved to the back by the hatch, gesturing for Max, Nux, and Toast to join. The five of them lay on their stomachs by the door. Seeds ushered the rest of the girls into the corner closest to the cab, moving a heavy crate to block them.

“Should we open the back?” Gillian asked.

“Affirm,” Maddie answered over the radio. “Just enough to get a shot, though. Stay low.” Furiosa lifted the back hatch of the container a foot, just enough to stick the her rifle through and see where she was aiming it. The pavement sped by beneath them, a grey blur. She could see the wheels and the grill of Antoinette’s truck, but little else. Max was breathing heavy beside her.

“Women have potential for great violence,” Angharad murmured from the corner, “We bleed monthly from gaping wounds…” The sirens got louder and there was the sharp staccato of automatic weapons. “And yet we have the love to never use that violent potential…” There was a sick grating crunch and suddenly Furiosa couldn’t see the truck tires any longer, just cement flashing past below them.

“Truck two, do you copy?” Gillian asked, pressure building in her voice, “Antoinette? Do you copy?” There was nothing but static on the other line. “Antoinette? Joy? Mads?” Furiosa’s blood was pounding so hard she felt as if it might burst out of her veins.

Wheels appeared again in the small gap of open door, and Furiosa breathed a sigh of relief. They were fine. They just slowed down. They were fine. Then the vehicle got closer and Furiosa saw that they weren’t connected to the hood of her aunt’s rig, but to the cherry red body of a fire truck. Furiosa and Gillian shared a glance over Max’s bowed head. Gillian nodded.

“Open the door, Fury. Let’s get this son of a bitch.”

Chapter Text

As she had expected, Furiosa woke up drenched in sweat and tangled up in blankets, her head on Max’s stomach and her legs dangling off the side of the bed. He was no better, lying with his feet on his pillow and his head at a painful looking angle at the foot of the bed. After using the bathroom and brushing her teeth, Furiosa gently shifted his head so that it was on her pillow, then cozied back in around him, smoothing the tangled blankets over them both. He mumbled in his sleep and shifted, pulling her closer and snuffling into her collarbone.

Furiosa knew that as soon as she started the day she would have to think about what she had seen the night before. She pulled a sheet over both of their heads, a fort to keep out the bad thoughts, and smiled at his soft sleepy face. She listened to the sound of him breathing and the rattling rain outside, and felt profoundly relaxed.

She woke up an hour later to the sound of Max giggling. He was trying to keep quiet, but Furiosa was wrapped around him so that his laughter felt like a tiny earthquake. She raised an eyebrow.

“You were farting in your sleep,” Max explained, still chuckling. Furiosa rolled her eyes.

“You’re one to talk. Last night I didn’t know what was the thunder and what was you.”

He kissed her forehead and her nose and grinned.

“Welcome to the Thunderdome.”

She kissed his laughing mouth, then kissed it again and nipped at his jawbone.

“I could get used to this,” he rumbled, “Waking up next to you.” Furiosa hummed and wiggled closer.

“Your breath stinks.” she said.

“You sweat the bed.”

“You stole all the blankets.”

“I love you.”

“You kick—wait. Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Oh.”

Max put a gentle finger to her lips.

“Don’t say anything,” he said, “Just accept it.” Dog took that moment to jump up on the bed with a yelp of joy and start licking Furiosa’s face zealously. Furiosa squealed and laughed and rubbed the dog’s ears.

“Dog loves you too,” Max said. Dog circled three times and scooted down between them, his tail beating a rhythm against Max’s side. Max and Furiosa turned onto their backs and stared up at the ceiling together.

“I should get ready for work,” Furiosa said, not moving.

“Last night…” Max started, then paused to choose his words. “You had a look in your eyes. I know nightmares are bad, but…” He turned to look at her. “Did something happen last night? Something bad?”

Furiosa sighed and nodded, still looking up at the ceiling.

“Was it Patrick Poleder?” Max asked. Furiosa turned to look at him, mildly surprised. “Other than walking Dog and doing odd jobs for Ace I’m stuck in this room all day,” he explained, “I’ve researched the case. Cheedo mentioned his name early on, I’ve connected the dots.” Furiosa nodded slightly.

“He killed somebody last night,” she murmured. “Made it look like a suicide.” Max was silent for a moment, considering.

“Were you there?”

            “Not when it happened. Saw the body after.” Max reached over Dog and grabbed the end of Furiosa’s half-arm.

            “I’m sorry,” he said.

            “Don’t be. I should have told you we were looking into it.”

            “Can we do this… together? Now?” Furiosa’s face softened into almost a smile.

            “Yes.”

Angharad wasn’t speaking anymore, just one long wail with short gaps of silence. She was leaning against Capable, legs splayed, while Seeds gently eased an IV needle into her arm.

Furiosa stared into the frowning grill of the fire truck, momentarily hypnotized, then a bullet whizzed past her ear and she jerked back into focus.

“Rockatansky, Toast, Nux, go for the windshield!” She shouted, “Gilly, you and I take the tires!” Bullets pinged off the metal trailer as Furiosa zeroed in on the tires, trying to get a shot but the bumper was so low she could barely even make out the wheels at all. Gillian fired a few useless shots and looked at Furiosa with a shake of her head.

Angharad screamed though gritted teeth, digging her heels into the floor of the truck and squeezing Capable’s hands purple.

“Angharad, you’re doing great, I’m going to need you to push now, push hard, ok?”

“Aim for the edge of the windshield,” Max said, “It’s the weakest part.” Melita was swerving on the road in order to be a less stable target, but in doing so she also made it more difficult to aim. The fire truck’s windshield cracked, then spiderwebbed, but it was made of strong pressure-resistant glass that refused to break. Two of Joe’s cronies were at the wheel, two more hanging out of the doors, no doubt more inside, all dressed in full bulletproof gear. Furiosa swore. There was no way the small band of stragglers could face off all of the men in the truck as well as the five police cars trailing behind.

“Angharad, you’re almost there, ok? Can you get through one more contraction? Just take it one contraction at a time. Remember you’re strong, and you’re brave, and you can have this baby. Don’t shake your head, you can, you can, you’re not a thing, you’re not weak, you can have this baby.”

Max tapped Furiosa on the shoulder, saluted, then before she knew what was happening he sprang out of the rig and jumped onto the hood of the moving fire truck, gripping the grill like an insect, his gun strapped to his back. He scrambled up the grill, then one-handedly used the butt of his gun to hammer at the window.

The two shooters on either side were so surprised by the sudden wild figure clinging to their truck that they paused a moment, unsure of where to shoot. Furiosa took advantage of this temporary pause and shot at the man’s hand, causing him to lose his grip and fall to the pavement hurtling below. Gillian saw this and followed suit, though with less success; on seeing his cohort fall the other shooter leapt back into the fire truck, cause Gilly’s bullet to graze his protective armor harmlessly.

“Ok Angharad, I see your baby, your baby has blonde hair, just like you! Keep pushing, keep pushing…”

With one last blow Max crashed through the windshield, causing the glass to fold inwards like fabric. Nux and Toast fired cautiously, not wanting to hit him.

He vaulted himself upwards into the dark hole that was once the window and was swallowed up by the truck.

Time seemed to slow. She heard Valkyrie firing down at police cars from the cab, she heard Angharad screaming, but somehow it was all fuzzy and distant.

The fire truck slowed, then swerved, then, to her astonishment, a thumbs-up flashed out the window and she could make out Max’s grinning face behind the wheel. He honked twice and winked at her, then swerved and sent a police car spiraling off the road.

Chapter Text

“Max has been doing his own research,” Furiosa told the girls, “Figured us out. He’ll be there tonight.” Three days had passed since they had seen the body and they were going to Ace’s to discuss what steps should be taken.

“It was bound to happen,” Capable said, “Has he done anything stupid or brave or both yet?”

“You mean like follow a suspect to the site of a murder?” Furiosa asked, “Nah, nothing like that.”

Ace welcomed them in. His bungalow was homey, with lush carpeting and warm light and the smell of black bean soup coming from the kitchen. Max was playing tug-of-war with Dog on the floor and nodded to the women as they came in. Furiosa tried to stay cool at the sight of him, but she couldn’t exactly remember how and ended up turning beet red and smiling at her feet. Thankfully before any of the girls could notice her reaction, little Maggie rushed forward and threw her arms around Max with a cry of delight. Max lifted her up by the middle and spun her around, beaming, as Dog galloped circles around them. Furiosa felt love spilling out of her, overflowing, and for a panicked moment she thought she might burst into tears.

They ate spicy black bean soup for dinner and a pear tart for desert, then sat on the living room floor and discussed the situation while building block towers for Maggie to knock down.

“I found out who the body used to be,” Cheedo said, “His name was Richard Buger.” Maggie knocked over a tower with a screech of delight. “His suicide was reported this morning. Left a note and everything.”

“Typed, I’m guessing?” Toast asked.

“Of course. But who hand-writes anything anymore?”

“Wait, Buger as in Bugerville?” Capable asked. Bugerville was Capable’s hometown, the small beachside village about a mile outside of Gastown, known for its lux vacation homes and shady gang-riddled boardwalk. Cheedo rattled away on her keyboard.

“Yep. Heir to the Buger fortune, imprisoned for extortion and embezzlement. He didn’t go back to Bugerville after his release, due to death threats.”

“Lot of good that did him,” Dag murmured.

“So what are we going to do about it?” Ace asked. There was a moment of silence where everybody considered.

“Well…” Max started, licking his lips nervously, “We could always set a trap. Let it slip where I am, catch him in the act.”

“Yeah, in the act of killing you,” Cheedo said, “That’s pretty fucking risky.” Max nodded and looked at Furiosa, waiting for her to object. Furiosa looked down at her crossed legs. She sighed, then said,

“I don’t like it. But it might be our best shot. Pinning Poleder down is gonna be like catching an eel with our bare hands.”

“Hey, you planned a prison break in about five minutes,” Cheedo said, “This will be a breeze.”

With Max behind the wheel of the fire truck and Valkyrie shooting from the passenger side, Joe’s squadron of police cars quickly dissolved into distant plumes of smoke on the horizon. Gillian radioed the front of the truck.

“Hey, Mel. You all ok?” There was a tense moment of silence, then,

“Val got grazed, but we’re ok. How about back there?” Furiosa hadn’t noticed that she’d been holding her breath until she let it out in relief.

“Angharad’s a mess, but that’s to be expected.”

“They hit one of our tires, we’re gonna need to stop and change it,” Valkyrie said.

“Copy that. I could sure use a bathroom,” Gillian said, “Or at least bush to squat. Or even a patch of land that’s not the back of this truck.” They could hear Melita chuckle.

“There’s a public beach a half mile ahead. Usually pretty empty, not many people know about it. Too far away from everywhere. We’ll stop there.”

The parking lot was on the edge of a rocky cliff that overlooked the ocean. There was a picnic area to one side, filed with gently clapping Eucalyptus trees.

The girls climbed out slowly, blinking like turtles in the midmorning sun. Angharad was between contractions and insisted that she be carried out into the light. She was gasping with pain and bleeding steadily, but she still smiled up at the blue sky.

“I…” The women laid a blanket under the shade of the Eucalyptus grove and helped her down onto it, “I haven’t seen the sun in fifty-nine days.” Furiosa felt a stab of shame when she thought of the months she had ignored the girls, preferring drugged coffee and denial. She glanced at Nux and saw his expression mirroring how she felt. He had ignored the women much longer than she had.

Angharad’s voice rose again in agony, sweat beading on her forehead. Seeds quickly looked between the girl’s legs.

“You’re so close, Angharad, so close.” Dag sat behind Angharad and held her gently. The girls gathered around and chanted encouragement.

“You can do it Angharad, you’ve come so far!”

“You’re so strong!”

“You can do it!”

“Breath it out!”

“Listen to the trees,” Dag murmured, “They’re applauding you.”

“A big push this time, a big push!” Seeds said, triumphantly. Angharad’s voice turned into a horrible scream, one that vibrated through everybody’s core and made all but Seeds and Gillian freeze.

“Your baby’s crowning,” Gillian said, her voice filled with bouncing positivity. Seeds whispered something to Capable, and Capable sprinted to the truck. Furiosa looked down at Seeds and saw that the woman’s lap was drenched in dark blood, deep red flowing from Angharad’s thigh. Angharad was crying again.

“Angharad, you have to listen to me very carefully,” Seeds said, “You cannot push right now. Ok? You’re going to want to push, but you cannot push right now. Do you understand?”

“I have to,” Angharad groaned, “I can’t help it.”

“You can help it,” Gillian said, “Do not push.” Angharad’s face was turning a frightening yellow color. Capable rushed back with an armful of medical supplies.

“Rockatansky,” Furiosa said, “You’re a universal blood donor, right?” Max shot Furiosa a look of dread, then nodded shortly. Gillian ushered him over.

“You can give this girl blood?” she asked. Max nodded again, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else. His hands shook and his eyes flashed back and forth. He looked feral and Gillian hesitated a moment before reaching for his arm and taking a length of tubing from Capable’s pile of equipment.

“Don’t push,” Seeds reminded, padding sponges onto Angharad’s leg, “We’re going to stop this bleeding.” Angharad bared her teeth and shook her head in pain and frustration. The tube running from Max’s arm to Angharad’s turned dark with blood, but Angharad continued to blanch. With another scream she gave up and pushed.

“Don’t push!” Seeds yelled, “Don’t push!” The baby’s head was out, purple and slimy, and Angharad’s fingertips were turning blue. The pressure of the pushing caused another wave of blood to sink into the sponges.

“She won’t get enough blood,” Gillian said, “There’s nothing we can do.”

Twenty minutes later Angharad clutched the baby to her chest.

“He’s getting cold,” she murmured, “He needs a blanket.” Toast looked up at Furiosa helplessly.

“Angharad, he’s gone. A blanket won’t do anything to bring him back.” Angharad wasn’t listening, just humming to the slippery body in her arms.

“This is baby Hope.” She looked up at Furiosa scoldingly, as if Furiosa had insulted the baby in some way. “I know Hope is a girl’s name, but I don’t care. This boy is my Hope.” She looked down at the grey mass that was once a baby.

“Hope, you and I are going to get out of this. And we’re going to build a bookstore, just like your grandma used to talk about. Angharad’s-” She paused to cough. “Angharad’s Books.” Her lips shook, and Toast ran her hand through Angharad’s blond hair. Then she was gone.

Chapter Text

Furiosa came out of the bathroom and found Max waiting for her in the dim hallway with a mischievous look in his eyes. She smiled and leaned forward, not quite touching her nose to his ear, just enough to inhale his warm soft smell. She felt his breath on her neck and suppressed a shudder.

“Will I see you later?” he said, barely over a whisper. Furiosa flashed him a teasing look.

“Later?”

“Tonight. Will I see you tonight?” Furiosa ran a slow finger up the fly of his jeans, making him whimper softly.

“Maaaybe.” She grinned at his pout. “Who am I kidding,” she said, snorting, “Of course you will.” He gave her ass a rough squeeze, then she swayed off down the hall, back to where the women were waiting. Max took a ragged breath and went into the bathroom where he splashed his face with cold water.

Back in the living room Cheedo dictated information from her computer and Capable wrote it down on index cards in her neat bubbly handwriting.

“Angus Ochre. Died August 2, meth lab explosion.” She waited for Capable to finish writing before moving onto the next name. “Charlotte Thom. Died August 7, strangled. Believed to be an accident during auto-asphyxiation. Marcus Guerra. Died August 10. Shot. Believed to be drug deal gone wrong.” The list went on. Megan Carter, wrists cut; Greg Ripsaw, overdose; Jon Masque, car crash.

“Wait go back to that one,” Furiosa said, “Masque. I remember him. He was in for killing four kids in a DUI. Look up some of the others. What was Ripsaw in for?”

“Ripsaw was in for…” her eyes widened. “Drug smuggling.”

“So are they being killed based their crime?” Toast asked.

“That’s what it looks like. Marcus Guerra was in for shooting somebody during a bad trip. Morsov Ochre was in for making meth.”

“What about Buger?” Capable asked, “He didn’t hang anybody.” Cheedo hummed and looked it up.

“Here it is! One man in Bugerville hung himself after his home was foreclosed due to Buger’s embezzlement.”

Dog suddenly got up from where he was lying with Maggie and trotted over to where Max was sitting. Max had been very quiet during the discussion, and Furiosa hadn’t noticed his fists clenching of his head slowly shaking back and forth. Dog jumped up, put his paws on Max’s shoulders, and began to snuffle around Max’s face and lick his ears, whining slightly. Furiosa stared. She had never seen Dog in action before. The other girls paused for a moment, then continued in their discussion, not fully understanding what was going on.

Dog shot Furiosa a look and she shuffled over to where Max was.

“Max,” she said, softly, “Max, you with us?” He looked up at her with broken eyes and she breathed a sigh of relief that he was still responsive. She looked down at the pile of dead names on the floor and put her arm around Max, easing him up.

“Let’s go into another room,” she said.

“You can use my room,” Ace said, “First door on the right.” Furiosa nodded and led Max there, Dog nosing at their knees. Max sat down heavy on Ace’s bed, not bothering to turn on the light.

“’M okay,” he muttered.

“Okay.” She rubbed his back with her mechanical arm. “It was getting pretty dark out there, I know. We can stay in here for a bit.” Max nodded.

“Just. Mm. Lotta death.” Furiosa nodded and pulled him in so that his head was lying on her shoulder. She reached across and held one of his hands in hers, and they sat that way in the quiet dark.

“That wasn’t a real panic attack, you know,” Max said, finally, “Just a start of one. That’s why Dog is around.” He could feel Furiosa nodding.

“I know how that works,” she said, “You ever ask Ace why he his nose is all twisted?” Max shook his head. She took a deep breath and scooted back on the bed, getting into the story. “There was a time, right before Nux died, I was in a bad way. Really bad. Edgy as fuck, always looking over my shoulder.” Max hummed sympathetically. “Anyways, I was waiting for Capable in my car outside the hospital, and I had the window down cause it was hot.” Max relaxed into her voice. “Ace was there to see Gillian, who works there. They were dating back then. He recognizes my car, bends down, sticks his head through the window,” Furiosa was laughing now, “Oh my God I flipped. I was so surprised; I didn’t even recognize him before I decked him straight in the nose with my metal hand.” Max was laughing too, all the fear and tension leaking out with the deep rumbling gales of laughter. “Of course as soon as I did it the recognition hit in and I pulled back, but he had already dropped. So then—” she paused to catch her breath, “Then I open my car door, right as he’s struggling to get back up and the door hits him again.” Furiosa wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, then sobered slightly. “Funny to think that was only about a year ago,” she said, “Things were rough, before—” she stuttered a little, “Well, before you.” Max squeezed her hand. “I mean it,” she said, “You—When you came along—” Max took her face in his wide calloused hand and kissed her, gently.

“You still on for tonight?” he asked. Furiosa blushed in the dark.

“I mean, if you are. I know tonight has been kind of intense, if you just want to sleep I’d understand—” He kissed her again, then again. His hand slipped to the back of her neck and she backed away, grinning.

“Max, we’re on your Parole Officer’s bed, let’s settle down a notch.” She felt him grin against her mouth.

"That'd be one to tell the grandkids."

She stood and pulled him up.

"Come on," she said, "Let's catch this son of a bitch."

The girls stitched Angharad and Hope’s bodies up in the blanket using the curved needles and long silk threads used in surgery. The girls cried quietly as they sewed, but their general composure and resignation showed Furiosa that it was not their first time losing a sister.

Furiosa went over to where Gillian was patching up a long gash across Valkyrie’s shoulder, where a bullet had grazed her. Val hissed as Gillian swabbed at it with disinfectant wipes.

“What about the others?” Furiosa asked, “Antoinette and Maddie and Joy?” Melita and Valkyrie shared a look.

“Saw the truck,” Melita said, “It was on fire. Antoinette got out, was gunned down by one of those men.”

Furiosa felt all the air drop out of her stomach like a cement block, leaving her ears ringing. Seeds and Gillian stopped moving. There was nothing but the waves and Cheedo’s soft sobbing. Furiosa wanted to apologize, she wanted to lay herself out in the place of her aunts, but she was frozen, unable to do anything but stare at Valkyrie’s knees. She had felt this way before, after her mother died, after her soldiers died, after she lost her arm. It never got easier. She looked down at her prosthesis and reminded herself that she was a machine. Nothing more than metal parts.

With Nux’s help the girls carried the blanket with Angharad and Hope down the wooden steps to the sea. When they reached the water Nux fell back and the girls dragged the bundle through the waves, until they were knee deep, waist deep, shoulder deep in the frigid water, their white jumpsuits clinging to their bodies. Toast had gathered stones from high on the beach and she gently eased them into a hole in the top of Angharad’s shroud. The blanket with the bodies sank, slowly, leaking glittering bubbles as it descended.

There was a small rocky peninsula down the beach, a dark finger that pointed out to sea. Furiosa sat on the edge of this outcropping and let the waves lap around her ankles. She wanted to jump into the water, to let the ocean purify her inside and out, burn her lungs clean. She wanted to slip into the smooth blueness and wash her guilt and shame away. She wanted the water to fill up the emptiness in her chest. She heard footsteps approaching and looked up to see Max. He sat down next to her and they watched the water slap against the wooden beams of the pier. Finally Max broke the silence.

“Where are you taking these girls?”

Furiosa rubbed her forehead in despair.

“I don’t know. I was going to take them to a safe place, a home for battered women, but now…” She looked up, trying to keep the tears from pooling under her lids. She didn’t want to think about the Green Home, the lost place of her childhood. She didn’t know how to explain that, though she hadn’t been there in years, the Vuvalini’s ranch was the one place where her memories were untainted by IEDs or war or the wandering hands of Sergeant Bento.

“There’s nothing out there for them,” Max rumbled, “They’ll be chewed up and spat out.”

“They’re strong.”

“They’re also broken.”

Furiosa felt anger rising up in her throat, mostly because she knew he was right.

“Well they’re away from Ortan. Isn’t that enough?”

“And now he can pick out five new women to tear apart.”

“What would you propose?”

“Go back.”

Furiosa reeled back.

“Are you insane?”

“Yes.” He looked at her like it was obvious. “But think about it. We go back, we get rid of Warden Ortan.”

“This city is wrapped up in a web of corruption. It’s bigger than just one man.”

“Mm. But you cut one string and it all falls apart. Ortan is that center strand.”

“Do you think we could do it?”

“No. But we should still try.”

Furiosa sighed.

“I’ll ask them what they think.”

Chapter Text

It was only eight when everybody left, Dag having to pick up Maggie. It was a cold evening and the wind sliced through Furiosa’s jacket like she was wearing paper. She tightened her scarf around her face and knocked at Max’s door. Like always, he looked through the peephole before opening the door, though Furiosa knew he could tell it was her by the hollow thunk of her prosthetic when she knocked.

His hotel room was warm. She shivered in relief when she entered, pulling the scarf back down around her neck. Max sat on the only chair and sipped at a steaming cup of coffee, staring at her over the rim of the mug. She watched his throat as he swallowed and her pulse quickened. He gestured for her to come closer. Furiosa felt very aware of her body as she went to where Max was sitting and couldn’t remember exactly how to walk. She gently pulled the coffee mug from his hands and placed it on the table behind her, then crawled onto Max lap and put her arm around his neck. She kissed him, deep and slow, the coffee from his lips sending a wave of energy through her that had very little to do with caffeine. She began to ride him, grinding her hips in slow circles, feeling his hardness press into her wettest, most sensitive parts. The friction of their clothes added to the feeling and Furiosa groaned, picking up speed. They moved against each other, foreheads touching, just the sounds of their breath and the rustling of denim on denim and the squeaking of the chair under them as they moved faster and harder.

Max grabbed her hips and pushed her back. She looked at him, questioning.

“Bed?” he asked, eyes dark. She nodded, breathless.

They fell onto the bed, wild and hungry, sucking and biting each other’s mouths and grabbing clothes off as fast as they could until they were both naked and breathing heavy.

Max slowed when he was on top of her and stared into her eyes.

“Furiosa,” he murmured, “Do you trust me?”

“Yessss…” the word melted into a low hiss as she felt his wet cock trace a sticky line of pre-come on her stomach. Max smiled and reached down to where her clothes were discarded next to them, feeling around until he grabbed the thin black scarf she had arrived in. Furiosa swallowed.

“Can I?” Max asked, gesturing to her eyes. She felt a jolt in her stomach, but she realized with surprise that the jolt was caused more by excitement than fear. She nodded slowly, and Max gently wrapped the blindfold around her eyes, loose enough that she could easily take it off if she felt uncomfortable.

He knelt over her and licked along the outer edge of her ear, then bit her earlobe.

“You are so fucking beautiful.”

He nibbled down her jaw, biting almost too hard where her shoulder met her neck, almost enough to hurt but not quite, making Furiosa moan in desire. He sucked on her clavicle, then moved down to her chest, where he gently bit each nipple. Then he was up on her other ear, and Furiosa whimpered in impatience. Max giggled and tweaked her nipples with his fingers, making her jerk her hips.

“You make me crazy, Furi, you know that?”

Then he dragged his teeth down her stomach and knelt between her legs. He ran his warm hands up over her feet and calves, then down to caress her thighs. Furiosa couldn’t see him, she was lost in an ocean of pleasure, not having to worry about what was happening next, forced to detach from the world of appearances and go only by touch, allow herself to relax into uncertainty. She could feel her need dripping down her thigh and she nearly laughed with joy. With two fingers Max spread her open and teased her with the barest touch of his tongue. Furiosa bucked into his mouth and she could almost hear his smile. He painted the inside of her pussy lips with his tongue, sweeping up one side and down the other, swirling around her hole and figure-eighting around her clit until she was practically crying with desire. Then he took his pinky finger and gently slid it inside of her.

Furiosa stopped moving.

“You ok?” he whispered.

“Do—Do that again.” He tried it with his index finger, feeling her clench and unclench around it, slippery and warm and wet, tighter than he had ever seen. She moaned quietly, seriously, and he put his mouth back on her, sucking on her clit as he thrust his finger gently in and out. Furiosa’s breathing became ragged, then faster, then with a strangled cry she fell apart, shaking and clenching around him, wrapping her thighs tight around his head and fisting his hair until she thought she might pull it out, lost and grounded at the same time.

“So the crazy cocksucker wants us to go back,” Dag said, rolling her eyes, “Big surprise.”

“He has good points,” Toast said, “But why should we trust him?”

“He gave Angharad his blood…” Cheedo said skeptically.

“Yeah, then she died,” Dag retorted.

“I don’t like it,” Capable said, “I don’t know anything about him.”

“I agree,” Dag said, “It’s bad enough having two schlangers here, with your man Nux. Now this other one is telling us what to do?”

“Nux isn’t—” Capable started, but Dag interrupted.

“Nah, he’s alright. You vouch for that one, I trust your judgment,” she said, jerking her head at Nux, “Plus I seen Nux before, he drove my bus when I was brought in. Didn’t treat me like a thing.” Nux looked at her in bewilderment, not expecting to be brought into the conversation. “You drove me to the prison my first day in the Pen.” she explained to him, “Asked me ‘wasn’t it a lovely day,’ like a normal person would.” Nux nodded, still slightly confused. “But that man, no, I don’t like it.” They all looked over at Max. He was standing away from the group, twitching so badly it looked almost as if he was dancing, or being shot at by invisible BB guns.

“I know Rockatansky,” Nux said, shifting from foot to foot, “He’s alright.” Capable looked at him.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Nux said, “I owe him one. Owe him two, really.” Capable raised an eyebrow.

“But you’re the guard. How does a guard owe a prisoner?”

“Well, I got bad blood. O negative, same as him. Can only receive other O negative blood. Universal donor, although with my cancer that doesn’t mean shit. He gave me his, once, when I got hurt.” Capable nodded, satisfied. Dag was not.

“You said you owed him twice. What’s the other?” Nux sighed heavy and bit at a hangnail.

“Bout a year ago they said my cancer was gonna do me in,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “Didn’t want to go out rotting away in a hospital bed.” He shivered and Capable rubbed his back comfortingly. “Wanted to go out strong. Wanted to draw attention to the shit Joe was doing, get the press in, get them asking questions. Got fucked up on Chrome Coffee, covered myself in gasoline, went out into the rec field. Meant to set myself on fire.” Capable’s eyes filled with tears. “Rockatansky saw me, talked me down.” He smiled. “Knocked me down, more like. Wrestled me to the floor before I did anything stupid. Slit saw him tackle me and sent him to solitary for a month.”

“Slit?” Capable asked.

“You remember my brother Sylvester? Goes by Slit now. Got his face torn apart in a POW camp.”

“Of course I remember Slit.” Capable laughed a little. “He used to be such a ladies’ man.”

“Not anymore. Now he’s ugly as hell. Never talks about what happened over there, but they fucked him up good.” Capable sniffed and wiped her eyes, and looked back over at Max.

“Remind me to thank Rockatansky sometime.” She sighed. “So Nux, you think it’s a good idea, going back?” Nux shrugged.

“Yeh. But that doesn’t mean you have to.” Dag seemed pleased with this answer.

“Like Toast said, it does make sense,” Capable said, “He might already be picking his next trophies from the other ladies.” There was a communal shiver among the girls.

“He did have his eye on Rosie,” Cheedo said.

“What do you say, Dag?” Capable asked, “You in?”

Everybody looked at Dag, who bit at a hangnail, considering. Finally she nodded.

“I’m in. It’s stupid, but I’m in.”

Chapter Text

“That could have gone very badly.”

“I know. I should have asked.”

“Probably. But it was fucking amazing.” She laughed, giddy and alive. “Jesus, it was wonderful.” She kissed his hand. “How do you know my body better than I do?” Max shrugged a shoulder.

“We’re connected.”

She burrowed her nose into his neck and breathed deep.

“Max.” Her voice was barely a whisper, a breath with bones. “I… I’m in…” The words were rough and foreign in her mouth, and she stopped. “I…” Max rubbed her back gently.

“You don’t have to say it.”

Her eyes flashed and she smiled.

“Let me show you instead.”

“You don’t have to do—UNNH.” His voice dissolved into a groan as she sank her mouth over his cock, slurping at it filthily, spitting long wet strands of saliva down to smooth the work of her hand. He’s so close it only took a moment before she growled and the vibration of her throat sent thick jets of cum shooting into her mouth and dripping down her chin. He pounded his hands on the mattress and shook so much Furiosa paused for a moment to make sure he’s okay, but he nodded at her to keep going and she sucked his orgasm out of him, her fingers digging into his ass.

She fell asleep with her head on his thigh.

“Rockatansky. You and I can take the rig.” She opened up the compartment on her fake arm and pulled out her two remaining energy shots. She tossed one to Max. He downed in in one go and grimaced at the syrupy taste. Furiosa guessed he hadn’t had anything quite so sweet in years. She looked him over and saw that his hand was bleeding and two fingers were bent out of place. She gestured to them and Max shrugged.

“Got caught,” he grunted. She looked at him questioningly and he added “In somebody’s teeth.” Her frown softened and she reached for the bandages on the table. She raised her eyebrows at him in a question and, after a brief pause, Max held out a hesitant hand for her to bandage.

The minute their skin made contact Furiosa could feel herself calming, her pulse easing and peace settling in her veins. He was warm and callused and he made her feel like she was home. She looked up at him, surprised by her reaction. His eyes were still distant and troubled, focusing on ghosts rather than her, and she shook her head at her strange romantic belief that maybe there was a connection, maybe he felt the same way. She reset the two broken fingers and wrapped them tightly. Right before she let go, however, he reached out his thumb and stroked her palm, so fast she almost thought it was a spasm. But then he deliberately squeezed her hand and strode away to the truck, leaving her breathless.

Chapter Text

The first step of the plan was carried out the following Monday. Furiosa was restless all day, imagining Ace’s car at Max’s apartment, driving Max and Dog far out into the countryside where any car accident would be out of the way and obvious. It would be difficult to prove premeditation in the city, but in the middle of nowhere wrecks were harder to disguise. Once there Max would turn on a cell phone and call Furiosa. Cheedo had checked Furiosa’s phone and found that it was being tapped. Rather than remove the bug they decided to use it, to use Max as bait and lure Poleder out. There were loose ends, she knew. If it didn’t work she would have to go up to see Max in person and hope that Poleder was passionate enough to follow her there.

She cleaned her apartment, then organized her kitchen cupboards and alphabetized her bookshelf. Max was wearing Keeper’s old Forcefield Body Armour, the motorcycle gear that was said to protect from even the most brutal car crashes, but Furiosa still thought that this was more of a suicide mission than anything else.

At nine she was startled out of her downward spiral by a knock at her door. Dag’s face floated up in the peephole and Furiosa edged open the door, surprised.

“What are you doing here?”

“I figured you could use a little company tonight.”

“Where’s Maggie?”

“At home. Coma is there with her.”

“How does that work?”

“She’s asleep. Hopefully there won’t be much need for communication, but I have my phone if there’s a problem. I can’t stay long, but I wanted to check in on you.”

“Come in.”

They sat cross-legged on Furiosa’s bed, eating chocolate covered potato chips and drinking mugs of Dag’s homemade herbal tea. Furiosa took large hot gulps that burned her throat and boiled in her stomach, but it warmed her from the inside and she felt herself calming. Dag chattered about Maggie and the search for preschools that could accommodate for deaf children. Furiosa nodded and hummed along, glad for the distraction.

“Coma has been talking about marriage,” Dag said, and Furiosa’s eyes snapped to alert. Dag giggled. “Geez Furiosa, you look like somebody just grabbed your ass.” She shoved another chip in her mouth. “It’s not, like, serious marriage talk. He’s just been playing at all these weddings and he’ll say stuff like ‘at my wedding I want roses,’ or ‘at my wedding I want mini Bundt Cakes for every guest,’ etcetera.”

Furiosa relaxed slightly.

“Would you want to marry him?”

“It would all depend on Maggie.” She lay back on Furiosa’s bed. “How are things with you and Max?”

Furiosa shrugged.

“Don’t you shrug at me,” Dag said, “What do you guys even talk about? He’s so quiet around me.”

“We don’t talk much,” Furiosa said, then reddened at the implications. Dag waggled her eyebrows.

“Has he used the L word yet?”

Furiosa rolled her eyes.

“What, Loser? Loaf? Latvia? Jesus Dag, we aren’t teenagers.” Dag gave her a look. “Fine. Yes, he has.” Dag giggled and squealed and rolled around on the bed. Furiosa shook her head, annoyed.

“Do you love him?” Dag pried.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I knew it!”

“Dag, please. Come on.”

“Have you told him?”

“No.” Dag’s glee faded.

“You haven’t?”

“No.” Frustration filled behind Furiosa’s eyes, and she sighed. “I’ve tried, but I can’t. I don’t know why.”

“They’re big words.”

“I feel it though.”

“That makes them even bigger.”

“Sometimes I wish Keeper was still around. I’d like to talk to her about all this shit.” Dag nodded.

“What do you think she would say?”

Furiosa thought about this. She thought about it for a long time, until after Dag left.

Her phone rang around midnight.

“Hello?”

“Mm. Hey.”

“Max, are you alright? Did you get there ok?” She could almost feel Max nodding on the other end of the line.

“Yeah. It’s small. Lotta nature. Dog likes it.”

“I bet.”

“How’re you?” he asked.

“I’m alright. Dag came by with tea. We talked some.” Max grunted. “Max, I think I know why I can’t say… certain words.”

There was a nervous pause, then he rumbled, “Why?”

“I think I’m angry.” More silence. “I’m angry that you went back,” Furiosa went on, “When Nux died, then Seeds, I was so alone. And afraid.” Her voice came out in rough little bursts. “I knew you for such a short time. But I felt your absence so strong. I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

Max was quiet for so long that for a moment Furiosa thought they had been disconnected.

“You… You know why I had to go back, right?”

“Yeah.”

“There are some things bigger than you and me.”

“I know.”

“You know that more than anybody.”

“It’s irrational, I know.” There was a deep rattling sigh on the other end.

“Three years without you. It was awful.”

“It was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s just how I feel. It’s selfish and unfair. But it’s how I feel.”

“We’ll have to hurry. He’s still got all his best officers out looking for us. We have to get back before they do.”

“Let me go on ahead,” Nux said, “I’ll tell him that you kidnapped me. I’ll feed him wrong information and then help you get in.”

“He won’t be happy about you being bested by a bunch of girls,” Furiosa said, “You sure it will work?”

“He’ll shame me, but he won’t shred me. I’ll be alright.”

“Shred you?” Gillian asked.

“When an officer gets on Ortan’s bad side, they’re sent to E block,” he explained, “Worst of the worst criminals are kept there. The block is locked down and the cell doors are opened and the inmates can do whatever they want to the officer.” He shivered. “If it’s especially bad the officer’s legs are broken so they can’t fight back. People place bets on how long the officer will live.” Capable whimpered and clutched Nux’s hand. “But like I said,” he went on, “he won’t do that. I’ll be shamed, sure, but I’ll live.”

“What if you came back with a prisoner?” Capable asked, “Brought me with you. He would reward you for that, right? Or at least not hurt you.” Nux started to protest but Seeds interrupted.

“It’s a good idea,” she said, making Capable beam, “Regain his trust at least a little bit. As long as he didn’t hurt Capable.”

“It wouldn’t work,” Nux argued, “What if Slit saw you? You guys may not have been close, but you’re pretty distinctive.”

“He’s right,” Furiosa said, “bring me back instead.” Nux stared at her, then laughed out loud.

“I’m flattered, Rator, but he would see right through that. You’re the greatest fighter I’ve ever seen. I’ve got one foot in the grave, there’s no way I could ever capture you.”

Capable began to argue with that, then Furiosa and Nux began to talk over each other, all giving ideas, none listening, until Cheedo raised her hands for them to stop. They fell silent immediately.

“I go back with Nux,” she said, “I’m useless in battle, you all know that. But I can help from the inside. I can hack into the system, open doors for you guys. And Joe would never suspect me.” She glared around at the others, terrified and determined.

“I don’t like it,” Capable said, her chin jutting out stubbornly. Nux turned and took her face in his hands.

“Capable.” He spoke gently, lovingly, but with stern decision. “I shouldn’t be alive right now. The doctors kept telling me that I was a medical miracle, that by every account the cancer should have taken me ages ago. They told me I would die, and I didn’t. It’s because I was being saved, see? I was being saved for this. For you.”

Nux and Cheedo took off in the fire truck, traveling west towards the prison. The others followed in the rig an hour later.

Chapter Text

Furiosa kept her emotions on a tight leash the next week, but she came to work with bags under her eyes the color and size of beach mussels. Every time her phone rang Furiosa believed it was Ace, telling her that Max had been crushed under the tires of Poleder's car. She knew that Max was wearing body armor everywhere, even in his sleep, but she also knew nothing could protect from a wheel to the skull.

The girls noticed her distraction and gathered around her like a nest around an egg, and she accepted their care with long-suffering sighs and silent gratitude.

Max called her every day. Their conversations remained light and empty, studiously avoiding any mention of love or anger or the past. Furiosa told him about hanging Halloween decorations at the store, Maggie’s antics, and the latest annoying customer. He told her about Dog’s run-in with a skunk and the frost that crunched under his feet in the morning. He was no poet, but Furiosa loved listening to the rough cadence of his voice as he described the deer and rabbits that appeared at twilight, peering at him curiously and then bounding away.

“They remind me of the girls,” he said, “At least how the girls were when I first met them.”

Furiosa snorted.

“Nowadays the girls would be more like grizzly bears.”

One afternoon Max said, “It’s been a week. Do you think it’s time you come up and see me?” Furiosa tapped a nervous rhythm on her thigh.

“Maybe,” she said, “If you want me there.”

            That night she went to Ace’s house and he led her down to the basement, where there were several computers set up. Each screen showed a different view of Max’s camping spot in grainy black and white.

            “Not a lot of privacy,” Ace apologized. Furiosa shrugged.

            “Hey, as long as we catch this guy I don’t mind.” Ace nodded, then turned and reached for an old shopping bag.

            “Gillian told me to give this to you,” he said, “It’s her body armor. To keep you safe up there.” Furiosa nodded and took the bag solemnly.

            “Tell her thanks.”

            “He’s staying on my brothers’ ranch,” Ace said, “There’s three of them, all former military, all informed of the nature of this case. Max has an alarm button. If anything goes down they’ll be there in thirty seconds. They’re the best fighters I’ve ever seen.” He sighed. “Fuck it, I still don’t like this,” he said, “When a car plows you down not much can save you. Not armor, not snipers.”

            “I can take care of myself.”

            “You’re stronger than most, but this is suicide.” Furiosa sighed and put her hand on his.

            “I recognize the risk. I don’t like it either. But I am going to get out of this okay. We both are. Believe me, I have never had so much to live for.”

            “And Max is one of those things. That you want to live for.”

Furiosa reddened and looked down.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” she said, trying not to smile. Ace grinned and squeezed her hand.

“Get out there,” he said, “Go catch a killer.”

In the back of the truck, Dag crossed herself and folded her hands against her forehead, murmuring quietly. Toast raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Are you praying?”

Dag looked up, mildly annoyed.

“Yeah.”

“What makes you think that God is going to start helping us now?” Toast asked. She tried to keep her tone contemptuous, but she couldn’t hide the strain of curiosity that leaked into her voice. Dag shrugged.

“I don’t,” Dag said, “I don’t know if anything is out there who can hear us, or who cares. But it’s worth a shot.”

In the cab of the rig, Max and Furiosa drove in silence. Max stared at her, squinting in the orange light of the setting sun. He studied her like she was a puzzle he was desperate to solve, like she was a bomb he had to dismantle, and his mouth pursed slightly in concentration. To her surprise Furiosa found herself imagining what his crooked teeth would feel like on her bottom lip. This thought sent her almost swerving into the other lane in shock. She was level headed, she was a machine, and nothing broke her focus, especially not men. She blamed the adrenaline and grief of the past twenty-four hours and shook her head to clear it.

She got the radio call an hour later. Cheedo’s voice was jarring in the smooth silence, and Max winced at the sound.

“Furiosa, we’re at the spot where the truck crashed.”

Furiosa tried to tamp down any feeling of hope inside of her.

“What do you see?”

“Just the tow truck pulling away the rig. I asked the driver what happened. He said there were no survivors.” Furiosa shut her eyes, wishing she could hide her grief. She felt vulnerable, blown open and exposed.

“I’m so sorry Furiosa,” Cheedo said.

“Later,” Furiosa said, “We’ll deal with it later.”

Max continued to watch her as she drove, but the earlier easy silence was gone and she felt edgy and uncomfortable. She shot him a threatening glare, which he returned steadily. Then he slowly held out his hand, palm up. It was a gesture somewhere between comfort and camaraderie, not quite handholding but not as platonic as a high five.

Furiosa stared down at his hand, then glanced up at his face. His expression held no pity or contempt, just steady companionship. Furiosa glanced down at the gesture, then at his face, before fixing her gaze steadily on the horizon. With a bare hint of a smile she clasped his hand in hers and held it for a beat.

“We’re getting close,” Cheedo said over the radio, “We’re going to pull over so that Nux can…” she tried to suppress a shudder, “Bind me.” Furiosa could hear Nux apologizing softly in the background.

“Cheedo, if you don’t feel comfortable—” Furiosa started, but Cheedo interrupted her.

“No, it has to look right. The story is that Nux caught me, tied me up, talked some sense into me. Joe likes his girls tied up. Seeing me like that will put him in a good mood.”

Max cursed Joe under his breath.

“As soon as I see Joe I’ll put on my lost lamb face and apologize, say that I’ve learned,” Cheedo continued, “He’s going to stick me in his office right away.”

“I’m going to cause a distraction,” Nux chimed in, “To keep Ortan away from Cheedo. I don’t know how yet, because I don’t know exactly what he’s going to do to me. But a lot of inmates owe me. If nothing else I can get them to cause a riot.”

“Once I’m alone in his office I can hack the computers and open the gates up for you guys,” Cheedo finished. Furiosa nodded.

“Good luck.” Then a piece of rubber hose from the fire truck was looped around Cheedo’s mouth like a horse’s bit and there was no more talking.

Chapter Text

Furiosa noticed the black Ford Explorer after the first exit. It usually left one car between them, but there was no denying that it was following her. The man behind the wheel was barely recognizable as Poleder. He had grown out his white beard and wore a toupee, dark glasses, and a nose enlarged with putty. But there was no hiding his grim crack of a mouth, like a fracture in a stone slab.

Furiosa felt torn. The trap was working, they were luring Poleder out to where Max was staying. But in doing so both Max and Furiosa were putting themselves in extreme danger. When she stopped for gas and ice cream an hour later the car was nowhere to be seen, but she knew it wasn’t gone.

She turned the radio up and pretended that she was visiting Max for an ordinary camping trip, just a normal woman going on a normal vacation with a normal man (for a moment she thought “boyfriend,” then shook her head at the term. It didn’t seem right).

It was late afternoon by the time she pulled into Max’s camping area. Tension had been slowly growing in her neck and shoulders throughout the long drive north, but as soon as she opened her door and breathed in the sweet pine air she felt the stress dissipate like hissing steam. Max was nowhere to be seen, but Ace’s grey tent was set up neatly in the center of the clearing next to a bear-proof food locker. She could see the trees where the four carefully concealed security cameras were gently perched. Then she heard a yelp of joy and Dog bounded out from behind the tent, joy incarnate, tongue slobbering and stocky little legs bouncing up onto her, all the energy and love of a puppy in an old hyper-trained security animal. Furiosa laughed and bent down to rub him, then immediately fell back with a grimace.

“Jesus Dog, you stink!” She heard Max’s rumbling laugh and looked up to see Max striding towards her, a week’s worth of beard unable to mask his glowing smile. Furiosa thought her heart might jump out of her chest and into his. She wanted to wear that smile as a scarf. She wanted to kiss it right off of his face.

Instead she glanced meaningfully up at the trees with the carefully disguised security cameras and held out a hand to shake. He took it with a smoldering look that made Furiosa’s toes curl. Then he reached up, surprising her, and put his hand on the back of her neck, guiding their foreheads together in the Vuvalini salute. Furiosa’s eyelids fluttered and she breathed in his breath, realigning for a moment in time. She had forgotten how he smelled, like gasoline and sweat and leather and rain, and she drank in his scent like it was a drug.

“Were you followed?” he whispered, barely a breath. Furiosa was so caught up in him that it took her a moment to register the question. Then she nodded slightly.

“Yeh.”

She could feel Max’s hand tense on her neck.

“I think he lost me when I passed through Rockville,” she explained, “But it won’t take long for him to find us again.”

“Good,” Max sighed, “Good. Let’s nail this son of a bitch.”

            Max woke up at eight that evening with a jerk and a gasp, like a drowning man being pulled from the water. He hadn’t even realized that he had fallen asleep.

            “Hey sleepy head,” Furiosa said, eyes still on the road. He grunted and gestured from the wheel to himself. Furiosa raised an eyebrow.

            “You need your energy,” he explained, “Sleep.” Furiosa opened her mouth to argue but was betrayed by an enormous yawn. Max’s mouth quirked upwards knowingly and Furiosa rolled her eyes before setting the truck on cruise control and sliding out of her seat into the small sleeping compartment in the back of the cab. Max scooted over into the driver’s side and took the wheel.

            Furiosa never slept well with other people. Even at slumber parties as a child she would stay awake, listening to other people’s breathing, trying to chart to progression of the stars in her head as a way to count down the minutes until morning. She took it as a testament to her exhaustion that she was asleep the moment she hit Gillian’s cot.

            She woke up to the gentle cessation of the rig’s rattling motion. A door slammed. She lay in the cot, profoundly relaxed, feeling more liquid than solid. She sat up, yawning and aligning her back with a crackle. She looked around. They had stopped in the parking lot of a seedy looking 24-hour diner. Max was climbing back into the cab with two paper cups of coffee. He glanced back, making sure that she was awake.

            “What time is it?” she asked.

            “Eleven.” He handed her a steaming cup of coffee, and she nodded in thanks.

            “Why’d you stop?”

            “We’re getting close. Thought they might be on the lookout for this truck. We’re getting another vehicle.”

            Furiosa nodded, still slightly confused.

            “And where will we get a truck? We’re all fugitives, and it’s eleven at night.”

            “Used to be a cop,” Max grunted, “Got a few favors left to use.”

            “But a truck? On such short notice?”

            She could hear him shift and clear his throat.

            “Big favors,” he explained shortly.

            His face was lit up by approaching headlights and she could see his eyes dart back and forth nervously. The headlights went off as the car parked and she could hear the dinging of a car door left open while running. Max got out of the truck and gestured for her to do the same.

            A middle-aged woman was standing outside, her long gray locs twisted up in a scarf.

            “Officer,” she said in greeting. Max shook his head.

            “Not an officer anymore,” he said.

“This is the ride you asked for,” the woman said, “Will it do?”

Furiosa walked over to the car. It was a white postal van, smaller than ideal, but Furiosa thought they could all fit if they squeezed. Max was watching her, so Furiosa nodded and went to the back of the truck to let the women out.

“It’ll do,” Max told the woman, “thank you.”

“It’s small payment after what you did for me and Pedro.” Max handed her the keys to the big rig.

Melita stepped out of the shadows and stared at the stranger as if the woman was a new babysitter.

“You know how to drive it?” Melita asked. The woman nodded.

“My daddy used to drive one of these,” she said, “went on some trips with him when I was little. Taught me how.”

“Where do you live?”

The woman hesitated, then said, “1^st and Helm.”

“You park it down by the river and walk the rest of the way home. If I don’t come back for it tomorrow it’s yours. Change the plates.” Melita held out a wrinkled hand for the woman to shake. “Take care of my baby.”

Melita and Gillian got in the front of the postal truck, as they were the least likely to be recognized. The unnamed woman nodded to the back.

“There’s two postal uniforms back there,” she said, “Size medium. Should fit. But let me tell you, ain’t nobody gonna open the gates for you at three in the morning.”

“We’ve got that taken care of,” Max said. The woman reached forward and embraced him in a bear hug that made him tense and clench his fists.

“It’s good to see you, Officer Rockatansky. You take care of yourself now.” Then she climbed up into the cab of the rig and melted into the dark.

           They back out of the parking lot and drove on, seven of them crammed into the back of the postal truck. Ahead the spotlights of Citadel Penitentiary shone like a lighthouse beacon in the dark.

Chapter Text

It had grown colder by the time Furiosa unpacked, so they sat by the fire, wrapped in scratchy wool blankets. Max baked potatoes in the coals, potatoes that overflowed with cheese and salt and chives and butter that dripped down Furiosa’s chin. He filled her travel mug with hot hard cider.

“How’s Maggie?” he asked.

“Cute. Asks about you every day.” Furiosa spoke thickly around her mouthful. “We’re having a hell of a time teaching her what blind means.”

“Mm. Things getting serious with that musician then?”

“Starting to hint around about marriage.”

Max hummed in acknowledgement and poked at the fire with a stick.

“What do you think about marriage?” she asked, taking another messy bite of her potato.

Max thought about this for a minute. Coming from any of the other women he had dated the question would be a test, gauging his intentions, seeing if he was in it for the long haul. With Furiosa, though, he knew it was just genuine curiosity.

“When it works it works,” he said, “When it doesn’t it doesn’t.” His stick caught on fire and he blew on it pensively. “You?”

Furiosa sighed thoughtfully, then said, “I like the idea of having everybody in my life getting together to celebrate love.”

“And cake.”

Furiosa raised her mug in a toast to that.

“And dancing,” she added.

Max raised an eyebrow. “You dance at weddings?” he asked, surprised.

“Only when there’s an open bar.”

“I’d love to see that.”

Furiosa leaned back, thinking. Then she asked,

“What was your wedding like?”

Max tensed and looked down at his lap. His mouth grew tight.

“I’m sorry,” Furiosa said, “I didn’t mean to—” Max shook his head, then smiled slightly.

“It was small,” he said, “Just our families and closest friends. We were so broke at the time.” He scratched Dog’s ears. “We got married on the beach. It was beautiful.” He stared into the fire for several long moments, as if he could see the wedding projected in the strobing flames. When he spoke again it was like the words had been brewing deep inside of him for a long time, but had only just aged enough to share.

“You know, her death wrecked me. But our relationship…” His eyes darted back and forth. “Jessie was perfect. She was a dream. I never really expected to keep her. And I would get exhausted, trying to love her enough. Trying to give her what she deserved. Being a cop’s wife isn’t easy, and I was always afraid that she’d wise up, see how fucked up I was. How fucked up I am.” He sighed and seemed to wilt in on himself. “I loved her. I loved her so much. But I never really relaxed around her. Never really relaxed around anybody.” Max rubbed his chin. “Not till you.”

He smiled at her. “I love you, Furiosa. I love you so much.”

Furiosa had been staring at him throughout the entirety of the confession, but on those last words she flinched away as if he had hit her. Max’s smile faded, his eyebrows arched in confusion.

She lowered her eyes, uncomfortable, and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I wish I could repeat those words,” she explained, “I really want to, but I can’t.”

Max’s nostrils flared in frustration.

“Furiosa, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you tell me, ok? That won’t change how I feel about you.” He threw his stick into the fire and wrung his hands. Furiosa was frozen, watching him.

“I don’t tell you that I love you so that you’ll tell me the same. I tell you because it’s true. Just accept it!” He ran his hands through his hair.

“Most people see relationships as a series of finish lines,” he continued, “When’s your first date, when do you become official, when do you kiss, when do you fuck, when do you say I love you. Well I’m not like most people, and unless I’m very much mistaken, neither are you!”

He stilled and stared down at her, his grey eyes flickering in the firelight. “You are not a set of goals for me to accomplish. You’re not a set of tick marks on my timeline.” He knelt down in front of her, almost pleading. “I love you, Furiosa. And nothing you say or don’t say can change that.”

Furiosa stared into him, unblinking, challenging his gaze. Then, finally, she sighed and leaned her forehead against his.

It was a tradition in the Vuvalini family that as soon as a kid reached four foot five, everybody would go down to the Bugerville Boardwalk and the child would ride the Sandstorm, the enormous old roller coaster that was said to turn your hair white. Furiosa was the youngest of the family, and had watched child after child go to the Bugerville Boardwalk and come back wide-eyed and flustered, searching their head for new white hairs. Finally, at the age of seven, Furiosa hit the. She waited anxiously in line for the ride, ignoring her mother’s offered hand. She was a big girl now, and didn’t need handholding. As soon as the bar came down across her skinny chest, however, Furiosa felt an immediate sense of dread and regret. The clack-clacking sound of the wheels made her sick with worry and when they reached the first crest, overlooking the entire city, she knew with complete certainty that whatever came next would be the worse than any horror that she could ever conjure up.

As they sat in the cramped mail truck and waited for Cheedo to open the gate, Furiosa felt like she was back on top of that roller coaster looking down, knowing that she had made a terrible mistake but being unable to stop it.

She was suddenly aware of just how little they had planned this, just how much relied on chance and good luck. She had spent so long trying to save the girls, but now she was sending them right back to the prison, to a situation much worse than they had left. She thought about Nux, how little any of them really knew about him. Cheedo could be tied to Joe’s desk while the rest of the girls waited helplessly for a gate that would never open. She turned to the girls. Capable and Dag had abandoned their heavy ill-fitting riot gear early on, and Angharad’s dried blood stood out on their white prison jumpsuits like the milky way in negative.

            “I’m sorry,” she said. The words came out rough and cold, drawn from the very bottom of her soul. “I’m so sorry.” She bowed her head.

Then, with a slow clanking rattle, the gate opened.

Chapter Text

Furiosa tossed and turned in the tent, unable to find a comfortable position.

“Can’t sleep?” Max murmured beside her.

“It’s this stupid body armor,” she whispered, “I can’t get comfortable.”

“I took mine off,” he grunted. Furiosa sat up, shocked.

“Max, you shouldn’t have done that. You need all the protection you can get when the car comes.”

Max shuffled, uncomfortable.

“It might not be a car.”

“What?”

“That was the one I was convicted for, but there were two others.” Furiosa remembered reading that there had been multiple men killed, but they had been written off as self defense.

“What else happened?”

“One man I shot. That was labeled as self-defense. One man I…” he swallowed hard, “I set fire to his car. With him in it.”

Furiosa nodded slowly. Max looked at her, expecting horror and revulsion. Instead she presented her arms in response. One arm missing, the other with a long smooth scar running vertical down the wrist.

“War is hell,” she said simply, “Whether it’s overseas or at home.”

Max nodded. He traced the scar on her right wrist with a gentle calloused finger and glanced up at her in question.

“I wanted to see my mother,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing. Max continued to stare up at her. She took a deep breath and tried to continue. “It was when. Sergeant Bento. A commanding officer.”

He squeezed her hand. His fingers were warm and rough, a tether that let her float through memories without being overwhelmed by them. “That’s what got the attention of the FBI,” she continued, “When I… hurt myself… they paid attention. Wrock came in, got me to testify.” Max’s thumb stroked over her knuckles.

“I testified against Bento,” she said, her voice catching in a rough sob, “And he couldn’t recognize me. He didn’t even remember who I was.”

Max pulled her in, held her close and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her chin. He kissed away every tear until they fell asleep, curled together.

When they woke again it was to the crackling of flames.

            A spotlight landed on them as they pulled into the empty prison parking lot, and a bullhorn rang out, “GET OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP.” Gillian and Melita glanced at each other nervously, then looked back at the women in the truck. Furiosa thought fast.

            “Tell them you’re on special business for Ortan,” she said.

            “Don’t say Ortan, call him Joe,” Toast chimed in, “Only his closest associates dare to call him Joe.”

            “Right. And say that you know the code word, it’s ‘V-8’.” The women nodded.

            “GET OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP. WE WILL NOT ASK AGAIN.”

            Gillian and Melita stepped out cautiously, hands above their shoulders. The girls couldn’t see them, but they could hear them talking through the flimsy truck wall.

            “Are you aware that you are trespassing on the grounds of a state prison?” a strong male voice intoned.

            “No, I had no idea,” Gillian drawled sarcastically, “I thought that giant metal gate was just for show.” They could hear a gun being cocked and Furiosa winced.

            “Do you think this is funny?” A different voice spoke this time, and Furiosa recognized it as Officer Colossus, a former army corporal who stayed predominately in the highest watchtower. He was an excellent shot, but had suffered a back injury in the war and was useless at hand-to-hand combat. Furiosa liked Corporal Colossus as much as she could like anybody in the prison, and she wished that they weren’t getting him involved.

            “No sir,” Melita chimed in, “Joe’s affairs are no laughing matter.”

            There was a moment of shocked silence as the guards considered this.

            “What do you know about Warden Ortan’s affairs?” the first man challenged.

            “More than you,” Gillian said, “And I sure as hell know he’s not going to be happy when he hears you stopped us.” More silence. Then she added, “V-8.”

            The three guards’ mannerisms turned from that of silver-backed gorillas to that of scrambling puppies. They apologized over and over, offering their help in any way.

            “We’re fine on our own,” Melita said, “Just keep the spotlights away from us. Joe’s business doesn’t need to be broadcast to the world.”

            “Of course, of course. Not a problem. Carry on.” The guard’s footsteps receded and inside the truck there was a communal sigh of relief. The searchlight that had been focused on the truck turned off, plunging them back into darkness. Melita opened the back of the truck and the group crept out, creaking and stretching after being confined for so long. Then they made their way to the prison entrance.

Cheedo was watching them from the prison surveillance and opened the front gate with a clang. They rushed into the atrium.

The hall was filled with strobing red lights and blaring alarms, indicating that lockdown was still in effect. A guard behind the bulletproof window stood as the group entered, fear in her eyes.

“State your purpose,” she commanded, reaching for her radio.

“Fixing what’s broken,” Furiosa said, holding up her gun. The woman tried clicking her radio on, but Cheedo had blocked all signals. The woman’s eyes darted back and forth.

“Don’t try to stop us,” Dag said, “Don’t get yourself killed for that smeg Joe. Let us help.” The woman shook her head, backing up against the wall of the booth. The second gate rattled open and the woman looked at it as if it had been bewitched.

“How-” she started, but they were already running through. Dag paused to look back at the terrified guard.

“Magic,” she said with a wink. Then they were in.

Chapter Text

            The heat woke Furiosa up. Her throat was raw and chafed with smoke and she could see an orange glow flickering through the nylon of the tent. Dog was yipping next to her, whining at the tent door. She tried to get out of her sleeping bag, clumsily searching for the zipper and getting tangled up in sweat-sticky nylon.

            “Max,” she said, her voice rasping through the smoke, “Max, get up.”

Max’s eyes opened blearily, and he stared up at her with a sappy love-filled gaze. She shook his shoulder.

“Max, get up, it’s happening.” He glanced around, taking in the smoke and flicker of the fire outside, and snapped to attention. He unzipped his sleeping bag and rushed to open the tent door, then noticed that Furiosa was still struggling to get out of her bag one-handedly.

“Go, go,” she said, “I’ve got this.” He shook his head and knelt down to help free her. As soon as she was freed she sprang up and grabbed her prosthesis, fumbling to get the straps on over her shoulders. The tent walls were buckling under the heat and she tore at the flap door.

“He glued it shut!” she shouted, “That asshole glued the zippers shut!” Max tugged fruitlessly at the other entrance, doing nothing but burning his fingers on the hot metal of the zipper. He swore and jerked back.

“Do you have a knife?” he asked. Furiosa shook her head.

“Just my gun.”

Her eyes brightened with realization and she grabbed the gun from under her pillow and shot through the flimsy tent walls, which she then tore at with her metal arm. Max rushed to help her, melted nylon blistering his hands. The flames jumped towards the new source of oxygen, and Max and Furiosa ducked as it licked up around their heads. It was like a living thing, a crowd of leaping soldiers, hungry for violence. Popping pinecones and branches whirled into the air, thrown by the force of the blaze. For a moment Max and Furiosa stood and stared, transfixed at the dancing waves of fire. Then Dog yelped and pushed at their knees, making them jolt back to reality. The fire was all around them, impossible to avoid, not a single gap in the inferno. Furiosa looked at Max. Every scar on his face was highlighted by orange, making him look eerie and distorted. He glanced over at her and licked his lips.

“Where are Ace’s boys?” Furiosa shouted, trying to be heard over the deafening roar of the flames, “Where’s your panic button?”

“I pushed it!” Max yelled, “They must not be able to get to us!”

Furiosa tried to respond and inhaled a mouthful of smoke. She started to cough uncontrollably, heavy wet hacks that made her wretch and double over. Max grabbed her and held her close. An enormous pine tree creaked and groaned under the licking tongues of flame, swaying back and forth.

The fire was pressing in closer now, and they sank to the ground, clutching at each other, coughing. Their eyes were swollen and leaking, soot stuck to their sweaty skin. Max vomited down Furiosa’s back.

Then, with a roar, the pine tree succumbed to the fire and crashed down in front of them, sending up a cloud of glittering sparks. Furiosa looked up and felt hope blink up inside of her like a light bulb. The flames were quickly gnawing at the tree, but the needles were green and lush and slow to burn, creating a quickly closing pathway through the wall of fire. She tugged at Max’s hair, and pointed at the break in the flames. He nodded and they struggled to stand, lurching with their arms around each other like participants in a twisted three-legged race.

The wood was quickly collapsing. The rubber of Furiosa’s boots began to melt onto her feet, but she barely sensed it, feeling only a dull warm tingle that seemed to come from far away.

She heard shouting and saw a large dark outline against the smoke, then she smelled something that made her weep with relief. Water. The cool damp scent reached her for one second, then was gone, but it was enough to pull her forward on weakened knees until rough gloved hands were pulling her forward, spraying her down with water and pushing her towards another fire fighter.

There was a yelp of anguish and her and Max both spun around to see Dog, poised carefully on the edge of the upended tree, now completely surrounded by fire. Max shouted and, before anybody could stop him, lunged back into the flames.

“Wait!”

It was the woman from the entrance, grasping at the bars of the first gate.

“You don’t want to go in,” she said, “there’s a riot, in E Block. It’s bad.”

This got Furiosa’s attention.

“E block?” she asked, “What happened?”

“Officer Nux got sent in to be shredded.” The women froze and Capable let out a whimper. “But somehow the block door opened. They all got out.”

“And Nux?” Capable asked, breathlessly. The guard shrugged.

“I haven’t heard. They’d probably say if he had been.” Capable relaxed slightly, but her face was still pale and tight.

“Last I heard they were contained in the men’s wing, but doors keep opening and closing. The radios are out, nobody can communicate. Nobody knows what’s happening.”

“Cheedo,” Toast said with a triumphant smile, “Cheedo’s happening.”

Furiosa looked the guard up and down.

“I don’t recognize you,” she said.

“I usually work day shift on the women’s ward,” the woman explained, “but Ortan switched us all around. He’s worried about loyalty. Wants to keep us confused, keep us separated.”

“Thank you for your help,” Furiosa said, then added, “Stay where you are. It’s safer.”

Furiosa and the rest of the strange little party ran off again up the hall to Joe’s office, gates opening and shutting in front of them like clockwork.

“Cheedo must be watching us through the security cameras,” Toast said. Dag giggled breathily.

“Remind me not to pick my nose,” she panted. Toast glowered.

“During riots Joe usually goes to his panic room,” Furiosa said, “Let’s get Cheedo first, then go find him.”

“You know how to get into his panic room?” Gillian asked. Furiosa snorted.

“Please. I built his panic room.”

Chapter Text

When the paramedics tried to pull Dog out of Max’s arms, Max growled and snapped his teeth at them, as if he had become the animal in Dog’s place. It wasn’t until they eased the needle into his leaking arm and began to pump him with sedatives that Max relaxed enough to release the squirming animal.

Sometimes people asked Max how he had found Dog. Max had not found Dog. Dog had found Max. Dog had found Max three months after Max’s release from prison. Dog had found Max behind a dumpster. Max behind a dumpster, trying to hide from the screaming ghosts in his head, paralyzed with shame, unable to breath. Dog had nosed Max away from the clinging vines of despair. During the day Dog attacked ghosts with teeth bared, then at night he curled up against Max’s back, a solid warm wall to protect from the nightmares. Max fought off assailants that were invisible to the sane eye, making pedestrians hold their children close and cross to the other side of the street. Dog stayed and fought by Max’s side.

Max had tried to keep Dog a secret for as long as he could, but he was still living in a halfway house at the time and it was hard to keep anything private there. Everybody knew everything about everybody, from divorce proceedings to bowel movements, and Dog was found out on his second day with Max. After determining that Max had not stolen the dog, Ace made Max bring Dog into the veterinarian, where Dog’s microchip was scanned. There it was discovered that Dog had been the service animal of an autistic woman who had died of a heart attack the year before. The woman had been isolated, and nobody came forward to take care of her pet. Dog had been wandering the streets ever since, searching for another lost human to be his companion.

Furiosa pounded on the heavy metal door to Joe’s office. It didn’t open.

“Cheedo! Are you there?” The door stared down at her in silent judgment. Furiosa opened up a metal flap disguised as a piece of wainscoting. Beneath it was a complicated keypad filled with numbers and letters. She quickly typed in 1-1-2-1-R-B, then hit the green enter button. With a whir and a click, the enormous vault door unlocked. The girls crept forward. Valkyrie made to follow them, but Seeds grabbed her arm.

“Stay out here,” she said, “Stay hidden. Something’s not right.” Valkyrie looked at the woman, confused. “If it’s a trap, they’ll need somebody out here to get them out of it,” Seeds explained. Valkyrie nodded, and they sank back into the shadows

Joe’s office was dark, lit only by the flickering blue glow of the security cameras. Cheedo’s silhouette stood out in front of the wall of cameras, her hair illuminated like a silver halo.

“Cheedo?” Furiosa asked, “Cheedo, it’s us.”

The vault door slammed shut, making everybody jump. Cheedo whimpered.

“Cheedo, what’s happening?”

Capable crept forward into the pool of light and gasped. Cheedo’s hands were tied behind her and she had a black eye swelling. Her bottom lip was folded over on itself, her mouth red and wet from crying.

“Don’t kill him,” Cheedo said, weeping, “You can’t kill him.”

There was a jangling of belt buckles and the group spun to see Joe emerging from the shadows, a rifled pointed at Cheedo’s head.

“I am indebted to you, Rator,” he growled through his mask, “Bringing back all of my lost property. And Inmate Rockatansky, too.” Furiosa aimed her rifle.

“You’re outnumbered, Ortan,” she said. Joe winked at her.

“Maybe so, but I have the gun to the little one’s skull.”

“You wouldn’t kill her,” Dag said, “You wouldn’t damage us.”

Joe turned on her, snarling, and Furiosa saw with shock that he had tears in his eyes.

“Oh wouldn’t I?” he said, voice cracking, “You took away the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned. You took away my Splendid. So tell me, wouldn’t I kill this one, the newest, least valuable one, to save my own life?”

Toast’s gun shivered slightly, as if she was going to lower it. Joe turned to Cheedo again.

“And there’s another reason you wouldn’t want to kill me. Tell them, Chelsea. Tell them why not.”

A line of snot was running into Cheedo’s crying mouth and she sniffed it back up into her nose.

“He- he- he has a booby trap. In his pacemaker. He made me set it, a long time ago. When I first came in.”

“What?” Furiosa was confused.

“If his heart stops, his pacemaker will send a message to a bomb in the foundation. The entire prison will go up in flames.”

The group stared at her, stunned.

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Toast asked.

“Because she wanted you all dead,” Joe said, sneering. Cheedo cried harder and shook her head, her hair sticking to her tears.

“N-n-no, that’s not t-true! I disabled it. Ages ago. But when we escaped he investigated and found the error. He g-got Firecracker Bill to fix it.” Max shook his head. Firecracker Bill was the best explosives expert of the century, an extreme Dadaist, kept in solitary confinement after incinerating four art museums. His hacking skills paled in comparison to Cheedo’s, but Max did not doubt that Bill could do what Joe had requested.

Furiosa hesitated, then lowered her weapon. The others followed suit.

“Good,” Joe said, smiling behind his mask, “Now let’s have the ladies all take a seat in front of these cameras. We’re going to want a front-row seat for Rator’s shredding, won’t we.”

Furiosa looked straight ahead, listening for the footsteps of her aunts in the tunnel from Giddy’s office.

Chapter Text

Furiosa sat on the edge of her hospital bed, not moving, not speaking. She stared straight ahead as the nurse examined her. He daubed ointment on her first- and second-degree burns and applied gentle bandages on anything deeper. He gave her an IV drip to keep her hydrated and a humidified oxygen mask to help her breath through her blistered throat. She moved mechanically, not making eye contact or speaking, lifting her arms and legs like a marionette. The nurse checked her for a concussion before diagnosing her with shock and severe smoke inhalation.

“The man you came in with is alive,” he said, “The dog too, although he lost his tail. You can see them in the morning if you’d like.” He helped her onto the mechanical bed. “Now you should just rest. Push that little button if you need anything, and get some sleep. We’ll be in every hour for your vital signs.” He smiled kindly, then stepped out of the room.

Furiosa smirked. She had broken much bigger rules than roaming hospital halls after hours. She waited for the nurse’s footsteps to recede, then got out of bed. She hovered for a moment on her skinless feet before the pain hit and she collapsed, groaning, back onto sterile white mattress. The heat pulsed through her like a second heartbeat, and she let herself give into it for a moment, let herself be carried away of the waves of pain and despair as the events of the evening hit her. Too dehydrated for tears, she cried only with her breath, short painful gasps that tore at her throat.

After several minutes she heard the door open and close behind her, but she barely registered it under the layers of ache and misery until she heard her name being whispered sharply. She lifted her head and saw Capable and Toast advancing towards her, both wearing garish hospital scrubs. Furiosa scrambled up to a seated position as quickly as her wounded body allowed.

“Jesus, Furiosa,” Toast said, “You look like shit.”

Furiosa shot her a scathing look.

“I like this,” Toast said, grinning, “I can say whatever the hell I want and you can’t respond.” Furiosa flipped her off. Toast laughed. Furiosa looked the two girls up and down and raised her eyebrows at their scrubs.

“Oh, these?” Capable said, “We borrowed these from Valkyrie. We had to roll Toast’s up around the ankles three times.”

“Hey at least I don’t have to go around in a hospital gown, my ass blowing in the breeze.”

“Shut it, Toast,” Capable said, “We’re on a romantic quest.” She turned to Furiosa. “We’re here to take you to Max.”

It took both girls a lot of maneuvering to get Furiosa comfortably seated in a wheelchair they had hijacked from the nurse’s station. They waited until the hallway was clear of staff, then hurried down it, weaving and bumping and going too fast, Toast and Capable giggling the whole way as Furiosa rolled her eyes in exasperation.

When they arrived at Max’s room the girls grew sober. They pushed Furiosa over to his bed, then stepped back to give her some privacy.

Max seemed very small in the bed, covered in a web of tubes and bandages. He was hooked up to so many beeping whirring flashing machines he looked more robotic than human. A tracheostomy had been inserted to help with his breathing. Half his face was covered in petroleum gauze, the visible skin was red and puffy, and his hands were elevated in loose polythene bags. From neck to ankle he was swaddled in hospital blankets to protect from hypothermia.

Furiosa scooted closer to his bedside and tried to find something recognizable in the man who lay below her. She ran a gentle finger down the exposed side of his face. His skin was red and raw, his eyebrows and eyelashes almost entirely burned off. She traced an ear and smiled. It was his ear all right, wide and soft and folded into a point at the top. She rubbed his ear between her fingers. Finally, finally, she looked down at his mouth and breathed a sigh of relief that his lips, though cracked and dry, had been untouched by the worst of the burns. She leaned down and kissed him gently, tasting the smoke and the blood and the fluid that had been expelled from his lungs.

Then she spoke, her voice rasping deep from her scarred and blistered throat.

“I… love… you…”

She rested her forehead on his.

“So much it hurts.”

“Now who should we start with first?” Joe pondered, turning from girl to girl. “We can have a little fun here, I think. All my things right here. Where to begin?”

“We are not things.” Dag hissed, and he whirled to face her.

“She speaks! You always were the funny one.” She bared her teeth at him and he chuckled and threw is hands up in mock fear. “Ooh! Aren’t you a scary little thing.” He spoke as if he were trying to indulge a small child. Furiosa felt sweat trickling down her upper lip. She looked at Max, silently begging for an idea, a plan, anything to get them out of this mess. He shook his head. His eyes were like dark bullet holes, fearful and empty, but somehow looking at him calmed Furiosa.

Joe placed a sweaty hand on Dag’s belly and squeezed, as if he were testing a fruit for ripeness. Dag jerked back almost imperceptibly, but never dropped her gaze, continuing to stare into Joe’s eyes with a look of pure loathing.

“How’s little baby Joe doing?” he asked, his hand running lower. Dag’s fists were clenched, white-knuckled and shaking. Tears trembled on the edges of her lower eyelids. Lower, lower, lower, his hand went.

Then Joe stopped. His hand flashed up to his neck, where he batted at the air as if there was a mosquito bothering him. He felt around and grabbed out a hypodermic needle that had been lodged in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He stared down at it in his hand, stunned. Furiosa turned and saw Gillian crouched in the round opening between Joe and Giddy’s offices. Gillian was holding a second hypodermic needle in her hand, poised to toss it at Joe again.

Joe moved towards the tunnel entrance, but he stumbled and fell to his knees. He roared and shot wildly, his aim weaving and hitting nothing but his own wall.

“Run!” Gillian shouted, “Get in here!” The captives didn’t need to be told twice, and scrambled across the room to the little round porthole. Cheedo’s hands and feet were still tied, so Max hefted her over his shoulder like a sandbag and handed her through the tunnel before crawling through himself. Joe was crawling across the floor, the fast-acting sedative having turned his limbs to wet clay. He reached a manicured hand up and grabbed at Max’s foot. Max kicked until Joe fell back, taking Max’s canvas Velcro sneaker with him. Max slammed the metal door behind them and for a moment the sat in the dark tunnel, catching their breath.

“Gillian, remind me to never play you at darts,” Furiosa said, panting, “That was one hell of a shot.”

“It won’t keep him long,” Gillian said, “Telazol is meant for dogs and cats. That man’s as big as a horse.” Taking her cue they began to crawl through the tunnel into Giddy’s office beyond.

“Why the fuck do you have a dart gun full of Telazol?” Valkyrie piped up.

“Never know when shit might come in handy,” Gillian replied. “But no, I was volunteering at the animal hospital when you called. Didn’t have any weapons on me, so I grabbed what I could.” A window of light flooded in as Melita opened the hatch into Giddy’s office. “Glad I did, too,” Gillian said, “From what I overheard in that passageway there’s no way to kill Joe without bringing down the whole place.”

They spilled out into the warm yellow light of Giddy’s office with a communal sigh of relief. Cheedo fell, burning her elbows on the rough blue carpet, and Furiosa searched Giddy’s desk drawers for a pair of scissors to cut the girl’s bonds.

“There is one way,” Cheedo said thoughtfully, “If we could overload the pacemaker, we could fry the connection.”

“What do you mean?” Capable asked. Cheedo smiled.

“I mean electricity.”

Chapter Text

Max woke up in a world of pain. It gnawed through him to the bone, it licked up behind his eyes; paralyzing, unfathomable pain. He couldn’t find the strength to cry out, he couldn’t do anything but grit his teeth. Tears leaked through his slits of eyes and stung where they touched skin.

Somewhere a dog whined. Then there was beeping, then shouting and the sound of feet running out of the room. A deep soft voice speaking to somebody, though he couldn’t remember words. Then there was sleep, and relief.

When he woke up again the pain was back, but distant, less urgent. He couldn’t remember anything, though he knew that there were things to be remembered. He tried taking stock of himself. He wiggled his toes; those were all in order. He tried lifting his arms and groaned in pain. He groaned again, experimenting with sound.

“Max.”

It was a sweet low voice, like music, and he felt something inside of himself slide back together. Furiosa. The word floated into his mind. He couldn’t remember what the word meant, but it was smooth and cool and soothed him. He tried to say it, but his voice came out a pathetic squeak. The voice shushed him gently.

“Your throat burned,” it said, “Don’t speak.”

He heard a whining sound coming from the bottom of his bed. Something warm and wet touched his foot and he cried out in surprise, then groaned in pain at the grating in his throat. He cracked his eyes open. It was dark, but he could make out the dull outline of a creature sitting at his feet, staring up at him with shining eyes.

“That’s Dog,” Furiosa said. Max could hear the smile in her voice. “He’s barely left your bedside since you came in.” He tried to turn and look at her but found himself unable to move his neck.

“You’re in a cast,” she explained. “You got burned up pretty bad around your neck and arms.” She sat down on the bed beside him and he could see her silhouette against the hospital window. The soft swoop of her neck was like the crest of a wave. She was water, and her phosphorescent eyes glinted out of the darkness and washed over the agonizing heat that filled Max’s bones.

“Are you in any pain?” She shook her head. “That’s a stupid question, of course you are. Do you want more drugs?” She realized that Max couldn’t speak and laughed at herself. “Don’t answer that. Just… Blink if the answer is yes.” Max was in pain, but he loved looking at her, he loved the sound of her voice, so he held his eyes open until they started to water. Furiosa smiled, her teeth shining in the gloom.

“Ok, I get it, you can blink now.” He blinked and smiled too, then grimaced with pain.

“Your face got burned on the left side. You’ll need some grafting, although mostly below the neck.” He narrowed his eyes and inclined his head as much as he was able. “Me? Oh, I’m alright.” He wondered, not for the first time, if she could read his mind. “Most of my hair burned off, not that there was much of it to burn. They don’t know if it will ever grow back. Got the worst on my back, there’ll be some scarring there. But you got the worst. You went after Dog.” Max looked down at the animal whose head was resting on his knee. “Dog got it pretty bad,” she said, sighing, “Lost his tail.”

Max shut his eyes. He remembered Dog now. For his long year after prison, Dog had been the only point of light and love in a vast grey plain of nothingness.

Max looked down at the creature by his feet and felt crushed. Furiosa ran a finger down the less burned side of his face.

“Max, you saved him. He would have died, and you ran into the fire to save him.” She looked over her shoulder. “The doctor will be in here soon. They want you to start physical therapy as soon as possible. Moving fingers and stuff.” Max winced. “I know, it sounds awful. But I’ll stay with you.”

She pulled out a bottle of salve and started rubbing it gently into his raw red flesh. He groaned in relief at the sensation, making Furiosa smirk. She blew softly at his cooling skin.

“I have loved you since the day I met you,” Furiosa said between breaths, “And I will love you until the day I die.”

Bleach is made up of chlorine and caustic soda, which is diluted down with 75% water. The caustic soda and chlorine are made by electrifying a sodium chloride salt solution. Many bleach manufacturers prefer to receive their ingredients from another provider for the sake of simplicity, but Ortan counted the costs and realized that he could save money by having every aspect of the production performed at the prison. So every day half of the penitentiary’s four thousand working inmates filtered into the Cell House, where they carefully monitored temperature and pressure before adding 14,000 gallons of the brine solution and electrifying it. Then they cooled it and dried it and sent it to a diluting station, after which the diluted bleach was bottled and shipped onto trucks.

“We need to get him into the Electrolysis Chamber,” Cheedo explained as they ran down the empty corridors, “But get him in alone. Even if you managed to survive the shock it will be almost 200 degrees in there.”

They had each grabbed a walkie-talkie from Giddy’s office. Gillian still had one dart left, but they knew they wouldn’t be able to move Joe’s dead weight down to the Cell House. So instead they went to the Cell House themselves, hoping that he would follow them. Once down there, Gillian would shoot him with the dart and they could roll him the rest of the way into the brine pool and flip the switch, overloading the pacemaker and killing Joe in one go.

Furiosa’s heart matched the pounding of her boots as they made their way through arctic cement halls. She repeated the plan over and over in her mind as she ran. Lure Joe. Drug Joe. Push Joe into vat. Flip the switch. Lure. Drug. Push. Flip. Lure. Drug. Push. Flip. Having a plan comforted her. It organized her tangled thoughts and plaited them into a smooth braid of sense. The cacophony in her mind turned into a steady rhythm that beat in her ears and pushed her forward. Lure. Drug. Push. Flip. She moved in synch with the others, steps echoing in perfect harmony, panting breathes complimenting each other, sharing a goal and a purpose. Lure. Drug. Push. Flip.

A metal door at the end of the hall opened, and the group screeched to a halt. It had been opened by Officer Slit, his red cleft of a mouth twisted into a Joker grin. Over his shoulder they could see the looming faces of Eric Tuss and Joe M. Ortan. Tuss looked at the group in his usual lost fashion, then he recognized the girls and smiled.

“RUN!” Furiosa shrieked, “RUN FOR FUCKS SAKE!”

They wasted no time in obeying.

Chapter Text

The afternoons blended together for Max, the mind-numbing boredom of lying in his hospital bed pierced only by the severe agony of physical therapy. He watched the light from the venetian blinds inch its way across his sheets as he sweated and shivered and hurt, counting the drip drip drip of his IV, counting the little black dots in the ceiling tiles, counting the seconds until Furiosa got off work. During these long hot afternoons he found himself being drawn again into the dark abyss of hopelessness that had plagued him for so many years after Jessie’s death, and it was only the presence of Dog that kept him holding on to sanity until his new little family could come and visit. Thankfully Valkyrie still worked at the hospital part-time and could take Dog out for walks and bathroom breaks. The physical therapist came in three times a day, forcing Max to lift his arms and straighten his fingers until tears of pain ran down his face. The therapist was kind but stern, never taking ‘no’ or ‘I can’t,’ and explaining gently that without the exercises the skin would grow back inflexible and Max would be paralyzed on that side. Max knew this. There had been no physical therapy for his knee in prison so the scar tissue grew in stiff and hard, until Max couldn’t bend his knee more than a few degrees.

Every evening Furiosa would come in like a ray of light. She would sit on the edge of the bed and gently reapply bandages to Dog’s burns while telling Max about her day. Sometimes the girls came with her. They often just stayed for a short time, never quite knowing what to do or say, but Max appreciated them coming all the same. He knew that none of them liked hospitals; the stark white walls were too close to the prison. Capable was particularly jumpy, having spent so many weeks in hospitals with Nux, and often couldn’t stay for more than fifteen minutes.

He always insisted that everybody but Furiosa leave during his last round of physical therapy. During physical therapy Max’s bandages were removed, revealing skin behaving in ways that seemed impossible: bubbling into fat yellow pustules, leaking, rotting, and cracking like the surface of Mars. He felt alien and trapped, imprisoned in somebody else’s body, some leathery substitute for skin. The first time Furiosa was there during physical therapy he tried to force her to leave. She just snorted and stared at him incredulously from under her singed-off eyebrows.

“Ok Two Face,” she said, tugging at the hem of her long-sleeved shirt, “You think I can’t handle it?” Max and the physical therapist both stared at her, wide-eyed and confused, as she pulled her shirt off over her head. It came off with a shower of dead skin. A long red burn licked up her side and over her chest. It glowed in the dim room, peeling away to show even redder skin below. Her breasts were covered in the dried husks of blisters, now beginning to flake off in flurries. She challenged his gaze.

“Bow down to me, reptile,” she said, trying for a wobbly smile, “For I am queen of the lizard tits.”

Max never asked her to leave again.

On an ordinary day they would acknowledge that prisons should not have windows or closets or easy fire exits. However, when Slit and Tuss roared forward with all the force of a speeding truck they all froze for a moment and looked around the bare hallway, surprised at the lack of hiding places. Then Furiosa shouted and they ran, scattering down whatever hall or stairway they could find as gunfire rattled around the brick walls.

A bullet ricocheted off Furiosa’s metal arm and she jumped into survival mode, zigzagging down the hall. She didn’t know where anybody else was going, and barely spared a moment to hope that they were being smart. She could hear Joe bellowing orders, she heard Slit laughing and shots being fired, then she felt a sharp pinch in her side. Her muscles cramped. She folded over on herself. Everything went quiet and slow and she retreated deep into the buzzing insides of her brain.

Then she felt a warm dry hand envelope hers, and Toast was pulling her forward, shouting “Come on Furiosa, come on, you can make it! Come on!” Furiosa shook herself, trying to stay present. Everything was bright and razor sharp as they hurtled through a doorway marked “ROOF ACCESS” and began sprinting up echoing concrete stairs. Furiosa was panting now, unsure why she couldn’t take a breath until she finally glanced down at her side and saw that it was soaked through with blood. She blinked down at it dreamily, but Toast was pulling her onward, further up the stairway.

“Toast,” she wheezed, “Toast I think I’ve been shot.”

“No shit.”

“Toast, let me go, I’m leaving a blood trail.” Toast didn’t turn around, just continued pounding up another flight of steps, Furiosa’s hand grasped tightly in her own. “They’ll catch you—” Furiosa struggled for breath, “—Because of me.”

“Don’t talk,” Toast said, “Save your energy.”

They could hear the door slamming open below them and Eric Tuss’s low war bellow as he spotted Furiosa’s blood on the steps. He charged up after them, the metal structure trembling under his weight. Toast and Furiosa were taking the stairs three at a time. Furiosa risked a glance down. They had climbed five flights of stairs, with two more above them. Tuss was three floors below them but making fast headway. Joe was a floor below Tuss, sweating profusely as he struggled with the exertion. Blood was beginning to drip down into Furiosa’s combat boot.

Then they were at the roof access door. Toast pushed at it triumphantly, but it didn’t open. She pulled, she kicked, she tore at it with her nails, but the door was soundly locked. She looked at Furiosa for help, but Furiosa shook her head in defeat, her hands on her knees in exhaustion.

“Probably sealed shut,” she said between gasps, “Joe has always cared more about keeping prisoners confined than he has about fire safety.” Toast swore. Then she kicked the steel door and screamed in frustration, a scream that echoed and multiplied down the seven-story stairway.

Eric Tuss’s head appeared on the landing, then he was hurtling towards them, arms outstretched, when Toast’s demeanor changed completely. She seemed to shrink and grow helpless and delicate. She held her arms out to Officer Tuss and tears ran down her face.

“Get her Tuss!” Joe bellowed from three flights below. Toast pressed herself into the corner as Eric reached for her. Then she said,

“Eric! Eric, I came back for you!”

Tuss paused and looked at her stupidly.

“Joe wants to take me away from you! He wants to keep us apart!”

Tuss turned and looked at Joe, who was still huffing his way up the stairs.

“Don’t listen to her,” Joe shouted, “She’s lying!”

“Save me, Eric, save me!”

That was the last straw and Tuss turned on Joe, who was just cresting the last three steps.

Chapter Text

Ace called the women all into a meeting a week after Max’s hospitalization.

“I’m sorry to call you over like this,” he said, “I know you usually spend evenings with Max.”

Furiosa shrugged, trying not to show her trepidation at leaving Max alone. At the same time it was a relief to have a night free from the clawing antiseptic smell of the hospital, the whirring and beeping and the fluorescent lights that kept no secrets.

“I’ll go by after,” she said. Ace handed her a garish blue gift bag.

“This is for him. Got some homemade jerky in there, some socks, and my favorite movies to watch when I’m sick.”

Furiosa felt herself softening at the sweetness of the gesture, but she knew that acknowledging it would make them both uncomfortable. She jerked her chin up in silent thanks. Ace nodded back, then ushered her into the kitchen where the rest of the girls sat around the table.

“About Poleder,” Ace started. Around the table postures straightened and ears perked up. “We thought all the cameras burned in the fire, but we were wrong.” Around the table there was a communal sigh of relief, then a grateful hum that grew as the news sank in. Furiosa blinked, trying to believe that it was finally over.

“Don’t get too excited,” he continued, flipping his laptop open, “If Poleder is as good as he seems he probably took ever precaution.”

He flipped open his laptop and called up a section of video. He glanced at Furiosa, who nodded, then pressed play.

There was the tent, sitting peacefully in the clearing, lit up green in the night-vision cameras. A shadow grew out of the trees, a dark finger on the grass directly opposite the camera. Then Poleder emerged, a deep green figure against the neon grass. Furiosa’s heart sank. He was wearing a ski mask.

“A ski mask?” she groaned, “We’ll never be able to get him.”

Capable patted her arm.

“Just wait,” Capable said, “Maybe something will give him away.”

They watched silently as Poleder circled around the tent and knelt at the door.

“What’s he doing?” Dag asked. Furiosa shuddered, then murmured,

“He’s gluing the zippers shut.” She felt sick. Tension built behind her eyes and she wanted to look away. Then Cheedo said,

“Wait! Pause it!”

They looked at her, confused, but Ace paused the tape.

“Zoom in,” she said. Ace expanded the image until the figure’s profile took up the entire screen.

“Cheedo, you’re a genius,” Capable said. Furiosa was still confused.

“I don’t see it,” Furiosa said, “It’s just a horrible flat face.”

“Exactly,” Cheedo said, “It’s flat!” She flipped through photos on her phone, searching for one of Poleder. “I found this information while looking through Joe’s files, but I didn’t think it was important. Ah! Here it is!” She passed the phone around to the girls, who gasped and looked away. On the screen was a newspaper clipping showing a young man being wheeled into an ambulance, a gaping hole where his nose used to be. He was younger and thinner, but there was no hiding the square of his jaw and the angry red birthmark above his eye. “Early in his career Poleder was attacked by an angry defendant. The man shot him in the face. The guy had shit aim, so he missed the big brainy money shot. But he got Poleder’s nose. Blew it clean off.”

Furiosa was stunned.

“But—we saw him. He has a nose in all those pictures.”

“Fake. It’s very cleverly done. Latex that’s glued on with putty every morning. You can’t tell from a distance, and even up close you have to be looking for it.” She called up another photo, this one a close-up of Poleder’s face. “See how his face always looks a little bit off, but you can’t really place why?” Furiosa looked at the photo and wondered how she had never noticed before. The color was a perfect match to his florid face, and it attached seamlessly to his skin, but the texture was too smooth. There were no pores, no wrinkles, no freckles or hairs. It was perfect to an eerie extent.

She looked at the grainy image on the screen. The face was completely flat. She grinned.

“We’ve got him.”

Joe tried to run back down the stairs, but Eric was surprisingly limber for a man of his size and slammed Joe against the wall. His meaty hands tightened around Joe’s neck.

“Tuss!” Joe wheezed, “Tuss, don’t listen to her! I’ll give them to you, I’ll give you all the girls!” It was no use, and as Eric’s hands tightened, Joe’s face began to grow purple. Toast grabbed Furiosa’s hand and pulled her past the men on the stairway. Tuss barely noticed them pass, he was so intent on Joe.

“Toast,” Furiosa said, “Toast, he’s going to kill him.” Toast kept going. “Toast, if Joe dies, we all die.”

“Tuss won’t kill Joe,” Toast said, “I’m just buying us time.” As if on cue three shots rang out Furiosa spun to see Joe, soaked in the blood of his best guard, a gun pressed up against Eric’s belly. Eric looked down at Joe in shock, then slowly loosened his fingers from around Joe’s neck. Joe slumped to the floor, gasping for breath. Eric collapsed on top of him. Furiosa stared, transfixed, as Cheedo continued to pull her forward.

“Come on, Rator, we have to get to the Cell house.”

“But we need Cheedo.”

Toast held up a walkie-talkie.

“Way ahead of you,” she said, “We grabbed the radios from Giddy’s office.” She buzzed the radio as they rattled down the stairs. “You there Cheedo?”

“Loud and clear,” Cheedo said, “Officer Slit was focused on Capable, so I got away. Don’t know where anybody else is.”

Joe fired a shot from where he lay, crushed under Eric’s bulk, but it went wildly high and ricocheted off the ceiling.

“Tuss is dead,” Toast panted, “We have maybe a minute head start on Joe, but he has a gun.” Furiosa’s pants were stiff and sticky with blood, making every movement chafe. “Furiosa’s been hit,” Toast said. Cheedo swore.

Joe managed to heave Tuss’s bulk off of him, and the enormous body slid down the steps, landing with a heavy crack on the landing above them.

“Joe’s up!” Toast said, “Joe’s up, we have to go!” They were at the bottom now, and Furiosa heaved the door open with a grunt of effort.

“I’m at the Cell House,” Cheedo buzzed, “Just get him to the Electrolysis Chamber and I’ll do the rest!”

Chapter Text

Furiosa arrived at Max’s room right as the Physical Therapist was leaving.

“Rockatansky is sleeping, and I’m going to let him, for now,” the woman said, “He needs his rest. But send a nurse to get me when he wakes up, so we can do his hand exercises.”

Furiosa nodded, and promised that she would.

“And hey,” the PT said, handing Furiosa a post-it note, “Would you give this to your friend Toast?” Furiosa looked down and saw that the note had a phone number written on it. She grinned, nodded again, and went into Max’s room. He was lying on his side, his breath slow and even, his heart rate beeping melodiously on the monitor beside him.

“I think I found a new girlfriend for Toast,” she announced, tossing Ace’s gift on the foot of the bed. Max didn’t move.

“Max, I know you’re not asleep,” Furiosa said, “You have to do your physical therapy.”

            Max kept his eyes shut.

            “I know it hurts, but otherwise you’ll never be able to move your hands. You don’t want that. Come on.” He turned over stubbornly.

Furiosa leaned in close to his ear and whispered,

            “Think of all the things you can do to me with your hands. Don’t you want to do that?” Max was quiet, then rumbled,

            “Still have my mouth, don’t I?”

            “Fine, you don’t have to do physical therapy for me,” she said, “You don’t even have to do it for yourself. But please. Do it for Maggie.” She sensed him tense, and continued. “That little girl loves you. She asks about you every day. And without your hands you’ll never be able to communicate with her again. Not really.”

            Max sighed, then opened his eyes and moved his bed into an upright position.

            “Don’t go,” he muttered, staring up at her with troubled eyes, “Please.” Furiosa wrapped her arms around his middle.

            “Never.”

            A week later, on Halloween morning, Max left the hospital. He hadn’t wanted to make an event out of it, but little Maggie had insisted that she be there upon his release. From there it had grown into a full party.

“Remember, Max might look different,” Dag signed to Maggie. Maggie nodded, not really paying attention. They had been repeating those signs over and over, worried that she might get scared by Max’s skin grafts. But Maggie was adamant. She wanted Uncle Max to see her in her Halloween costume. She was dressed as Max from Where the Wild Things Are, in a white fox suit with a gold crown and scepter. Dag and the other girls all wore and stripes and claws and beaks as Maggie’s court of Wild Things, and they paraded through the halls of the burn unit to the great delight of the staff and patients.

On seeing Max, Maggie took a running jump and leapt into his arms with a squeal of delight. For once Max was grateful that she couldn’t hear his high wheeze of pain as his skin pulled and leaked.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Dag said, signing furiously at Maggie as Furiosa pulled the girl off of him. “I told her not to do that, but…”

“’M ok,” Max said, panting, “She’s… hrk… a free spirit.”

Maggie hung her head, embarrassed. I’m sorry, she signed. Max knelt stiffly and looked her in the eyes. His hands were still swollen, and the creases of his joints were cracked and wept clear puss when bent. But he signed with slow clear determination: I… like… your… costume. Maggie grinned and threw her arms around him again, making him whine in pain between his peels of laughter.

They were outside, tripping over the cracks on the uneven cement rec yard, but Furiosa didn’t see any of it. She was running through the desert again, her arm hanging at her side like an empty glove, sand and sweat and blood stinging in her eyes, no thought in her mind but revenge.

A scream reverberated across the tall concrete buildings that made Furiosa’s teeth clench.

“That’s Capable’s voice,” Toast said, “She needs help.”

“Go,” Furiosa gasped. “Go, I’ll get Joe.”

Toast stared at Furiosa for a moment, skeptical.

“THAT’S AN ORDER, PRIVATE!” Furiosa roared, making Toast blink before scampering off. Far behind them a gate slammed, and she knew that it was Joe, out from under the Eric’s dead weight, and intent on her blood. She had to get to the Cell House, and fast. She calculated in her head. Joe was impulsive. He’d let out a reckless spray of bullets that first time in the hallway, then three more on Tuss. For all his bravado, Joe was a poor shot. He usually relied on others to pull the trigger for him. A nine-millimeter usually held fifteen rounds, and she suspected that he had two more magazines in his belt. She tried to remember to the initial barrage. Had he fired ten? Twelve? Either way, she couldn’t lure him anywhere with a loaded gun.

Furiosa was so deep in her head she didn’t see Max until she ran headlong into him. The adrenaline was jumping off of her skin and if Max hadn’t grappled her arms she would have decked him before recognition kicked in. He folded around her in a tight grip, holding her steady as she kicked out.

“Shhh shhh it’s me shhh.”

She stopped fighting, but didn’t relax. He let her go, mumbling an apology. He held up an old rifle. Furiosa raised her eyebrows.

“Officer Slit,” he said in explanation.

“Dead?”

“Didn’t check.” He checked the gun, then shook his head. “Only three shots left. Not that it matters. Can’t kill him, anyways.”

“But we could disarm him. Get his hand.”

Max stared at her skeptically, then knelt down and put his eye on the scope. Joe was halfway across the yard now, moving forward with all the confidence of a tank. Max exhaled, aimed, and fired. He missed, but got Joe’s attention. Joe shot wildly in their direction, missing by a long shot but shocking Max and causing Max’s finger to jerk on the trigger, firing again.

Max hung his head in despair and shame. Joe was getting closer, and they were well in range now. Furiosa nudged Max’s shoulder. He jerked up, surprised, then handed the rifle to Furiosa in relief. He leaned his head to the side, gesturing for her to ground the gun on his shoulder for aim. She smiled.

She leaned forward, her breath grazing the back of Max’s neck. She could feel him swallow against the warm gun. They were connected by metal and gunpowder, combined into one weapon, blood and violence and power, and she aimed and fired and watched the invisible bullet tear through Joe’s elbow, bending it back in slow motion, the gun falling to the ground as Joe screamed and clutched at his arm.

Max’s ears were ringing. He shook his head blearily. Furiosa grabbed his face in her hands.

“Capable’s in trouble. Toast went to help, but they need you.”

Max blinked up at her and she sighed.

“I’m going to do something stupid,” she said, “And I can’t have anybody talking me out of it.”

Max nodded and stood up, shakily. She nodded in thanks.

“Go, fool.”

He went.

Chapter Text

            Max moved back into Furiosa’s apartment, only this time she was on the futon and he was in the bed. They had spent the first night sleeping together, but every touch made Max cringe in pain, and Furiosa kicked in her sleep.

They orbited around each other, existing in extreme intimacy and extreme caution. Every morning Furiosa would assist Max through his exercises, apply lotion to his back, and change his bandages. She helped him with showers, which were an especially delicate procedure: any pressure was excruciating, any heat was burning, but his inability to retain heat made cold water frigid. She washed him, dressed him, drove him to the doctor. They touched when they had to, which was often, but the fear of pain, emotional and physical, made them close off.

Furiosa got fitted for a new prosthesis, which meant quitting the gym membership and learning how to prepare rice, beans, and ramen in increasingly creative ways. The girls helped, although being Furiosa’s employees meant that they usually got by on equal or lesser funds. Max was immediately rehired at the bookstore, though according to doctor’s orders he stayed at the register, where he could sit.

When they weren’t at work or doctors’ appointments or taking Dog to the vet they spent their time searching fruitlessly for prosecutors who would take their case. Several lawyers expressed interest, but as soon as they learned that it would be going up against Patrick Poleder, the top attorney in the state, they hung up before Furiosa could get in another word.

A week after his release from the hospital, Max came into the shared bedroom and found Furiosa sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, her back towards him. Her shoulders were shaking so badly that for a moment Max thought that she was laughing. Then he heard her sniff thickly. He moved quietly, as if she was a frightened animal.

“Fury?”

She jumped, and quickly covered her feet with a blanket. She rubbed her face with the heels of her palms. Then she turned, giving him a watery smile that wouldn’t fool anyone.

“Hey you.” Her voice wobbled.

Max sat down gingerly next to her. As usual, he was at a loss for words. Instead he hummed and moved a thumb across her shining cheek. Her skin was red and hot and her eyelashes were glued into little wet triangles around her eyes. She looked down, causing more tears to squeeze out from beneath her lids. She brushed them away and tried to laugh it off. Max shook his head and hummed again. Then, slowly, carefully, he moved the blanket off of her legs.

He managed to suppress a gasp at the sight of her feet, though his eyes widened in shock. The skin on her feet was stretched tight and red, the toes like cherry tomatoes on top of a large raw steak. The lines were cracked and yellow from dried fluid. Bits of dust and dog hair had gotten caught in these creases. Max realized that Furiosa had been trying to remove the bits of fuzz from the scabs with a tweezers when he had interrupted.

“Fury,” he repeated. He reached for the antibiotic cream on the bedside table. He gently rubbed ointment into her left foot, then her right, blowing on it softly as he worked. When he was done he kissed both her ankles and lay back on the bed, tugging her lightly down next to him. He stared at her. She stared everywhere else.

“Furiosa.” He took her hand. “I love you.” His voice was trembling now, wobbling over every octave. She sniffed hard and looked him in the eye. “When you hurt…” He linked his fingers through hers. “Tell me. And I will do… anything. To make it better.”

Furiosa leaned into him and kissed him and cried and kissed him more.

They slept for two hours. When they woke up they ordered greasy pizza and watched Bob’s Burgers, then ate Phish Food ice cream from the carton while reading cheap murder mysteries. They never stopped touching the entire time.

Fluorescent lights bussed to life when Furiosa entered the Cell House.

“Cheedo, I’m in,” she said over the radio.

“Copy that,” Cheedo responded.

“Where’s Gillian with the darts?”

“I thought she was with you.” Cheedo sounded shaky. Before Furiosa could answer, the heavy metal door slammed open behind her and Joe staggered in, blood seeping through his fingertips as he held his ruined right arm. Ten bruises were blossoming on his neck where Eric had choked him, and his eyes were wild with rage.

Furiosa took one look at him and sprinted into the Electrolysis Chamber.

The Chamber was a giant vat, about the size of a basketball court with walls made of thick transparent plastic. It had a sunken metal floor, about three feet lower than the doors. Brine filled the room from the floor to the base of the doors. When a button was pressed in the Control Room, electrical currents flowed into the floor, turning the room into an oven. Thick rubber tubes hung from the ceiling like jungle vines, stopping several inches from the top of the liquid. These tubes worked as rubber chimneys, pumping the hot air and toxins out of the chamber.

Furiosa was dizzy from blood loss and the dropped step from the doorway made her fall forward into the brine solution. After a momentary struggle she got her feet under her again and snorted the salt water out of her nose. Blood plumed in the shallow pool, and made her think of Capable’s red hair.

On the other side of the Plexiglass, Joe was laughing.

“Do you think you can hide in there, bitch?” He pulled the metal door open and stared down at her like she was a fish in a tank. Her eyes burned from the salt. She backed slowly down the length of the vat.

“You can’t get away from me,” he said, “Nobody takes my shit and gets away with it.”

Furiosa found herself unable to draw any breath deeper than a shallow wheeze.

“They… are not… things…”

Joe jumped down into the brine with a splash, the door slamming shut behind him. His blood joined with Furiosa’s and turned the water a pale shell pink. He waded forward, snarling. Furiosa groped around for her radio before spotting it by the door, distorted beneath three feet of brine. She hoped to God that Cheedo was watching them through the security cameras in the control room.

“Say it,” she demanded, “Say that they are not things.” Joe continued to stride towards her, water splashing around his legs. “Say it!”

“You will die, bitch.”

“CHEEDO!” Furiosa screamed, “CHEEDO, DO IT!” With her last drop of adrenaline she leapt up out of the water, grabbing onto one of the thick rubber tubes, praying that it would hold her weight as she scaled up towards the ceiling. There was a deep buzzing hum that radiated into her bones and made her teeth rattle. A cool mechanical voice recited,

“Caution. Preparing for electric flow in ten seconds.”

She saw comprehension dawning in Joe’s bloodshot blue eyes. He ran to the door, but Cheedo had locked it remotely. He grabbed one of the rubber tubes and tried to climb like Furiosa had, but with his mangled elbow he splashed back down into the solution, arms and legs splayed out like an up-ended beetle.

“Solution will be electrified in five.”

Furiosa looked down at the man below her and blinked. Her vision blurred and suddenly it wasn’t Joe, it was her former Sergeant Bento, floundering in four inches of chemical formula.

“Do you remember me now, asshole?” she whispered.

She blinked again and it was Ryder Wrock, who had forced her into an impossible deal and refused to get her out, even when she her life was at stake.

“Three.”

“Do you remember me?”

It was Eric Tuss, staring up at her in stupid terror.

“Two.”

Before her vision faded completely into white she saw Joe’s face again. His mask had fallen down, revealing a mouth red and bleeding with canker sores.

“One.”

She fell as electricity surged through the solution, her scream mixing with Joe’s as he died.

Chapter Text

Falling, falling, falling, the fluorescent lights spinning into a burning white blur as she flails out, searching for a grip and finding nothing, she falls and falls until she lands…

…On a bed. Furiosa jerked awake with a gasp that startled Dog out of his spot between her and Max. Max turned over to her sleepily.

“Ghosts?” he murmured. Furiosa nodded in the dark.

Every night had ghosts. They had grown accustomed to waking each other up with kicks and punches. They held each other through them and in the mornings they changed the sweat-soaked sheets and poured strong cups of coffee.

“Good ghosts or bad ghosts?” he asked.

They rarely went into the specifics of their dreams. Furiosa knew that Seeds would have wanted to go over every detail, analyzing the presence of every object and character. Max and Furiosa didn’t. The only information they shared was whether the ghosts were good or bad. Bad Ghosts were the most common: the nighttime visits of Joe and Bento and Nick Orga. They woke up from those bruised and shivering, their arms reaching out for each other.

Good Ghosts were dreams of Angharad, of Jesse and Sprog, Nux and Seeds, of childhoods spent in loving arms of those long gone. Those ones were the hardest to wake up from. The ones where you woke up hollow, where reality knocked the air out of your lungs and you buried your face in your pillow in an attempt to sink back into the softness of the dream.

“Bad.”

Max put a warm heavy arm around her clammy shoulders and drew her into him with a sigh. Dog whined and resituated at their feet. Furiosa shut her eyes, but adrenaline was still beating through her arteries and she knew that sleep was still a long was away. She looked at Max’s face, softened by darkness.

“Max.” His eyes were closed but he hummed to show that he was at least partially awake. “Are you my boyfriend?”

For a moment she thought that he had fallen back asleep, but then he exhaled thoughtfully.

“’M your Max.” He kissed her forehead. “And you’re my Furiosa.” He breathed her smell in like it was oxygen. “An’ that’s all I know.”

He rolled over and began to snore.

There was a reason why Chelsea Fragile’s hacker name was Cheetah93. The girl was fast. Cheedo had run track in high school. When she had been caught by the police she out-ran three cops before being cut off by a police car. But she had never moved as fast as she did that night, sprinting down from the Control Room to find Furiosa. She tripped on the stairs, twisting her ankle, but she didn’t stop, didn’t slow until she reached the plexiglass walls of the Electrolysis Chamber.

Furiosa was hanging from the ceiling. The mangled metal parts of her prosthesis had caught on the rubber tubing and slowed her fall. Cheedo knew it wouldn’t hold for long, though. Already the sharp metal was slicing through the rubber and causing Furiosa to slide down, inch by inch. Her boot tips were already touching the surface of the water. Cheedo pulled open the heavy door and stepped back at the cloud of steam that poured out around her. It was almost 200 degrees inside the chamber, even with the rubber chimneys.

“Furiosa? Furiosa!” She wrestled into thigh-high rubber waders, tripping over herself in the process and wincing under the sharp pain of her quickly swelling ankle. The brine was shallower now that it had been treated, only about six inches deep, but it was pure undiluted bleach. The fumes made Cheedo dizzy, and the heat was unbearable. Two steps in and she could feel her white prison uniform sticking to her with sweat. But Furiosa was ahead of her, her skin the sick yellow-grey of an egg yolk gone bad. Blood leaked slowly down her side and mushroomed into delicate patterns when it hit the bleach. Everything was quiet but for the low hum of the lights and the wheezing of Furiosa’s breath as her lungs expelled their last breaths.

Cheedo couldn’t tell what was tears or snot or sweat, she just knew that fat drops were dripping off of her chin as she tried to lift Furiosa’s legs over her shoulder. Furiosa’s dead weight was unwieldy and twice Cheedo nearly dropped her into the acid formula. She didn’t hear the door open, but when she looked up Max was beside her, grasping Furiosa’s shoulders and helping Cheedo carry her out.

The cool air hit them when they climbed out of the Electrolysis Chamber, making them both shiver and gulp deep mouthfuls of clean air. Cheedo looked at Max and nodded thanks, unable to speak for exertion. Max wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were fixed on Furiosa with an intimate tenderness that made Cheedo feel uncomfortable, like she was seeing his naked soul exposed.

He held Furiosa’s face close to his, and her grey skin shone silver with sweat. Her breath pressed out of her lungs like a broken accordion, like a song, the last bit of life song squeezing themselves out.

“Go,” Max rasped, “Get help.”

Cheedo ran.

Chapter Text

They were all gathered at Furiosa’s apartment: Dag, her boyfriend Colin, Toast, Valkyrie, Capable, and Max. After putting Maggie gently to bed in Furiosa’s room, the adults sat around in the living room and ate candy from the post-Halloween clearance sales. Dag popped open a leftover pumpkin ale and said,

            “One of the few perks of having a deaf child is that the party can continue after bedtime.”

            “Plus you can have sex as loud as you want,” Toast said with a smirk. Dag winked as Colin considered this.

            “I wonder if there’s any perks like that to blindness,” he said, “I suppose my parents could have walked around naked and I wouldn’t have known.”

            “You don’t know this about me Colin, but I actually have a huge picture of your naked mother tattooed on my ass,” Dag said, “I was hoping you’d never have to know.”

            The doorbell rang.

            “We’ve been getting a lot of Jehovah’s Witnesses lately,” Furiosa said as she got up to open it.

            “Sorry, we’re not interest—” She didn’t finish the sentence. Her mouth fell open in shock. A large man was standing at the door, looking embarrassed. He was no older than thirty-three, and wore his hair in a tight military buzz cut.

            “Corporal JoBassa?” he said.

            “Morsov,” she breathed, “Crazy Elvis Morsov?” The man broke into a grin and nodded, then embraced her in a bone-crushing hug that lifted her off her feet.

            “I thought you were a Jehovah’s Witness!” she said, laughing, “Jesus Christ, Morsov, I thought you were dead!”

            The man held out his arms in demonstration.

            “Elvis lives,” he announced. She ushered him inside.

            “What have you been doing? I haven’t seen you since that day in the desert.”

            “Well, I was discharged due to these suckers,” the man lifted his pant legs a few inches to show two prosthetic legs. “I see you’ve got one of your own. After that I figured it was finally time to live my dream. Went back to school. Law school. Graduated last spring.” The pride from that statement was glowing off of him like radiation.

            “That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

            “Well, that’s why I’m here, actually. I tried to find you after I got home, but I couldn’t…”

            “I was undercover. Long story.” Morsov looked like he wanted to ask, but continued with his story.

            “Anyways, last week I was looking over police records, and I saw your name. You’re trying to bring down the People Eater, huh? You’re even crazier than I am!”

            “Furiosa?” Toast’s voice came out quiet and gentle from across the room. “Um. Who’s this?” Furiosa turned to find six pairs of eyes staring at them in confusion. Furiosa grinned.

            “Elvis, meet my family,” she said, gesturing around her living room, “Family, meet Morsov, our new attorney.”

Cheedo didn’t speak until she was four years old. She had two older brothers and three younger sisters, which meant that her voice frequently went unheard. She whispered when spoken to, and for most of her childhood she stayed off the radar. Often she was marked absent because teachers wouldn’t hear her tremulous whisper of “Present” during roll call. Once she reached middle school she began receiving attention for her looks, which only increased her shyness. She covered her face with her hair and wore chunky sweaters even on the hottest days.

But that night as she spoke into the prison intercom Cheedo’s voice rang out across the Citadel Correctional Facility like the voice of God.

“HE’S DEAD. JOE IS DEAD.”

A guard was trying to push Valkyrie’s face over an oven burner when they heard it. They were in the mess hall. Industrial bags of flour had been shot and the air was thick with white powder. It covered the floor like snow and showed the clear signs of the fight. Drops of the guard’s blood had congealed in the flour where Val had stabbed him.

“JOE M. ORTAN IS DEAD.”

Capable was kneeling over Officer Corpus when they heard it. Her soft white hands were around his neck and she was shaking as her thumbs pressed on his Adam’s apple. She could feel life pulsing through him and didn’t know if she had the strength to stop it. Toast was behind her, her arms wrapped firmly around Corpus’s trashing legs.

“IT’S OVER. STOP FIGHTING.”

When Keeper Seeds heard it she was standing over Nux’s unconscious body, her legs on either side of him, her arms outstretched. She was trying to talk down a group of inmates who were thirsty for blood. The other Vuvalini were around her in a protective circle, enhancing Keeper’s message of peace with clenched fists and heavy metal pipes.

“JOE IS DEAD.”

Dag heard it while kneeling by the locked door of Miss Giddy’s cell in the Solitary Housing Unit. Her hands were pressed to the metal as if she could feel Giddy’s life moving through it. She had run up and down the hallways of the solitary unit, frantically testing out number codes that she had stolen from Joe’s office. In a state of lockdown, however, all the doors remained locked, regardless of cards or keys or codes.

“JOE IS DEAD.”

Cheedo’s voice echoed across the rec field, it radiated through dark hallways and cells that had been long forgotten, it drowned out the lockdown alarms. Across the prison people froze at the sound of her voice.

The guard let go of Valkyrie’s head.

Capable’s hands slackened around Corpus’s throat.

The Vuvalini and the inmates looked around in fearful wonder.

Dag wrapped her arms around her pregnant belly and cried.

Silence. Then…

It began as a murmur, a susurrus of noise trembling out from the cement walls, then grew and grew until it was a roar that echoed around the prison, until for a moment Cheedo thought that all had been for nothing that the bombs had gone off after all. Then it hit her. Cheering. Inmates at first, banging on the bars of their cells in applause. Then guards joined in, weeping and hugging and laughing and shouting.

Furiosa opened her eyes and saw Max.

“Get them home,” she whispered, “Get… them… home.”

Chapter Text

The girls were sitting in their usual booth at the bar. They were all discouraged and soaked through by the freezing rain outside, and the fact that Citadel City usually had snow by November did nothing to lighten their moods. News of climate change was on everyone’s minds, and the rain just seemed an extra potent reminder that the world was changing.

“So Cheedo,” Furiosa asked, trying to lighten the mood, “How did it go with Morsov today?”

They had all met with Elvis Morsov several times over the past week, going over the basics of the case, but on this day Cheedo had been the only one off work. She had spent the afternoon with Morsov looking at the video of Poleder at the campsite.

“Not great,” Cheedo sighed, “He says the nose thing isn’t enough. It works slightly in our favor, but not beyond a reasonable doubt. It could have been a trick of the angle, or a mistake with the mask, or somebody trying to frame him.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how we’re going to win this.”

Capable grabbed Cheedo’s hand across the table.

“We will,” she said, “We just have to take small steps. Remember how impossible things looked when we were in the prison? Remember how hopeless it all seemed?”

“We were given Furiosa in the prison,” Dag chimed in, “And now we were given Morsov. We’re going to get by.”

“It just sucks,” Cheedo said, “Whenever I think that the past in behind us, it’s not. It just sucks.”

“It does suck,” Toast added, “It’s all just a heap of shit. But you know what we do with shit?” Cheedo looked up at Toast questioningly. “We turn that shit into fertilizer and grow motherfucking flowers. Now let’s get some more drinks up in here.” She gestured to Valkyrie, who was waiting tables. Valkyrie nodded and went into the back.

“Let’s change the subject,” Capable said, “Let’s talk about something happy. Let’s talk about a romance!” The girls all groaned, making Capable pout. “Come on, I have to live vicariously. You all have your love lives, I don’t.”

Cheedo cleared her throat pointedly. “I have no love life and am quite happy, thank you very much,” she said.

“What, you don’t ever want physical intimacy?” Capable asked.

“I have my butterfly massager, that’s all I need.” The girls shrieked and hooted, and Toast game a loud “Amen!”

“I don’t miss sex so much,” Capable said, “I get myself off better than Nux ever did, God rest his soul. I just miss waking up next to a warm body. And having somebody who thinks my stretch marks are beautiful. Somebody who snuggles with me and talks to me and kisses me, you know?”

“All I know is that the kitty gives me all the snuggles I need,” Cheedo said.

Valkyrie came by with a round of drinks for the table and the tension broke.

“I have some good news,” Dag announced. She stood up for dramatic affect. Everybody looked up, giggling and whispering in their own side conversations. “I’ve been waiting for the proper time to say this, so…” She took a long pause until Toast shouted at her to get on with it.

“Maggie is getting surgery,” she said.

The booth fell into stunned silence.

“It’s a new procedure for children,” she continued, “In the past doctors have waited until adulthood, but with modern technology they can perform it on smaller bodies.” She waited for a response, but when none came she went on. “It’s fairly low risk. They’re going to reshape her deformed ear canal, and give her a false eardrum.”

There was a long silence, then Furiosa said,

“Wow. That’s huge.”

“I know. We just found out yesterday.”

“How does Mags feel about it?” Toast asked. Dag shrugged, her face falling.

“She’s scared. She doesn’t really understand what hearing is. How could she? How can you describe a sense that somebody has never experienced? Colin was born seeing, so he understands sight. Maggie doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

She sat down.

“She doesn’t want the surgery, but it’s not her call, is it? I’m her mother, I choose what’s best for her. Right?” She tried and failed to keep the pleading edge out of her voice.

“I can’t help but wonder what a hearing Maggie would be like. Would she still be my same little girl?”

She laughed a little. “I guess this isn’t quite the good news you were wanting.” She stared down at her hands.

The others tried not to make eye contact. Then Furiosa raised her glass.

“To Margaret Angharad Vuvalini.”

They drained their glasses.

Furiosa was somewhere cold and airless.

Hadal Zone. The long-forgotten word bloomed in her mind, lost year ago after a high school lecture on the ocean layers. The deepest level of the sea, deeper even than the ocean basin, the Hadal Zone was below the reach of any sunlight.

The word felt right to Furiosa.

She couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or closed. She tried to look around her, but it was all just one even darkness. She wondered if she was sinking, but she didn’t think so. She was directionless. There was no up or down. The only sound was the thick rasp of her lungs.

She floated on. She could get lost down here and not mind. It was peaceful. She longed for quiet, to let go of the labored in and out of her breath and let the cold fill her up completely. There was nothing outside of this. This was all there was, and that was okay. She let go.

Then there was a sudden pinch and a jerk, and she startled. She looked at herself. She was still in the Hadal Zone, but she realized with disappointment that she had a body, very solid and whole. It hung below her like a useless slab of cold rubber. She felt a distant anger tugging deep inside of her brain, but it was muffled beneath the dark density of the water.

The world was no longer just darkness anymore, either. A long red tube was coming out of her arm. It was glowing and vibrant until it faded off into the black water. Furiosa followed it with her eyes. Up. It must be pointing up.

Warmth was radiating from the tube, flowing into her arm, and as it flowed it made her aware of every vein and every nerve in precise and seering detail. It pencilled out every crack and joint and she wanted to let go again, she wanted to tear out the red cord and sink back into the motionless dark, but she couldn’t. The cord was pulling at her, reeling her in like a fish, back up out of the Hadal Zone, and there was light again, cold white light that made her flinch away.

And then there were hands on her shoulders, and breath on her face, and a warm rough voice telling her,

“Max. My name is Max.”

Chapter Text

Max and Furiosa chopped vegetables in silence.

Maggie was in surgery, and Max and Furiosa had offered to make soup for them. Dag had taught everyone about the procedure, using a diagram of the inner ear. They would shave away excess bone and cover it up with skin grafts. Then they would use a skin graft ten 1,000ths of an inch thick to recreate an eardrum, and put in a cochlear implant if necessary. Though a complicated and delicate procedure, it was not especially risky. Dag made sure to stress that Maggie would be in no danger. In a worst case scenario there would be no change to Maggie’s condition. She repeated this over and over, like a mantra.

All the same, there was a note of tension to the back of Furiosa’s neck as she rinsed the carrots, and in Max’s voice when he finally broke the silence.

“So. Elvis. What’s his story?” he asked.

Furiosa couldn’t hide the flush on her neck at the mention of the name.

“We all called him Morsov, for obvious reasons.”

Max grunted.

“He was in my squad,” she continued, “The youngest one of all of us. Couldn’t even legally drink.” She dumped the freshly chopped carrots into the pot. “He was a crazy motherfucker. Passionate and loyal to an almost suicidal degree. The ‘fall on a grenade’ type. Wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. You know the drill.”

Max nodded. He had known cops who were the same way.

“Last I saw him was right after the explosion. Jesus, it looked like he had been split in two. I heard that he’d survived, but I couldn’t believe it.”

The vegetables hissed in the pot. Then Max cleared his throat.

“When you see him… you seem…” he searched the air for a word. “Different.”

“You know how it is. You see somebody from your past you regress back to how you were then.” She smiled. “Morsov is such a funny guy. It’s good to see his humor hasn’t left him. God, he was always playing these wild pranks. There was one time he poured ham juice all over another guy’s cot during the day. It dried, so the guy didn’t noticed until midnight, when he woke up surrounded by jackals.” She burst into a fit of very out-of-character giggles.  “Or once he sprayed tear gas on all the toilet seats. Christ, that burned for weeks. We had to use cardboard covers. There was never a dull moment with Morsov around.”

Max lowered his eyebrows.

“He made you happy.”

“He distracted from the hell that was around us every day. War is ugly. But Morsov reminded me to look up from the blood and the fire and see the beauty of the landscape, of the people.” She sighed. “I was too young. Me and Morsov, we were just naive kids with a lust for adventure.”

“Sounds like you lusted for more than adventure,” he muttered under his breath.

Furiosa jerked her head to look at him and he immediately regretted the statement.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. Max turned red and defensive.

“I just thought I knew your past. Guess I don’t.”

“Yeah, damn straight you don’t, you don’t know shit about me.” Furiosa felt anger bubbling up inside her and with it came all the tension of the week: fruitless starts in the case against Poleder, the pain in her feet, her fear for Maggie.

“You. And him.”

“Are you asking if Morsov and I hooked up?”

Max didn’t answer, but his eyes betrayed his curiosity.

“What, are you jealous?”

“I’m jealous that he knew you in the past, is that so bad?”

“What past? The past where I was whole and pure and unbroken? The past where I laughed at pranks and didn’t wake up screaming? The past where I had two hands to rub a man off with?” Max shook his head, but it was too late, she was boiling over. "Or maybe you like that past. Maybe you’re jealous because you’re not the first man who hasn’t fucked me over.” Her voice was rising. “You like to be my hero, and I’m the little lost sheep you guided into safety? Is that it?” Max continued to shake his head until he looked like a dashboard figurine, bobbing robotically. “You are in no position to be jealous! You think you’re the first man I’ve loved? Here you have a woman’s name tattooed across your fucking thigh but no, I’m supposed to be as inexperienced as a middle schooler!”

“Furiosa-”

“No! No! I’m not done!”

“You can finish, just-- put down the knife? Please?”

Furiosa looked down and realized that she had been punctuating every statement by jabbing the air with her kitchen knife. She paused, knife brandished in front of her, then sagged. She gently set the knife back on the counter.

Max opened his arms and she stepped into them with a sigh. His warm soft smell enveloped her as they held each other, swaying slightly, moving with each other’s breath. After a moment he exhaled heavily into her hair.

“Huh,” he murmured, “That was a lot.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I deserved it.”

She could feel his heart beating in his neck.

“I fooled around with guys before,” she murmured. “I mean, you’re not the first. I was a virgin before Bento, but it’s not like I never--” Max kissed her.

“I don’t care if you fucked the whole army,” he said, “I don’t care if you’ve loved a thousand men. All I care about is that you love me now.” He cleared his throat. He hadn’t spoken so many words in a row in weeks. “And even if you didn’t love me, I, um, that’d be okay. I love you. Whether or not--”

Furiosa laughed into his shoulder.

“I do love you, Max.”

Max beamed and stared at the ceiling.

“The past is interesting,” he rumbled, “But. Hmm. It’s not nearly as interesting as this.”

Capable pressed her face into her palms until she saw stars. The bright antiseptic waiting room felt too much like the prison. She wondered if she was going to be sick, then wondered if she was pregnant.

When they had been locked up the girls would talk about the first thing they would do if they got released. Reunite with their dog, eat a burger and fries, go to the ocean. Sometimes Capable had felt like, if she ever got free, nothing could come in the way of achieving these things. Like she would skip parole and live as a fugitive if it only meant she could ride the ferris wheel at the boardwalk again, or go surfing, or have a red velvet cupcake. Now she was free, but she couldn’t seem to muster the energy to even look up from the floor.

She had ridden in the ambulance with Nux, watching his chest rise and fall with the beeping of the heart monitor. She hadn’t answered any of the doctors’ questions, except to tell them that he was a former soldier and he had stage two cancer in his throat. Her riot gear still covered her prison uniform and protecting her convict status at least temporarily.

“Your name is Capable?”

She looked up to see Keeper Seeds kneeling in front of her. She nodded.

“I just talked to the nurse, she said Fury and the boy Nathaniel are stable but we won’t be able to see them till at least the morning.” She waited for Capable to answer, then went on. “You got any family to stay with? I could give you a ride.”

Capable shook her head.

“My ma’s in rehab,” she said, “There’s nobody else.”

Seeds nodded.

“Well, you’ve got us,” she said, “You want to come home with me and my sisters? We’ve got a hot shower, and a sofa bed.”

Capable shook her head again.

“I should stay here, with Nux.”

Seeds waited a moment, then stood up and walked away. Capable put her hands back over her eyes.

“Capable?”

This time it was Valkyrie standing over her. Capable didn’t say anything.

“Capable, my name is Val, and I am the Chief of Staff at Citadel General.”

That caused Capable to look up. Valkyrie was wearing scrubs and her hair was up in a sloppy ponytail. The bags under her eyes matched any of the other hospital staff. Valkyrie smiled at Capable’s surprise.

“How did you think I managed to grab an ambulance to quickly?” She squatted down to be at eye-level with Capable. “I just went in to see your friend Nathaniel.”

Capable stared up with wild eyes.

“How is he? Is he okay?” she asked. Valkyrie smiled.

“He’s fine. Just some broken bones, that’s all. He’s a very tough guy. We’re getting them fixed up right now. You’ll be able to see him as soon as he gets out. In the meantime, you should get some rest. You’ve had quite the intense couple of days.”

Capable looked sceptical.

“I should stay with him.” Her conviction was dampered slightly by an enormous yawn. Val took out a pen and a piece of paper.

“Here,” she said, “This is my phone number. You can call me any time you want to. And I have Keeper’s number, so I’ll call as soon as he comes out of surgery. Ok?”

Capable thought a minute, then nodded.

“Okay.”

Capable was asleep as soon as she got into Keeper’s car. Seeds woke her up long enough to help her into pajamas and onto the sofa bed, then, when she was sure Capable was asleep, she snuck off and called Valkyrie.

“Ok Val. Tell me how he really is.”

Val sighed.

“I didn’t lie, he’s tough. Nothing ruptured, nothing punctured. But he’s broken approximately 57 bones, including his neck. He’s going to need screws in his elbow and hip, and staples in his collarbone. It will be tough, his tumors are pretty prominent. I can’t tell if he’s the luckiest or unluckiest man I know.”

Keeper looked over at the girl lying on the sofa bed, her fear softened by sleep.

“I’d go for the former.”

Chapter Text

Max watched Furiosa. She looked like the crushed hood of a totalled sports car. Nurses and doctors came and went, examining her, pushing and prodding and peering into her every orifice. Gillian and Valkyrie, now in clean scrubs, undressed Furiosa and put her into a hospital gown. She had dislocated her left shoulder during her fall, and Max held her cold right hand to his mouth while they slid the joint back into place. He stayed by her side like a loyal watchdog, tethered by the rubber tube in his arm, until he fainted from blood loss.

Dog was wearing a new service animal vest to permit him into the hospital and he marched proudly ahead of them, his nails clicking sharply on the white tile floors.

Max liked hospitals. He knew it was counterintuitive, considering how much pain he had faced there, but he like the order and safety. He liked that he could go to a hospital and get answers. Hospitals took confusion and fear and turned it into diagnoses.

Furiosa did not share this feeling. He felt her tense beside him as they walked into the hospital and he wanted desperately to hold her hand, but he knew she wouldn’t want it. It was too public of a gesture, too soft and sweet for her. Instead she crossed her arms tightly around herself.

Suddenly Dog stopped and turned to where Furiosa was standing behind him. He looked up at her with big wet dog eyes and whined. Furiosa wasn’t moving. She bit her fist. Dog walked closer and put his two front paws on her knees. He licked at her prosthesis and she giggled wetly.

“He does it for me too,” she said, wonderingly, “The anxiety thing.”

“Mm. It’s his job.”

She took a deep breath, then scratched Dog behind his ears.

“I’m okay, Dog.” They kept walking.

“Hospital ghosts?” Max asked. Furiosa hummed in agreement.

“Too many. Too many for one person.”

When he woke up again there was light coming in through the window. A plaid curtain in shades of brown and green separated him from whoever shared the room with him, beeping away cheerfully. An IV was stuck into his arm, pumping blood and fluids back into him. His two broken fingers were rewrapped but aching. He couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up slowly: for years he'd jolted awake, leaping out of bed and growling. He looked at the iv tree suspiciously, suspecting a sedative. He got out of bed with a groan and chastised himself for getting soft. Since he’d gained the status of a universal blood donor in the prison he hadn’t gotten in many fights. This morning the ghosts of every knuckle that had punched him over the past days dug into his muscles with vivid memory. He lifted up his shirt and saw long striped bruises from where he had jumped onto the grill of the fire truck.

He padded into the bathroom and washed the blood and sweat off of his face. When he came out he saw the red headed girl standing by the window. She was ethereally beautiful in the morning light. She was wearing borrowed clothes; too-short overalls and a long suede trench coat covered in delicate embroidery. Her hands were wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. It was real coffee, not the cheap prison stuff that was just bitter water, and the smell made Max’s stomach growl. She turned, and he had to fight the urge to run away.

“Rockatansky, right?”

Max grunted in affirmation.

“I’m Capable,” she said, “I guess you’re sharing a room with my friend Nux.”

“Mm. Officer Lancer?” Capable nodded.

“They say he’ll make a full recovery. Or at least as full as he can get, with cancer.”

“M Sorry.” Capable looked surprised at the sentiment, but she hid it well.

“Rator is next door. Or Furiosa, or whatever her name is.”

Max took the hint that Capable wanted to be alone, and left the room.

“My mom was sick a lot,” Furiosa said in the elevator. Her voice was starched stiff with discomfort. “She had AIDS. We spent a lot of time in hospitals.” Max’s eyebrows rose, but he was quiet. He was more surprised at her openness than the story itself. She waited for a response, but he didn’t give one, so she continued. “Val and I are both clean. She didn’t get it until after we were born. But.” She sighed. “It made for a lot of hospital visits. Which is how she found my aunts. They took her to the Green Place.”

Before the doors opened again on the third floor, he reached across and kissed her cheek, so fast that she hardly registered it before he had let go. They stared straight ahead as the doors opened and they stepped out onto the pediatric floor, both trying to hide their smiles.

Their smiles fell when they turned a corner and saw Dag and Colin in the hallway. Dag had her face buried in Colin’s shirt, as he stroked her shaking shoulders. She looked up as they got closer and hastily wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm. Max silently held out the bouquet of flowers he had brought, and Dag took them with a watery smile.

“Dag, is she ok?” Furiosa asked, “What happened?”

“She can hear,” Dag said.

“Well that’s great!” Furiosa said, smiling confusedly, “So what’s the matter?”

“She overwhelmed?” Max asked. Dag nodded.

“Throwing a complete fit. She doesn’t know what sound is. She’s never experienced it and it’s freaking her out. She started screaming, which just made it worse, but she can’t connect the sound to the action, so she can’t stop.” She was crying again. “I saw all these videos of babies hearing their mother’s voices, and it was so beautiful, but--” She leaned back into Colin.

“Maggie panicked when Dag started talking,” Colin said.

“I’ve seen it before,” Max rumbled softly, “Dag, it’s not about you. This is totally normal.”

“Thank you,” Dag whispered, “Maybe Dog could help. You guys can go on in.”

He wheeled his IV tree into Furiosa’s room and sat on her bed, memorizing her face. He was intent on the slow in and out of her breath, as if looking away would cause it to stop. Color had returned to her face. Instead of the dull grey of the night before, today she was a veritable rainbow of bruises. Her eyes were ringed with vibrant shades of blue and purple, fading into green around her nose. She reminded Max of a peacock.

She still had blood and salt smeared across her skin, so Max went to the tiny bathroom and wet down a handful of paper towels. He gently wiped one down the side of her face, then the other, from forehead to jaw. Dried blood turned from brown to pink, and clung on the fine hair on her face. As did this he found himself mumbling out an old song, long buried in the deep caves of his memory.

“Down in the valley, valley so low,

Lean your head over, hear the wind blow,”

He didn’t even realize that he was doing it, and he couldn’t have controlled it if he had.

“Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow,

Lean your head over, hear the wind blow.”

He ran the towels gently along the hollows around her eyes, and traced the outline of her nose. He wiped blood off of her upper lip, and where it had caught divot of her chin. When he ran it over her chapped lips she whimpered and darted out her tongue to taste at the moisture. Max jumped back as if he had seen the dead move.

Maggie was lying in the fetal position on the crinkly paper table. Every time the paper rustled she cringed out of the way. She was keening a long constant whimper that made Dog prick up his ears and whine.

Dog padded up to her and licked at her bare feet. She continued crying, beating her little fists on the table, not realizing that she was just making things worse. Dog jumped up on the table next to her and nosed at her hair. Max and Furiosa stood uncomfortably by the door. Though they both loved Maggie, neither of them were confident with her tantrums. Max couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen Furiosa further out of her comfort zone. She could take on Mexican drug cartels, evil prison wardens, and vengeful lawyers, but a hurting child made her want to surrender.

Max stepped forward on his soft soundless feet. He sat on the table and lifted Maggie into his lap. He hummed low and steady, a white-noise drone that seemed to wipe out everything else. Maggie’s screaming softened into sobs, and his humming began to form a rumbling melody. Breath , he signed, breath in... and out . She took a long breath.

“Down in the valley,” he sung, his voice like thunder with words, “Valley so low,”

Her sobs turned to loud sniffling.

“Lean your head over, hear the wind blow,”

Furiosa was staring at him as if he were a ghost.

“Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow,

Lean your head over, hear the wind blow.”

Maggie let out one last vibrating sigh, then was asleep.

Furiosa opened one eye slowly and stared up at him. She looked like a lizard, her eye a flash of green beneath its swollen lid. It made Max’s breath stutter, and he swallowed hard. He had been staring at her all night, but now that she was looking back his eyes slid away like a negative magnet.

“Rock…” Her voice had the dull rasp and squeak of grinding metal. “Rock… Tan… Ski?”

Max felt relief and warmth flow through him so hard and fast that for a moment he thought he would faint again. Instead he slid his hand over her prickly hair.

“Max,” he said, “My name is Max.” He stared up at the ceiling to keep from drowning. “Mm. That’s my name.”

Furiosa didn’t speak the whole way to the car. She walked lost in her mind, focused so completely inside her head that Max thought he could feel the thoughts radiating off of her. Finally, after shutting the door to the car, she spoke.

“I felt the weirdest deja vu in there.”

Max turned to her.

“In the hospital, singing. Did you ever… sing… to me?”

Max gave a half-shrug, then nodded. She looked up at him with an expression of confused wonder.

“You sang to me. All those years ago.”

He nodded again.

“You barely knew me,” she said, “Why?”

He looked at her with all of the longing he had carried for four years, the deep hope and desire that had grown inside of him, pulsing through his veins, the indescribable need that has inspired poetry and art and music forever. He cleared his throat.

“Hope.”

Chapter Text

“We found the ski mask by the side of the road,” Morsov said, “The rain from the past several weeks had completely destroyed any DNA, but the CSIs did find some traces of latex inside, which could be from a false nose. I got a warrant for Poleder’s credit card history--”

“Geez, who’s dick did you have to suck for that?”

“Nobody’s, thanks to your friend Cheedo, and her big bag of blackmail that’s every lawyer’s wet dream.” Furiosa groaned.

“I told her to stop using that, it’s so unethical. It’s against everything we’ve fought for.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Jobassa. It wasn’t anything bad. Judge Callahan has a big crush on Senator Robins, and in Cheedo’s files we found evidence that Senator Robins has a secret love of Belgian waffles. We told him to ask her out on a date to that waffle truck downtown.”

“Why was her love of Belgian waffles in a secret blackmail file?”

“It’s not all bad things. A lot of it is just little quirks, or ways to manipulate people. Like, if you ever need a favor from Chief Freeman, make sure to ask for it in a deep voice. His father sang bass in the church choir, and the low tones make him feel like a frightened kid again. Or for Detective Jordan, he lost his virginity to a woman who was wearing Electric Youth Perfume, and the smell always makes him happy. Ortan was evil, but he was a genius manipulator.”

“Anything about a Margaret Rator in there?”

“Not that I saw, but it’s an enormous collection. Hundreds of names, all of them with a huge amount of information. Why, who’s Margaret Rator?”

Furiosa smiled and shook her head.

“Nobody important.”

“Some secret love interest of yours?”

She barked out a laugh.

“Hardly.”

“What, you’ve never been with a woman?”

“I never said that. But no, I never liked Maggie Rator all that much. Joe liked her alot. That was the problem.”

“I’m sorry, I’m still hung up on the ‘I never said that’ part.”

Furiosa laughed.

“What about you, Morsov, any women in your life?”

“Nah. You were always the only one for me,” he said, winking. Furiosa snorted.

“Yeah. Me and all the girls in Juarez.”

“Ah, yes, the lovely Paloma, I almost forgot.”

“Seriously though. No significant other?” she asked.

“Nope. I’m a lone cowboy, baby.” He drained his mug of tea. “But I wouldn’t mind knowing a little bit more about your hacker buddy Cheedo.”

“Too young for you.”

“Ah, but age is just a number.”

“So is 25 to life.”

He grinned and nodded in defeat. Then he said,

“So. Max is living here.”

Furiosa raised an eyebrow.

“His name is on a toothbrush in the bathroom,” he explained, “Dog bowls in here, but no dog.” He looked around. “And there’s no bedding on the sofa, so he’s sleeping in your bed.”

“I don’t see why any of that is your business,” Furiosa said sharply. Morsov knuckled his brow.

“I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop. It’s a bad habit.”

Furiosa tried not to smile but couldn’t help herself.

“You always were too observant for your own good.”

The teapot began to whistle on the stove and she poured it into two mugs.

“It’s strange, seeing you like this,” Morsov said, “Working at a shop, in a steady relationship, making tea for guests. It just seems so… domestic.” Furiosa made a face at the word.

“Are you really happy here?” he asked seriously, “Like this?”

Furiosa blew on her mug of tea thoughtfully. He went on,

“I mean don’t you miss adventure?”

This made Furiosa smile.

“Morsov, we spent all afternoon trying to catch the man who set Max and me on fire. I can’t say I’m bored.” Morsov smiled tightly, then frowned.

“It just doesn’t seem like you. Not the Jobassa I know.”

Furiosa’s face grew dark and serious.

“Listen close. Nobody knows me but me and the higher power. Not you, not Max, not Val. Nobody decides what I want or why I want it. Is that clear?”

“Yes ma’am.” He bowed his head. Furiosa glared at him for a moment longer, to dig her point in, then sipped at her tea.

“Yes,” she said. Morsov looked up, confused.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I am happy. Here. Like this.” She spoke as if she was just now realizing it for herself, like it was a strange and new revelation. “Days are good and bad. But I think this is the happiest I’ve been since…” she thought hard, and kept on thinking. Eventually she shrugged. "Ever."

Giddy called everybody together two days later. They met in Nux’s room, as he was still in a suspended body cast and unable to move.

Officer Cole Osus had been in charge of the prison in Giddy’s absence, though he had never been cut out for the job. He was good with numbers and figures, but his place was in the tower, away from the inmates.

Giddy had a neck brace, several missing teeth, and they doubted she would ever regain vision in her left eye. Her legs were in two thigh-high casts, and her arm was in a sling. But her remaining eye had a life and determination that Furiosa had never seen before, and though her voice was ragged from screaming, she spoke with vitality and confidence.

“I’m going back,” she rasped, “and I’m going to clean up this mess.”

Furiosa didn’t bother to ask how or why, or if she was ready. Instead she asked,

“When?”

“I’ll move back into my office as soon as I get out of this chair. Until then Officer Ossus is skyping me for consultations. He’s a good kid, but anxious, and easy to overpower.”

“How will you keep the guards in line?” Nux asked, “Drugs?”

“No.” Giddy looked disgusted at the idea. “I will never resort to drugs.”

“Sorry,” he said, shame-faced beneath his bandages, “I didn’t mean any offense. But they’ll be coming down from the drugs hard. I know I’ve been desperate for a hit, and I’m pumped full of oxi.” Capable stroked his hand. “You need a guard, on the inside, to keep them in line.”

“It’s a good point,” Melita said, “They won’t respect you at first without it.”

Giddy nodded, then turned to Furiosa.

“Rator--”

Furiosa was shaking her head before the words were off Giddy’s tongue.

“No. No chance. I’m sorry, but I’m never going back there.”

The group looked around in silence, wondering.

“I’ll do it.” The voice rattled out by the door, and they all turned to see Slit, towering in his six feet five inches, still in uniform. A ragged bouquet of flowers hang limply in his enormous calloused hand.

The room lept into motion. Furiosa tried to rise from her airchair, wheezing in pain. Cheedo yelped and hid behind Toast, who grabbed a bottle of pepper spray out of her pocket. The three Vuvalini stepped forward, guarding the group.

Slit stared at Nux. Nux stared back through his swollen eyes.

“The drugs finally wore off,” Slit rumbled, “Or mostly, at least. Enough for me to realize what a...” his red eyes darted, lizard-like, as he tried to find a word. “What a mistake I’ve been.” He glanced at Capable. “Clarissa. It’s been a while.”

“Hi Sylvester.” She looked at him warily, but without fear.

“It’s good to see you.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

He nodded and turned to Giddy.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “And I want to regain your trust. I want to make it right.”

Everyone turned to where Giddy sat. She narrowed her one eye.

“The other guards respect you.”

“I’m not proud of the things I’ve done to earn that respect.”

“Even so. Might as well use it.” She turned to Nux. “Nathan. Do you trust your brother?”

Nux glanced down at the bouquet of chrysanthemums in his brother’s hand and nodded, gingerly due to his body cast.

“That coffee,” Nux said, “It makes you crazy. It brings out the worst. And Slit always had more ghosts than the rest of us. There was a lot more for it to bring out.”

Giddy turned to Slit.

“I want you to call me every night. You miss a night, you’re gone. And you won’t be the only one reporting. I’ll have Ossus on hand too. And the cameras, watching every move.”

“Yes warden.”

“No more drugs.”

Slit winced.

“I hope not. Thank you, Warden.” Then he saluted, did an about face, and exited the room.

Everyone sat in stunned silence. Nobody moved.

Then the door opened again and Slit rushed back in.

“I forgot to give you your flowers,” he said, turning red, “I got you flowers, then I forgot to give them to you.”

Nux hacked out a laugh.

“Ah, but they make you look so pretty,” he said, “They really bring out the color of your eyes.”

Slit stared, then laughed, then couldn’t stop laughing, his deformed face twisting into a beautifully horrible grin, and he giggled until tears ran down his eyes and everybody else began to laugh as well.

Chapter Text

Furiosa had been vibrating with excitement since she got out of bed. It was predicted to snow later in the evening, and she had been looking forward to a white Christmas with all the excitement of a child. She had been checking the weather forecast every day but had gotten rain consistently for weeks. She wore her thick fur-lined boots as if that would convince the heavens to unleash the storm. She could smell it in the air that morning, and practically bounced to work.

Furiosa turned the sign to “Open,” then went to put cash in the register. She was surprised to see Max sitting on the floor behind the counter, digging around in one of the shelves for a tool box.

“Smoke detector is acting up,” he explained without turning, “Making this obnoxious low-battery beep. Need a screwdriver.”

Furiosa hummed in thanks, then stepped around him to open the register. After a moment Max grunted triumphantly and sat up, then stopped. In sitting up he had positioned himself immediately beside Furiosa’s hip, his nose almost touching her thigh.

They had been together for two weeks, dressing in front of each other, cleaning burns and scrubbing of hard-to-reach areas of peeling skin in the shower. They had kissed and snuggled and sighed in contentment, but both had toed the line when it came to sex. Their injuries had only recently begun to heal enough for physical intimacy, and both were still feeling open and raw from the trauma of the fire. But now, with the promise of snow and Max’s nose inches from between Furiosa’s legs, the air seemed to crackle with sex.

Furiosa closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deep, and tried to ignore the warmth flowing down into her panties. She hoped that Max couldn’t smell her. When she opened her eyes, however, she knew that was a vain hope. Max was biting his lip and his eyes were out of focus. Furiosa cleared her throat.

“Well. I think the rain will make for a slow day, so. Um. Maybe we could reorganize the young adult section.”

Max began to stroke up and down Furiosa’s calf.

“Max. Come on.”

He drew a long slow spiral on her thigh with his finger.

“Max.” He looked up at her, dark eyes wide and serious. She swallowed thickly. His hand rose again, gently tracing the joint of her hip down between her legs. Furiosa tried not to push herself into his hand but she longed for the pressure, and she couldn’t hide the tremble in her thighs.

“Max, the store is open, we can’t be doing this. It’s so unprofession-OH.” He pressed the hard denim seam up into her wetness. She slammed her hand down, causing the register to open with a cheerful ding. Max chuckled against her thigh. He could feel the damp heat through her jeans as she threw her head back.

“You want me to stop?” he murmured.

“No,” she was breathing heavy, her body swaying against the counter, “No, please don’t stop.”

He traced her waistband with a warm finger, then dipped below and undid the button with quick precision. He groaned softly at her smell and the dark hairs curling up out of the top of her panties. Furiosa opened her eyes and looked down at him. He had undone his jeans and was stroking himself clumsily with his left hand as his right inched down her underwear.

“Maaaaax,” she moaned. He pulled his hand out and she looked down, disappointed, but he was just rubbing his hands with lotion from the shelf. Then he went back to work, tugging down her jeans and panties and licking up to her belly button. Furiosa let out a hysterical giggle, making him look up in surprise.

“That tickled,” she explained breathlessly. Max grinned.

“Mm. Never heard that sound from you before.”

“Usually it preludes somebody getting kicked in the stomach,” she said, “I’m not good with tickling. Now please, just get your fucking mouth on me.” She felt his breath on her belly as he laughed, then he spread her legs around his shoulders and plunged in. His tongue drew patterns from her hole to her clit, where he circled and then sucked, hard, making her jaw drop and her fist slam down on the counter. His tongue darted up and down like a butterfly wing and he moaned into her. He ate like a starving man, slurping and moaning and humming as she ground up against his face. His hand beat up and down on his cock, keeping time with her hips. Finally, with one hard pull on her clit, Furiosa’s thighs clamped down on his ears and she came, shaking, her eyes rolling back, her upper body falling onto the counter with a long deep groan. Her fingers scrabbled at the smooth countertop for purchase, knocking over a can of pencils.

She turned limp, and Max pulled away with a gasp. She laid her cheek against the cool of the countertop as she caught her breath, eyes closed. Max finished himself, biting down on her thigh to keep from making noise. Then he carefully pulled up her panties and her jeans, and fastened her belt, patting her fondly like a gift well wrapped.

Just then the door opened with the cheerful ding of the bell, and Furiosa straightened up so fast she looked like she had been zapped with a cattle prod.

“Good morning, can I help you today?” Her voice was higher and louder than usual, and down by her legs Max giggled. She kicked him.

The woman looked surprised by the overly enthusiastic greeting, but she just said, “No, thank you, just looking,” and wandered into the history section.

“Hey,” Max whispered, “Could you hand me the paper towels?”

Furiosa looked down at him and laughed.

“Baby you’re gonna need more than paper towels. I hope you brought a spare pare of pants.”

Nux was bored. He itched for movement, for action, for drugs. Even physical therapy, though excruciatingly painful, was something to look forward to. He shared a room with Officer Rockatansky, but he could hardly be considered entertainment. He never spoke to anybody except for Rator. Or Furiosa, or whatever her name was.

But when Capable came, every afternoon, Nux was grateful for the unfilled time. He was glad that there was nothing to interrupt their conversation, nothing to distract from looking at her.

“So it turns out Joe had hidden our files,” she was saying, “We had all served well past our sentences, except for Cheedo, but she’s so young they let her off as long as she wouldn’t press charges.” He tried to listen to her words, but he was hypnotised by her face. He hadn’t seen her since she was eighteen. She was thinner around the face, and her hair was darker. Her eyes had tiny, almost unnoticeable lines around them.

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” she asked.

“Mmm. Yeah? I just like looking at you.”

She smiled.

“You look different,” he said. She raised her eyebrows in a challenge, and her expression seemed so much like the teenager that he used to know his breath caught. “Oh, there, now you look the same.”

“You look different too,” she said. Nux laughed.

“Well, last time you saw me I had hair.”

“Not by much. Last time I saw you, I remember you had just gotten a crew cut for the military. I was so sad to see your big mop of hair all gone.”

“It was awfully long when we were kids.”

“Well, that was the style. Especially for surfers.”

“Always got in my eyes.”

“Remember when you tried to grow that stupid little mustache?”

“You mean that gallant, dashing mustache?”

Capable giggled.

“I told you to shave it off cause it was scratchy, but honestly it just made you look like a pervert.”

“The truth comes out.”

There was a knock at the edge of the doorframe and they turned to see Slit standing there in his uniform, holding a bag of takeout. Capable stiffened slightly. She wondered if the sight of a prison uniform would always make her uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t want to interrupt. But I was thinking you guys might be tired of hospital food.”

Nux glanced at Capable, who nodded.

“Come in,” Nux said, “We were just reminiscing about the summer I grew that sexy mustache.”

“Oh, yeah,” Slit smiled his maniacal grin, “Ol’ pornstache.”

“You’re one to talk,” Nux said over Capable’s laughter, “Remember the goatee?”

“Ooh I remember the goatee!” Capable said gleefully, “You looked like one of the billy goats gruff.”

“This isn’t a fair fight,” Nux said, “Capable has always looked beautiful.”

Capable turned red and looked down at her feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I used to be such a little butterball.”

“You were a beautiful butterball. My case still stands.”

Slit opened up the bag of takeout.

“Speaking of butterballs, I come bearing pirozhki from Svetlana’s Bistro.” He turned to where Max was lying, surrounded by a wall of curtains, and called,

“Rockatansky, you want some?”

There was silence, then the curtain rippled and Max shuffled out. He took a dumpling, nodded, then shuffled back inside his enclave.

Max lay on his bed, listening to the others talk, and planned for his future.

Chapter Text

Mornings were their time. The rest of the day they stayed apart, the only indication that they were anything more than coworkers was the gentle rock in Furiosa’s step when she walked away from him, and the flicker of his eyes as he tried not to watch. Otherwise they never touched, they barely even spoke. They worked during the day and spent their evenings mostly apart. Furiosa would work on her car, Max would walk Dog or go to the gym. Sometimes, after an especially long day, they would watch tv together, lying against each other until they fell asleep. There was a strange intimacy to their slow orbit.

But mornings were different. For the first time Furiosa found herself longing for lazy mornings spent in bed, warm and soft with sleep, waking up to his arm around her waist and his face in her neck.

This morning she woke up and knew that it had snowed. The blue light on the ceiling made her feel like a little kid again, and she snuggled in closer to Max, pressing her nose into his chest as if that could contain her joy. Max rumbled in his sleep and pulled her closer.

“Max,” she whispered, “Max, it’s snowing.”

“Hmmmm?”

“Max.” He opened his eyes a fraction. “Max, I’m so happy.”

He smiled against her hair and kissed her head in agreement.

“I want to stay here forever,” she whispered.

“Forever?” His voice was hoarse with sleep and it thrilled her.

“Uh huh.”

“That’s a long time.”

She looked him in the eye.

“I know.”

He rolled over on his back, pulling her on top of him.

“Mmm ok. Forever it is.”

She lay there for a while, in the gentle shadow between wake and sleep. Then she said,

“Morsov asked about us the other day.”

“Mmm he jealous?”

“You're hardly his type,” she teased, smiling.

“You know what I mean. He likes you.”

“He thinks he does. He's just a kid.” She stared at the ceiling. ‘He asked if I was ever bored with the conventionality of my life. Family, steady relationship, working the shop. Routine.”

“He said this as you hunted for the serial killer who set you on fire?”

Furiosa laughed.

“That's exactly what I said.”

She turned to face him, her face wreathed in sheets, and said,

“Every day with you I'm learning something new. Who you are. Who we are together. I get so thrilled with every new corner, every new step.” She chewed at her thumbnail. “Do you think… someday… when we run out of newness and thrills…” It had begun as simple musing but now uncertainty flickered behind her eyes. “What will we do then?”

Max was quiet. She knew by now that his silence didn’t mean that he was ignoring her. He was thinking, filtering through things in his own careful way. Finally he licked his lips.

“I want to know... what your footsteps sound like.”

She raised an eyebrow, confused. He went on.

“And I want to be able to recognize them, before you even enter the room. I want to know the story behind every one of your scars.” He traced the thin scar along the edge of her hairline. “Like this one. Where did it come from?”

“I was five. Playing with Val. We were balancing on a fencepost and I fell off.”

“What I mean is…” He waved his hands around as if the words were gnats around his face, and when he spoke again his voice trembled with earnestness. “I can’t wait. To know everything about you. I cannot wait.” He smiled. “And I don’t think we’ll ever be bored. I don’t think it’s possible.”

“Boredom does always seem to dodge us somehow, doesn’t it.”

Furiosa was released after a week, with strict orders to rest. Seeds swore to the doctor that she would take care of Furiosa, and Furiosa knew with an inward groan that Seeds would not take the task lightly. She wanted to eat her mini cupcakes and drink her booze alone, and try to forget that three of her aunts were gone. With Seeds there was no forgetting. That’s what made her an exceptional therapist. However, Furiosa hoped that as a roommate Seeds would allow her some time to just wallow in pain.

They were both quiet on the car ride home. Furiosa could feel the ghosts of Joy and Antoinette and Maddie sitting in the back seat, and she wanted desperately to turn around and look at them, but she knew that there would be nothing to see. Three more to her list of losses. She felt like she was full of holes.

She could almost hear Maddie’s ghost giggle behind her.

“You are full of holes, Fury.”

The thought made Furiosa smile inwardly. She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

They pulled up to the house, and Furiosa was surprised to see Max sitting on the front step. She glanced at Seeds, who shrugged.

The three of them walked into the house, none of them saying anything. Seeds got an apple from a bowl and cut it into thirds, giving Max and Furiosa both a slice.

“Is it true that the girls are free?” Max asked. Furiosa nodded.

“They’re afraid of bad publicity, among other things,” Furiosa said, “So they’re buying the girls’ silence. It’s for the best.”

“Mm. And you?”

“I’m making a deal. I broke the law, but I also have information the feds need.”

“Do either of you guys want tea?” Seeds asked. Max and Furiosa both shook their heads no. Seeds busied herself making tea anyways.

“It’s never going to work,” Max said. Furiosa looked up. “Warden Giddy running the prison. The guards may respect her, but the inmates are used to force. They’ll trample her. At least then men will. Can’t speak for the women.”

“What do you propose?” she asked.

“I’m going back.”

Furiosa nodded, smiling a little.

“I thought you might.”

“I’ve still got eleven months on my sentence. Probably more now that I’ve escaped. The escape will give me cred from the inmates. I’ll work on them from the inside, at least until I get released. By then Giddy should be set in her domain.”

Seeds set steaming mugs of tea in front of them. In unison, Max and Furiosa nodded their thanks, blew on their mugs, and took a cautious sip. Both burned their tongues and tried to hide it. Both set their mugs back down with a wary glance.

Keeper felt as if she was in a room with two halves of the same person. Their pure compatibility gave her goosebumps, like she was witnessing a strange miracle. She wanted to laugh and tell God “I see what you did there.”

“When you get out,” Furiosa said, “Come back.”

Chapter Text

Cheedo carefully painted her nails California Coral. She shaved her legs and combed her hair with one hundred strokes.

She put on the white shift dress with the Peter-Pan collar that ended high above the knee.

She put on the black dress with the flared skirt and the red heels.

She put on the green maxi dress that clung to every bone and curve.

Finally she went with leggings and a long grey sweater.

Morsov waved at her when she came into the restaurant, but he didn’t stand. As she got closer she realized that he was sitting in his wheelchair, with both of his pant legs pinned up neatly below the knees. She had seen him in the chair often, but always with his prostheses on.

“Hi Morsov.”

“Hello. You look lovely tonight.”

She busied herself with the menu to hide her smile.

“What’s up? Any breakthrough on the case?”

“I wish. I spent all day trying to grill people about Poleder. His character, his past. I didn’t get so much as a fart whisper.”

Cheedo had never seen him look so discouraged. She felt a sudden urge to make him happy, but she had never been an especially cheerful person.

“We can do this,” she said, “We took down Joe, we can take down Poleder.”

Morsov raised an eyebrow.

“You took down Joe by electrocuting him. As your lawyer I advise against murder.”

“It does seem tempting, on some days. But no, maybe we’re looking at this wrong though. Maybe bringing down Citadel’s most powerful lawyer can’t be done with the court system. He’s just too deeply ingrained. But if we were to expose him some other way…” She gnawed at a freshly painted nail.

“What do you have in mind?

“Maybe an article. Or a book. What would be the legal implications of that?”

“It would be tough. We’d probably end up getting sued anyways.”

“But it would be out there.”

“It would have to be very well written.”

“Toast can do that. She’s been published in a couple of magazines and journals already, writing about gang violence, and prison life, and sexual assault. I don’t know. We’ll still bring him to court of course. But this is a backup plan.”

The waiter came and took their order. Cheedo got a burger, Morsov got the clam chowder. After he left Cheedo stared at Morsov in silence, concern twisting her face. Finally she said,

“Morsov, I don’t know how to say this, but...” He glanced up at her. “You look like actual shit. Is everything okay?”

He smiled and rubbed his stubble-shadowed face in embarrassment.

“Yeah, it’s good. I mean. I love my job. And I’m a pretty resilient guy. But I make people angry for a living. And sometimes it just gets to me. That’s all.”

Cheedo nodded slowly.

“Is there anything I can do?”

He shook his head.

“Nah. Once I eat I’ll feel better.”

The waiter set down their dinners and they both nodded in thanks.

“I’ve tried going at Poleder for the fire, but there’s not enough,” Morsov said, “I haven’t looked into the Buger murder very much. I’ll start with that tomorrow.”

Cheedo bit the inside of her cheek, planning her words.

“We’re all very grateful for what you’re doing for us,” she said, “I know it’s a pretty thankless task.”

“Furiosa saved my life,” he said, “It’s the least I could do. Besides," his voice was carefully light, “It means I get to see more of you.”

Cheedo felt her face heating and thanked God that her Maori gene pool hid blushes well.

“Well,” she started, then forgot the rest of her sentence and just smiled at her plate. Morsov cleared his throat.

“So why don’t you go over again what happened that night at Buger’s place?

Angharad had no funeral. The girls had decided against it, though the remaining Vuvalini had offered to pay for one. Instead the girls drove out to the beach where she had died. Capable laid a blue tablecloth on the ground, and Toast opened up a cooler.

In the prison Joe had only fed them enough to keep them alive. On days when it had been really bad, when hunger had slid through their guts like a snake, they would lie around and talk about the first things they would eat when they got out. Sometimes it was dessert, like chocolate mousse, or a vanilla milkshake from McDonalds. Cheedo’s crimes had made her rich before being arrested, so she always chose strange french foods that nobody else had ever tasted. A true beach girl, Capable would choose clam chowder in a breadbowl, or a lobster melt, or salt water taffy. Toast rotated between various fast food chains, though her favorite was In-n-Out (She had never actually had In-n-Out, but she’d heard so much about it she knew it must be good). Angharad’s food was always the same. She talked about it so much that after a while all the girls could recite it along with her: baked mac and cheese with bread crumbs on top, a summer salad with peach dressing and walnuts, french bread with goat cheese, and neapolitan ice cream sandwiches for dessert, eaten from the chocolate side first and ending with strawberry.

Toast opened up the basket and pulled out the items on Angharad’s list: the mac and cheese, the summer salad, the french bread with goat cheese. The neapolitan ice cream would be bought at a nearby gas station later. Dag passed out bottles of hard lemonade. Capable eyed the bottles and Dag’s growing belly, but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t the time for health, or wisdom, or responsibility. It was a time of mourning, and honoring Angharad.

Furiosa sat on the edge of the dock, feeling uncomfortable and intrusive. She stared down at the grey-green water eddying around the beams of the pier.

“What do you think she looks like now?”

Furiosa jumped at the sound of Dag’s voice over her shoulder.

“Angharad,” Dag continued, “What do you think she looks like now?”

Furiosa didn’t answer, confused.

“Are there little animals making a home out of her? Are there crabs living in her skull? Are barnacles growing on her baby’s body?”

Furiosa wasn’t sure how to respond. She wished Seeds was there to explain Dag’s grief process.

“I hope there is,” Dag said, thoughtfully. Furiosa looked up. “I hope that new life is growing out of her old one. I hope that her body can be a home to little underwater creatures.”

Furiosa nodded. She understood.

“Come join us,” Dag said, “We want you to.”

Chapter Text

Max was half an hour late to his afternoon shift at the store.

“Where’s Max?” Capable asked. Furiosa shrugged.

“Why should I know?”

Capable looked incredulous.

“Um. Cause you two are living together?”

“So are you and Cheedo.”

“Yeah. And right now Cheedo is at the coffee shop, drinking a soy latte and heating up a scone for a customer.” Furiosa’s bewildered expression made Capable laugh.

“She just texted me,” Capable explained. Before Furiosa could respond, the door opened with a gust of cold air and Max stomped in, soaking wet.

“Well look who showed up,” Capable said.

“Mm sorry. Sorry sorry.” He blundered into the back room to hang up his coat.

“Besides,” Capable said, “Cheedo and I don’t have sex at the front counter .”

Furiosa’s turned redder than Capable had ever seen. Then she said coolly,

“But you have sex other places?”

“What? No!” Capable stuck her finger in Furiosa’s face. “Don’t change the subject, missy. And don’t ask me how I know. I know everything .”

“Hmm. For the girl who once did it with Nux at the doctor’s office, this is sounding pretty judgmental. The backstock needs organizing, could you take care of that this morning?” Capable narrowed her eyes and backed away, hissing,

“ Everything. I know everything! ”

Max joined Furiosa up front.

“She figured out about what we did on Monday?” he asked.

“Yup.”

“Not gonna lie, I’m kind of…”

“Proud?”

He grinned and nodded.

“So what’s up today, boss?”

“We have some new thanksgiving books for the kids section,” she said, “Other than that, just the usual. Cleaning, restocking.” A drop of ice dangled from his hair, and Furiosa plucked it out with a smile. “Where were you this morning? You look like you walked through a blizzard, and there’s barely three inches of snow out there.”

“Mm. Was with Maggie. She insisted on a pony ride. Which then, of course, ended with me slipping and falling and her throwing snowballs at me.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Didja miss me?”

Furiosa looked up, shocked. Max didn’t usually ask such blatant questions. Clearly he was just as surprised as she was, because he turned red and rubbed his nose in the way that he did. Furiosa smiled slow.

“Well I didn’t, but now I’m starting to feel a little jealous.”

“Jealous of a four year old? That’s kinda fucked up.”

“Hmmm you never give me any pony rides.”

“You never asked.”

Capable came out from the stock room to find Furiosa on Max’s back, kicking at his shins and yelling “Mush! Mush!” as he shouted and tried to shake her off.

As they ate their picnic they shared stories about Angharad. Times she had made them all laugh, the stories that she told, the songs she would sing that echoed down the whole cell block. She had always protected them from Joe. She had allowed him to hurt her so that the others wouldn’t have too. She had especially tried to keep him from Cheedo, doing everything she could to distract him. Afterwards, when Cheedo would lie in the corner and stare at the wall, Angharad would hum soft and low and rub Cheedo’s back so that the girl would have some positive form of touch in her life, and wouldn’t always jump away from friendly contact.

The girls had been granted $10,000 each for their silence and cooperation. It was largely unnecessary money, as none of the girls wanted to go to court. They all hated lawyers, and didn’t want to be questioned and counter-questioned in front of a crowd. Furiosa would testify about the drug rings, and give her report on Ryder Wrock, but the girls had no interest in getting involved.

They laid on the dock and talked about what they would do with their money. It was more than most of them had ever had at one time.

“I want to go back to school. For journalism.”

“You can’t go to school for ten thousand,” Dag said, “That’s at least thirty.” Capable kicked her to be quiet, but Toast didn’t seem to mind.

“I know. But I’ll work it up.”

“I want to get a place for me and the baby,” Dag said, “Somewhere with a big garden, and we can plant fruit and vegetables and flowers, and she can play in the mud. And I want to get her all kinds of clothes. Little shoes with bows on them.” She grinned. “Little tiny combat boots.”

“I just want to buy coffee,” Cheedo said, “Just a whole lot of coffee. The really good kind, not that bitter water like they gave us in the prison.”

They turned and looked at Capable, who shrugged.

“I just want to be with Nux.”

Dag shook her head.

“After all that men have done to us, you still want to be with one? And a prison guard, no less.”

“He helped us escape.”

“How do you know he didn’t just do that to get in your pants?” Toast asked.

“I don’t. But considering that he has two broken legs right now I think I can take him.”

“Are you going to have sex with him?” Dag asked. Capable shook her head.

“Not now at least. Maybe someday.” She smiled to herself and her eyes slipped into memory. “I first met him when he was seven and I was eight. At the time it seemed like an insurmountable age gap. I told him that we couldn’t be friends until he turned eight the next month. He had this terrible bowl haircut and big front teeth.” She sighed and shrugged. “I have to trust him. He was my first best friend. Without him my childhood would have been so dark.” The girls were quiet, still not entirely accepting her story. Furiosa broke the silence.

“You never said what you want to do with the money,” she said.

Capable gnawed thoughtfully on a piece of bread. Finally she said,

“I’d want to do something for Angharad. I have no need for the money myself. But I’d like to fulfill her dream and build that bookstore. Do it for her.” She smiled. “Angharad’s books. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

Chapter Text

Toast stomped the snow off her boots and blew on her fingers as she entered the cafe.

“I hope that coffee’s good and strong.”

“Rough night?” Furiosa said, handing her a whiskey tumbler of coffee.

“What night isn’t?”

“Mm. True. Good ghosts or bad ghosts?”

“Good.”

Furiosa winced.

“I’m sorry. Those are the hardest to wake up from.”

“Yeah. How do you cope with it?”

Furiosa turned red. She dealt with it by burying her nose in Max’s hair, but that was her treasure, not to be shared with anybody, not even Toast.

“I work on my bike,” she said. “What about you? How do you get up after one of those?”

“I go through the alphabet with everything I’m grateful for. A is for Allah, B is for boobs, C is for Capable and Cheedo, D is for Dog, and so forth.”

“You realize that you just put boobs up right next to God, right?”

Toast grinned.

“Don’t question my priorities.” She sipped at her coffee. “It’s funny, I’ve used the alphabet trick to get rid of Good Ghosts since I was a kid. I used to have to skip letters, because there was nothing that would fit in there. Now it takes me an hour to get to the letter S, and by that time I’m usually asleep.”

Before Furiosa could answer the door opened and Capable slammed into the cafe like a steam train, bringing a cloud of gloom in with her. Toast and Furiosa shared a glance over their coffee mugs. Capable’s shirt was on inside out and she muttered to herself under her breath.

“Hey baby,” Toast said, “Your shirt is on inside-out.”

“I know it is!” Capable snapped.

“Soooo it’s intentional?”

“What?”

“Inside-out shirts are the new fad?”

“Don’t fuck with me right now, Toast, I’m not in the mood.” Capable’s voice held a warning tone that could bend steel. Toast glowered at her coffee mug.

They sat in tense silence for several minutes, then Furiosa drained her cup and went to the sink to wash it. She glanced over at Capable, who was stuffing a muffin into her mouth like it had done her a personal wrong.

“Capable, I’m heading over the the bookstore,” Furiosa said, “But honestly, I’m a little hesitant.” Capable looked up at her. “If this is how you’re going to present yourself to customers you’re going to cost us business. So you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but you do have to either deal with it or go home, and I’ll cover your shift.”

For a minute Furiosa thought that Capable might hit her. Then the dam burst, and she began to rant, waving her arms around and tossing her hair wildly.

“You want to know what’s wrong? Cheedo is what’s wrong. She was out all night last night. All night! I was worried sick about her. I was about to call the cops. And you know what she says this morning? She comes in, all dressed up in last night’s clothes, and says that she met a guy. Can you believe that? She ran off and spent the night with a guy. After all the things that men have done to us! And here I was up all night terrified that she’d been killed, or kidnapped, or sent back to prison.” Capable’s face was a shade of red that Furiosa had never seen before. “That girl needs to start acting her age. She’s twenty-one. She’s not a teenager anymore, and can’t run around sleeping with strange men whenever she feels-” Toast put a hand on Capable’s shoulder.

“Capo?” Toast said, hesitantly, “Are you... feeling jealous?”

Capable’s eye twitched, then her chin, then she covered her face with her hand before crumbling into tears. Toast gathered her in her arms as Capable cried.

“I just want somebody,” she wailed, “Furiosa has Max, and Dag has Colin, and you have that Physical Therapist…”

“Nah, we broke up.”

Capable sniffed and looked up in surprise.

“You did? When?”

“Last week.”

“What happened?”

Toast shrugged.

“She kept on using me as this weird exotic trophy. I can’t really blame her. I mean I’m black, lesbian, muslim, and an ex-con. I’m like the perfect give-your-mom-a-heart-attack combo plate.”

Capable laughed wetly into Toast’s shoulder.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked.

“I wanted to pretend the whole thing never happened.” She patted Capable’s back. “So you’re not the only single one.”

“Is it wrong that I’m so relieved by that?”

“No. Being single sucks. And it’s even harder when nobody else is. To be honest I’m pretty glad that you’re single too.” They swayed together quietly for a few moments. “So do you know who Cheedo’s man is?” she asked. Capable shook her head.

“She got dinner with Morsov last night,” she said, “But it wouldn’t be him, she hates lawyers. Not to mention he’s too old for her.”

“Plus he’s too cocky. She goes for the emotional geeky type,” Toast said, nodding, “Maybe he introduced her to somebody?”

Furiosa stayed silent, and walked to the bookstore as soon as she could.

Capable drove Nux back to his bungalow the morning before thanksgiving. He still had two thigh-high casts on his legs and was in daily physical therapy, but he was recovering faster than anybody could have predicted. He said that Capable kept him motivated. Capable said that it was his military training. The doctor said it was a combination of the two.

Getting in and out of the car was an adventure in trial and error, with a lot of laughter and apologies and grimaces of pain. By the time they got him in the house he was so exhausted that he took his pain meds and went straight to bed, leaving Capable to explore the house.

It didn’t take long to explore. Everything was cleaned with military precision, with very few hints that Nux lived there at all. He hadn’t been in the house since before the breakout, nearly a month before, so Capable dumped out the molding leftovers in the fridge and ran a wet rag up and down the surfaces to wipe off the dust that had gathered there. The kitchen was tiny, but the drawers were mostly empty. Two sets of silverware, three bowls, two plates. A couple of pots and pans. A dish towel hung on the oven with “I Like Big Bundts and I Cannot Lie” printed on it in curling script. Nux had tried to cook for her when they were younger, but he often lost patience or got distracted, causing food to either burn or be undercooked. They used to joke that his masterpiece was lava cake, because nothing was ever done in the middle.

She moved into the living room with her rag. There was a tv, and several video game consoles. The bookshelves were had several extensive comic book collections. She ran her finger down a boxed set of the full 1980s Punisher series and smiled. He had gotten her into comics when they were young, causing lengthy discussions on vigilantism and nonviolence.

She wandered into his bedroom. He was lying on his side on the bed, curled up as much as he was able with his two leg casts. It was the same way he used to sleep when they were kids and would have sleepovers together, before puberty hit and the grownups intervened.

His room was bare except for a photograph on his bedside table. Capable turned it to look at it and saw her own face staring back.

It was an old photo, taken about a month before Nux had left for basic training. In the photo they were both eighteen and tan and muscular, with long hair that was tangled and bleached with salt. Teenaged Clarissa Abel was staring straight at the camera with an expression that seemed foreign to Capable. It was an expression of complete trust and passion, and Capable felt naked under her gaze. She was amazed at how young they both looked, with round soft edges not yet hardened by time and trouble. In the photo Nux wasn’t looking at the camera. His eyes were fixed on Clarissa, filled with wonder and desire, like she was an apparition that might disappear if he looked away.

The girl in the photo was a total stranger. That girl wore bubblegum pink lipstick and dark kohl around her eyes. She teased her hair into crazy blond curls and wore jelly shoes and thought Britney Spears was the risen messiah. Capable blinked at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears out. That was the girl Nux had gone to sleep looking at for years, the girl he loved, and Capable couldn’t remember who that girl was.

After Nux left Capable had gone from burlesque to stripping to prostitution, until one John got too rough and she killed him in an effort to get away. Nux had never given up on her, while she had been off whoring.

“Capo?”

She jumped and turned.

“Hey you. Sleep well?”

Nux nodded.

“I missed this bed.” He turned to the picture on the bedside table and blushed. “You saw the photo?”

“Yeah.”

“I look pretty different now.”

“I feel pretty different now.” She sighed and stared at her hands. “Nux, you know when you were gone… I did some things…”

“I know that you were with other guys,” he said, “People told me about your…” He swallowed, unsure. “Your job.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I made terrible mistakes.”

Nux stared at her somberly.

“After I was discharged,” he said, “I went back to Bugerville to find you. They told me you’d run away with some rich guy, Pretty Woman style.”

Capable’s jaw dropped.

“What? No, that definitely never happened.”

“I was pretty miserable. But I was glad you’d found happiness.”

“I could never find happiness without you. I can’t even imagine.”

“I wallowed for a while, and moped for even longer. Then Slit introduced me to a woman.”

Capable felt herself growing cold and sad.

“Cassandra,” Nux continued, “She was kind, and we got along well. Nothing like you, though. We were together for about a year. Then she got pregnant.” Capable didn’t think she could feel any more surprised, but her stomach jolted further down. “I wanted a kid, she wanted an abortion. She disappeared. Never saw her again.”

“I…”

She searched for words and came up empty.

“I’m telling you this to show that we’re different now. We’re not the kids in that photo. I know that.”

Capable wiped tears away and sniffed loudly. Then she stuck out her hand. Nux looked at her confused.

“Hi,” she said, “My name is Capable Able. It’s nice to meet you.”

Nux smiled slow, then took her hand and shook it.

“Hi Capable. My name is Nux Lancer. Isn’t it a lovely day?”

“A lovely, lovely day.”

Chapter Text

Furiosa scheduled her lunch break to fit around Cheedo’s, and they got tacos down the street.

“Capable still upset?” Cheedo asked. Furiosa shrugged.

“It’s not about you. She’s just lonely.” She glanced at Cheedo sideways. “You were with Morsov, weren’t you.”

“We didn’t have sex.”

Furiosa sighed, wishing that she had been wrong. She liked Morsov, but she had heard all of his teenage locker-room talk in the army and she knew from personal experience just how fast he could run from commitment. Cheedo went on,

“We didn’t do anything at all, actually. Well, nothing romantic.”

Furiosa felt as uncomfortable as a mom giving the sex talk, but she powered on.

“What did you do?”

“We talked about the case. We walked on the pier, and got ice cream. Then we went to his apartment and talked more. We didn’t stop talking until I fell asleep on his couch at two. I swear, he never made a move.”

“He’s a flirt,” Furiosa warned.

“Furiosa. Please. I’m not even interested.” Furiosa raised her eyebrows. “Ok, so I’m a little interested. But I always look before I leap, you know that. I’ve already hacked his internet history-”

“Cheedo!”

“--And it was totally normal. No kiddie porn, no Trump campaign ads, nothing.”

“You know he’s thirty-one, right?”

“You know that no twenty-one year old guy is going to be right for me.”

Furiosa looked at Cheedo and had to agree. The girl had gone through more in her twenty-one years than most people ever would, and she carried herself like an adult. Furiosa thought about the twenty-one year old guys she had known in the army, and couldn’t imagine any of them even keeping up with Cheedo’s conversation.

“I thought you didn’t like lawyers?” Furiosa asked. Cheedo shrugged.

“I don’t. So I don’t know. It’s just been a long time since I’ve had a connection with any guy, and it feels nice. A little bit of thrill, you know? I’ve missed that.”

“Okay. Just be careful.”

“Like you were?” Cheedo asked. Furiosa jerked back like she’d been slapped, and Cheedo immediately regretted the comment.

“I knew Morsov a very very long time ago,” Furiosa said, “It was a different world.” She sighed. “He’s a great guy. You just have to keep in mind that maybe he’s not on the same page as you.”

“I know. I’m careful. Although really, he’s the one that should be careful,” Cheedo said, patting at the flashdrive on her keychain, “I have more power than he can fathom.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

They ate in silence. Cheedo offered her bag of chips up to Furiosa, and Furiosa took a handful with a nod of thanks.

“So what exactly happened between you two?” Cheedo asked. Furiosa snorted and shook her head.

“You just don’t quit, do you.”

“My persistence is my charm.”

Furiosa sighed, then said,

“We were stationed in Juarez. It was terrible. Every day, another mass grave, another dead kid, another raped woman. We were surrounded by innocent people who wanted to get out, but we couldn’t let them through. We couldn’t help them. At night Morsov would come to me in tears, nineteen and unable to cope with the guilt. We’d talk about all the ways we could smuggle people across the border, if we only had the balls to do it.” Cheedo’s eyes grew wide. She hadn’t expected Furiosa to actually answer.

“On his twenty-first birthday we all drove to Tijuana and had this big party. Of course it didn’t mean anything, cause we were in Mexico and he could already drink, but it was symbolic. I was twenty-eight, and his commanding officer, so I had refused to even look at him in a romantic way, but that night we were dancing and it just came together.”

Cheedo raised her eyebrows.

“We didn’t fuck,” Furiosa corrected hurriedly, “We made out that night, and a few times after that. Did some… dumb teenager stuff. We just both wanted something fun and easy and completely different from the warzone around us. It was great.”

“Until?”

“Until it wasn’t fun or easy anymore.”

There was a finality in Furiosa’s voice that told Cheedo not to press anymore. She crumpled up her empty bag of chips.

“Thank you for telling me that,” Cheedo said, “It really means a lot.”

“I want you to know where I’m coming from.”

Cheedo nodded, tossed her wrappers in the trash, and walked backwards towards the cafe. Before she left she called out,

“You’re a total hypocrite for talking about age gaps, you know that right? You were seven years older than him.”

“Get back to work, Cheedo.”

“You cougar.”

“Get back to work Cheedo.”

“Meeow.”

“Do you still like clam chowder?” Nux asked.

“Yes. In a bread bowl. Is your favorite color still red?”

“No, now it’s blue. Is your favorite color still pink?”

“My favorite color was never pink.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“But you had that pink swimsuit…”

Capable laughed.

“I think that means your favorite color was pink.”

“That swimsuit would make anybody love pink.”

Capable had started out sitting on the edge of the bed, but as they talked she’d relaxed until they were lying side by side.

“Do you still surf?” she asked.

“I haven’t in awhile. Treatment made it impossible, and then at work I never got time off.”

He moved forward until his nose was almost touching her forehead.

“You smell the same.”

Capable stared up at him with big hypnotic eyes that made Nux’s mouth dry.

“Really?” she murmured. He nodded. “Cause you smell awful.”

He groaned and covered his face in embarrassment.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “I haven't had more than a sponge bath in weeks.”

She sat up, all business.

“Come on, let’s get you into the shower.”

He looked at her with a horror that made her laugh.

“What, it has to be done,” she said, “Besides, it’s not like I’ve never seen you naked before.”

“Yeah, but, that was, you know, different,” he spluttered.

“Why, cause it was dark and romantic?” She grinned, eyes flashing.

“Well, yeah.” He looked up at her with panic and shame in his eyes. “Capable, you’ve just gotten more beautiful. I mean Jesus, look at you, you’re so fuckin perfect and magical and shiny. The last time you saw me naked I was this ripped surfer dude, with chest hair that flowed in the wind and a big tan dick that couldn’t quit.” Capable snorted. “But now look at me. You can count my Ribs. Tumors are growing out of my neck, my legs are in casts up to my thighs, my mouth is covered in sores. I’m bald.”

“You still have eyebrows, though.” She traced one with her finger.

“They thinned out, but never totally went away. Slit says I looked like a chola, with the really high thin eyebrows.”

“Mmm I think you look more like a cougar.”

He looked at her balefully. She hissed and scratched at the air.

“What I’m saying is that it is different,” he said, “I’m a broken person in a broken body, and your perfect goddess eyes aren’t fit for this.”

“Uh huh… So where else are you bald?”

His eyes held enormous despair.

“My testicles could be carved out of marble.”

She burst into hysterical laughter. Once it started coming she couldn’t stop it, and she doubled over onto herself, hiccupping as the giggles hit her in waves. Nux looked at her nervously, as if he had started a machine that he couldn’t stop. As soon as she caught her breath she would look at him and start laughing again, until her face was red and her stomach hurt.

Finally she sighed happily and wiped her eyes.

“Man, I can’t remember the last time I got the giggles like that. Geez.” She took one of Nux’s thin hands and looked him in the eye. Her gaze was too bright, too intense, and he looked away.

“Nathaniel Xavier Lancer. You are skinny, and hairless, and sweaty, and in a cast. And you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” She kissed him chastely on the corner of his mouth. “Now let me give you a goddamn shower.”

Chapter Text

“Hi, my name is Capable Lancer, and I’m looking into the death of your son…”

“Hi, my name is Cheedo Vuvalini, and I’m looking into…”

“Hi, my name is Furiosa JoBassa…”

One name after the other, they went down the long list of Poleder’s victims, searching for any connection. Most people hung up the phone immediately, and Furiosa could hardly blame them. The victims had been ex-cons, which meant that most were estranged from their family and loved ones. After a week of constant phone calls, however, they had six people who were willing to talk.

The court date was set for February. They poured over evidence photos and case files, they pounded on doors of potential witnesses, they helped Morsov practice his statements, and they kept a constant watch over Poleder. It was draining work. Everyone found themselves plagued by bad ghosts. In their dreams the crime scene photographs became real, and Poleder’s nickname became literal, and he hovered over them with bloody lips as flames consumed all evidence. They came to work bleary-eyed and jumpy. They all coped in their own ways. Cheedo became consumed in her video games, Toast started smoking again. Dag threw herself into the church, volunteering at every chance she got. Furiosa’s kitchen began to hold so many pastries and bottles of whiskey that Dag began calling it “Drunken Donuts”. Max would go out to walk Dog and be gone for hours, climbing into bed at midnight with ice in his hair. Furiosa would roll over wordlessly and rub warmth back into his hands, breath color back into his lips. Capable went shopping. She came to work in a different outfit every day, and bought Maggie so many new toys that Dag finally asked Cheedo to hack her bank account and cut her off. Capable remedied this by taking everybody else shopping and telling them what to buy.

Shortly before thanksgiving, Capable realized with horror that Furiosa didn’t have anything to wear in court. Her most formal outfit was a blouse with a stain and a pair of leggings that didn’t have holes in the crotch. An emergency intervention was held to take Furiosa shopping, to which Furiosa flat-out refused. It wasn’t until Valkyrie showed up and threatened to show Furiosa’s baby photos that Furiosa finally allowed them to drag her to JC Penney.

Furiosa fidgeted and tugged at the hem of a blue blazer.

“Do you think it’s too tight? It feels too tight.”

Cheedo laughed from behind her.

“It’s supposed to be tight.”

“I thought I was supposed to look professional, not like a stripper on her day off.”

“Just be glad I’m not making you wear a skirt.”

“Why can’t I be wearing black?”

“We want you to look trustworthy when you testify. White makes people think of purity and goodness, and blue makes people feel safe and secure.”

“A t-shirt makes me feel safe and secure.” She turned and looked at her ass in the mirror. “Besides, white pants are just begging for an accident.”

Capable pounded on the dressing room door.

“Let us see,” she whined. Cheedo opened the door and let Furiosa out in her pantsuit. The girls oohed and aahed. Furiosa rolled her eyes.

“You look like Hillary Clinton,” Toast said.

“I look like an overbearing mother. This is coming off now.” Furiosa undid the buttons and tossed the jacket to Cheedo, who caught it with a groan.

“Come on Furiosa, think of it as just another part of winning the case. We need this.” She followed Furiosa back into the dressing room to try on the next suit.

“Plus think of all the naughty roleplay you could do with Max,” Capable said to the closed door,  “Domineering business woman, sexy job interview, naughty teacher…”

“...Hillary Clinton...” Toast added.

“We all know who Toast is voting for,” Valkyrie said.

“Powerful women turn me on, I can’t help it.”

“Come on, guys, Max and Furiosa do not partake in anything so frivolous as roleplay,” Cheedo said.

“Thank you, Cheedo,” Furiosa said. She tossed aside a ruffled salmon jacket with a look of disgust and reached for a green blouse.

“In fact, they don’t even do foreplay at all,” Cheedo continued, “Max just comes home from work, throws her over his shoulder, and carries her off to bed like a sack of flour.”

The women hooted and cheered and Furiosa glared at Cheedo.

“Please” she said, “Don’t be ridiculous.” She adjusted the collar on a green blouse and smiled slightly. “ I’m the one that does the carrying.”

They spent thanksgiving together at the bar. Furiosa had spent the morning shaving off the last of Keeper’s hair. It didn’t take much work. Most of it had come off in the brush. All of the aunts arrived early, their heads all shaved off in solidarity. When Seeds saw them there in all their egg-headed glory she burst into tears and had to lock herself in the bathroom for several minutes before controlling her emotions.

Giddy came, bringing a basket of muffins made in the prison’s new culinary training program. Furiosa was expecting a repeat of the prison cafeteria slop, but when Giddy lifted the cloth off the top of the basket the smell of the freshly baked bread made Furiosa’s eyes roll back.

“They wanted you to have them,” Giddy said, “As thanks.”

Nux and Capable were there. Nux’s hair was beginning to grow back, just a faint dark shadow on the top of his head.

They sat around the dining bar and Dag led a long, rambling prayer of thanksgiving that somehow left all of them reaching for tissues and wringing each others’ hands. Joy had always made the tofurky in years past, and nobody had quite the heart to do it in her place, so instead they had thanksgiving black bean soup. Dag made a rhubarb pie, a pumpkin pie, and a chocolate cake. Toast made mashed potatoes that were mostly butter. Capable did vegan stuffing. Furiosa roasted vegetables.

There were three empty places at the table, with three motorcycle helmets resting on each empty plate. Joy’s helmet had a large gold sun on the back, with rays that stretched all the way around. Maddie’s was bedazzled with pink rhinestones, and Antoinette’s was covered in white fur.

There was lots of loud drinking and crying and laughing, and the intense closeness made Furiosa itch and squirm until she excused herself to start washing the dishes. She stood in the doorway to the kitchen and closed her eyes, listening to the gentle ebb and flow of stories from the other room, and she felt the gaping holes inside of her being slowly knitted back together.

After a while Giddy came into the kitchen and watched silently as Furiosa washed the dishes by hand. Finally Giddy said,

“He’s doing well, you know.”

Furiosa nodded.

“He keeps to himself mostly,” she continued, “but he’s gained a lot of respect since the breakout.”

“Do they suspect he’s an informant?”

“No. When others are around I treat him like shit.”

Furiosa smirked.

“Good.”

“He leaves notes in library books, keeping me updated. If it’s especially important we say that he’s going to solitary, and I’ll meet with him in person. We’ve only had to do that once before.”

“Solitary seems like a reward for somebody as quiet as Rockatansky.”

Giddy laughed.

“He does like his personal space. But he’s been getting out a little bit more. He’s taking some classes, and is on the soccer team.”

Furiosa raised her eyebrows in surprise and interest.

“He’s in a creative writing class,” Giddy continued, “He wrote a truly beautiful poem, actually.”

“A poem? Wow. He didn’t seem like the poetry type, but then I didn’t know him very well.”

“It was about a woman.”

“Well he had a wife.” Furiosa’s tone was light and even.

“He wrote about her, but it was about moving on.”

“That’s good.”

“To a new woman.”

Furiosa put down the casserole dish she was scrubbing and stared at Giddy.

“Don’t be childish. I knew him for like two days.”

Giddy shrugged.

“I’m just saying, it was a really good poem.”

“That’s good to hear.”

She turned on the high-pressure hose and rinsed the dish.

“I brought you a copy of it,” Giddy said, once the water was off.

“Did you have his approval to show it to me?”

Giddy shrugged.

“It was published anonymously in the prison paper. Does that count?”

Furiosa squinted at Giddy, then took off her rubber gloves.

“Alright, let’s see it then.”

Giddy handed Furiosa a newspaper cut-out. Furiosa took it and read, her eyes darting down the page. Giddy grinned at her expectantly. Furiosa raised her eyebrows.

“I’ve never really been into poetry. It’s a little cliche, don’t you think?”

Giddy groaned and grabbed Furiosa by the shoulders.

“Furiosa, I get that right now you are clouded by grief and anger, but I swear to God there is a soul behind that hard metal covering, and someday I am going to pry you open and force it out.”

“Sounds painful.”

“Honey you have no idea,” Giddy said through gritted teeth.

Chapter Text

“Hey Furiosa?”

“Hmm.”

“I’m out of clean socks, could I borrow a pair of yours?”

“Sure, they’re in the bottom drawer, with my underwear.”

Max got down on his knees with a creak and started sifting through her underwear drawer. Furiosa was not one for lingerie, and her panties were all solid cotton boyshorts. Max loved lace and silk, but not as much as he loved what it was covering, and he was willing to compromise when it came to Furiosa. He rifled through the underwear drawer, searching for a pair of socks, when his hands stumbled upon a scrap of paper. He took it out and looked at it, barely registering that it could be something private.

When Furiosa came out of the bathroom, toothbrush in mouth, Max was still kneeling, staring at it. Furiosa turned red and swallowed her toothpaste.

“You found--”

Max nodded.

“Giddy gave it to me a long time ago,” she said.

Max chuckled under his breath.

"It's a pretty cheesy poem, looking back at it."

"Aren't all poems, in their nature, cheesy?"

Max looked up at her with big eyes.

“But you kept it,” he said.

Furiosa shrugged a shoulder.

“Of course I did. It was everything.”

After the dinner was over and the dishes were cleaned, after taxis were called and last hugs were exchanged and the three helmets were hung again up on the walls of the bar, Furiosa went back to Seeds’ home, the scrap of paper balled up in her fist.

The guest room was darkening, but she read the poem again in the dim light before murmuring "God that's cheesy" and tucking it carefully into her underwear drawer. As she lay in bed she stared at the ceiling and  repeated the last lines to herself as a mantra until she fell asleep.

"Here they come again.

Worming their way into the black matter of my brain.

I run from both the living and the dead.

Hunted by scavengers.

Haunted by those I could not protect.

I am poured out
Poured out onto the cold cement floors
Poured out until there is nothing left in Jesse’s perfect hands
but nails
Oh my Lord
my baby's dead

Then she appears, like shadows in a lake,

Like cold mornings

Like fingertips

Like glass

She lifts me out of this hot thick tar

plucks me free from suffocating sand

Lets pure water stream through my veins

and replaces the marrow in my bones

with cool dark earth.

Please, woman,

Peel off my skin like bark

and let me grow green

under your windy breath

You beautiful furious redemption."

Chapter Text

It was the lull right after the lunch rush, and Toast leaned back on the pastry case and looked at Cheedo.

“So Cheedo, tell us about your love life.”

Cheedo rolled her eyes.

“Toast, please, we are strong powerful women. Can we talk about something other than shopping and sex?”

“Alright. I’ve noticed you’ve stopped going to church. Why is that?”

“Ok, let’s talk about my love life instead,” Cheedo said, grinning. Toast laughed.

“Seriously though. Is everything okay? I know we have different religions, but if it wasn’t for the Islamic Center I’d be totally lost right now. Why haven’t you been going to New Agape?”

Cheedo shrugged.

“Just been busy I guess. I’ve been helping Morsov a lot on the case.”

“On Sunday mornings?”

“Noooo…” Cheedo sighed and started brewing a fresh pot of coffee. “I guess you’re right. New Agape is just so... optimistic. I mean here we are looking at pictures of dead naked bodies, and then I go to church and they’re singing and clapping their hands and asking for money to pay for a new building. At first it was great, I felt healed and comforted, but now it seems like the world’s wound is just too deep.”

“Too deep for God?”

“Too deep for New Agape.” She turned to the counter, where a man was waiting. “Good afternoon, how can I help you today?”

Toast put a bagel in the toaster for the customer as Cheedo made him a latte.

“I don’t know,” Cheedo said, raising her voice over the sound of the machine, “It just seems like every time I come to them with a question, it’s always the same answer.”

Toast smiled.

“Allah will provide,” she said, nodding.

“In different words, but yes. You have the same problem?”

“They make it sound so easy, don’t they.”

“But it’s not that easy.”

“Maybe we just don’t want it to be that easy.”

“If it’s that easy to fix, why was it ever broken in the first place?”

“You mean why do bad things happen to good people?” Toast said.

“God, Christians love easy little slogans like that, don’t they,” Cheedo said.

“Not just Christians.”

They paused the conversation as the bagel popped up from the toaster and Toast spread cream cheese on it.

“Have you ever thought that if it wasn’t for Joe you never would have gotten out of the gang life?” Cheedo asked.

Toast handed the man his bagel and latte.

“I worry about that every day,” she said, “Without Joe I never would have met you guys. I never would have converted. I never would have moved to Citadel.”

“So is Joe a villain or a hero?”

Toast made a face.

“He can’t be a hero.”

“So did God send us to Joe?”

“Or did God just turn that existing shitpile into the fertilizer for our lives now?”

“Too many questions.”

“Yeah. And every answer brings ten more questions.”

Toast slung her arm around Cheedo’s waist.

“You know, whether God made the shitpile, or is just using it as fertilizer,” she said, swaying her hip against Cheedo’s, “It’s turned into one hell of a garden.”

Cheedo looked over the cafe.

“It is, isn’t it.”

“I love you, you bible thumping infidel,” Toast said fondly.

“I love you, you--”

Toast held up a finger.

“Nah ah. I can say it, you can’t.”

“You don’t even know what I was doing to say.”

“It sounded derogatory.”

Cheedo kissed Toast sound on the cheek.

“I love you, you beautiful dandelion.”

Toast screwed her face up, trying to think of some way that could be offensive.

“Are you calling me a weed?”

“A weed that grants wishes.”

“I’ll take it.”

Capable woke up to the sound of yelling. She jumped out of bed and ran down the hall to Nux’s bedroom, her hair flying behind her like a lion’s mane.

Nux’s sheets were halfway across the room, and he was thrashing, jerking his still-healing body wildly, his sleeping face twisted into a wordless scream. She noticed a yellow stain running down his casts and wanted to cry.

Capable climbed onto the bed and put her arms on his shoulders. In his sleep, Nux tried to take a swing at her and she ducked out of the way just in time.

“Nux,” she said, “Nux, wake up! You’re going to hurt yourself!” She manoeuvred behind him and wrapped her arms in an X across his chest, the way she used to do when her little sister had seizures. “Nux, baby, it’s me, you’re safe.”

His fighting slowed, then stopped. She kept holding him and whispering gentle words in his ear. He breathed in great wet gasps of air, and she rocked him side to side.

“...Capable?”

“Yes baby, I’m here.”

“I had a bad dream.”

He could feel her smile against his neck.

“Uh huh. You want to talk about it?”

“You were in it. You wanted to go into the testing field.”

“Where they tested the bombs?”

“Yeah. I said it was dangerous, but you said ‘come on it will be fun,’ and I was yelling ‘no no no don’t go, you’ll die’ and you couldn’t hear me, and then…” Nux shook his head and sighed from the depths of his belly.

“...Capable?” he said.

“Hmm.”

“I think I peed myself.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She got up and lifted Nux into his wheelchair, then removed the sheets from his bed and stuffed them, along with the blankets, into the washing machine. He apologized the whole time, until she told him to shut up.

“I used to do this all the time with my sister, remember?” she said.

“I almost forgot you had a sister. Rosalie, right?”

“Yeah. You probably only met her a couple of times. She went to special school during the days, and died when I was ten.” She lifted up the mattress with a grunt and put it by the door, to be aired out in the morning. “She used to wet herself during her seizures. Do you want to shower now or in the morning?”

“I’ll do a sponge bath now, shower in the morning.”

Capable wheeled him into the bathroom and handed him clean underwear and a wet washcloth, then left to give him some privacy. She leaned on the closed door and kept talking.

“So it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just happens. I used to, in the prison, until I stopped drinking in the evenings.”

“I thought inmates only got water at mealtimes and showers?”

“We weren’t ordinary inmates. We had certain privileges.”

When he was done cleaning himself Capable wheeled him out of the bathroom, then down the hall and into the guest room. Nux looked at her, bewildered.

“Why are we here?”

“You need to sleep somewhere, right?” she asked. She lifted him into the bed and then crawled in next to him.

“But what if I have another-”

Capable put a finger to his cracked, dry lips. He nearly went cross-eyed, and she smiled.

“You won’t.”

He stared up at her, then his defiance was broken by an enormous yawn.

“Here, do this,” she said, pulling the blankets up around them, “Cheedo taught this to me. What’s something you’re thankful for that starts with the letter A?”

Nux looked confused.

“Ok, I’ll start,” she said, “I’m thankful for Angharad. Now B. I’m thankful for…” She thought for a minute. “A bed. A safe, warm bed.”

“I’m thankful for my bones,” Nux said, patting his casts.

“C. I’m thankful for Cheedo.”

“I’m thankful for Capable,” Nux said, grinning. Capable pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, pleased.

“I’m thankful for Dag.”

Nux’s eyelids were struggling to stay open, and he seemed to melt into the pillow.

“Me too.”

“I’m thankful for… what’s an E word?”

His eyes closed and he breathed a sleepy sigh.

“An E word?” he murmured.

“Yeah.”

“Mmmm… love,” he mumbled. Capable giggled.

“That starts with L, silly.”

But he was asleep.

Chapter Text

“Maaaax?”

They had argued all afternoon, beginning with whose load of laundry the sheets should go in, and escalating into a full-on debate about gender roles and implicit bias. They had finally realized that they were mostly just hungry, and after a dinner of tacos the argument was mostly forgotten. But now Furiosa’s voice had a warning tone to it that made Dog’s ears prick up. Max pulled on his pajama bottoms. If they were going to argue, he’d rather do it clothed.

“Hmmm?”

Furiosa appeared in the doorway in her bathrobe, fresh from the shower and brandishing a magazine.

“Can you explain why there was an engagement ring catalogue under the sink?”

Max turned red.

“Mmm. No?”

“You sure? Cause we both know I am not the marrying type.” Her eyes widened. “We do both know that, right?”

“It’s not for you.” Furiosa gave a sigh of relief and flopped onto the bed.

“Who’s it for then?”

“I shouldn’t tell, but…” His eyes darted back and forth. “It’s for Colin.”

“Should I be jealous?” she asked, grinning.

“He’s planning on proposing to Dag. He wants advice on a ring, cause of course he can’t see anything. Doesn’t want to get her something she wouldn’t like. I offered to help.”

“Wow. That’s a big thing.”

Max sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed.

“You think she’ll say yes?” he asked.

Furiosa thought, then nodded.

“She once told me that she couldn’t have a deaf daughter and a blind husband. But Maggie isn’t deaf anymore. I think she would say yes. She loves him a lot.”

“Any word on Maggie?”

“Dag lets her wear headphones for an hour a day, and then at night too. It seems to be helping.”

Max nodded.

“So. Mm. You’re not the marrying type.”

Furiosa smiled and shook her head.

“Can you imagine me in a flowing white dress?”

Max laughed.

“Pink roses and a lacy veil, hmmm. I’d pay to see that.”

“You don’t have that kind of money.”

Max picked up one of her feet and kissed it.

“What about a pair of satin pumps on these feet, hmmm?” Furiosa cackled and kicked out at him.

“So no, I am not the marrying type.”

His lips were moving down her ankle now.

“But then, I was never the relationship type until I met you,” she added.

“Until I wore down your resistance?”

“Please.” She tightened her legs around his neck and flipped him hard onto his back. In one fluid motion she \was sitting on his chest. “Like you could ever wear me down.”

He could feel her getting warm and wet against his skin and he growled, grinning.

“I’ll never wear you down,” he murmured. Then he flipped her over and pinned her below him. “But I’ll never stop trying.”

She grinned and lashed out, her teeth snapping at his ear just enough for him to jump back. She rolled on top of him and put her hand around his throat, not too hard, just enough to feel his pulse. “This feel familiar?” she said. She could feel him hard beneath her and her breath caught. He smiled.

“Mm. That night in the prison hospital.”

“I think this is the point when you punched me in the stomach.”

Max winced.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was trying to strangle you.”

“And you’d just kicked me in the balls.”

“I’d forgotten that part.”

“It was pretty hot.”

She threw back her head and laughed.

“It was, wasn’t it.”

He darted up and pinched her nipples through the terrycloth robe, making her melt on top of him breathlessly. He twisted her arm around and slid out from under her, then pinned her face-down on the bed. She ground her ass up into him, making him moan and loosening his grip. She spun up on top of him until they were lying nose to nose, his dick pressing hard through his pajama bottoms.

“I love it when you fight dirty,” he said.

“Baby you haven’t seen dirty yet.” She whipped the tie of her bathrobe out and tried to one-handedly tie his hands together above his head. She cursed to herself as the belt slipped out of her hand. Max raised his eyebrows.

“This was a lot sexier in my mind,” she said. Max giggled. That made Furiosa giggle, and they laughed and kissed and laughed and she buried her face into his shoulder in embarrassment.

He reached up and slid the cloth of her now untied robe over her shoulders. His hands were warm and gentle and they ran down her skin like water. She kissed him long and open and slow, grinding on him in a lazy spiral. He whimpered under his breath and grabbed her ass, not guiding her, just feeling her sway above him. She grabbed him over his pajamas, which were already damp with pre-come, and tugged at his pants impatiently until he pulled them down and sprang free. She looked down between them, smiling fondly.

“Hmmmm we meet again,” she said, and Max’s huff of laughter turned into a groan as she reached down to rub her thumb over the leaking head.

“Max.”

“Mmm.”

“Do you have a condom?”

Max stared up at the bunk above his, where his cellmate Billy Octane was snoring with great gusto. He had heard rumors earlier that day that a guard named Officer Walker was smuggling oxycodone into the prison. It would take at least another week to determine if it was true, and then he would wait three days after that to make contact with Warden Giddy, to avoid suspicion from other inmates.

He wondered if he could hold out that long. He was enjoying the writing class, the history class, and the soccer team, but he longed for life outside of prison. He liked hearing things about the world. He liked hearing about the girls and their progress, and how Nux was healing. He liked hearing about Furiosa.

As a child, Max’s father had worked restoring homes. They would move into an old falling-apart house, with leaks and warped floors and holes in the ceiling that you could see stars through. Then Max’s dad would get to work, repairing walls, painting, plastering, rewiring. Sometimes he would have to install hot water, or put in running water completely.

In one house, Max had found a hole in the sheetrock, just big enough for him to crawl through, and he had climbed inside the wall. He like it in there. It was dark and tight, and smelled like wood, and he started going there often. Sometimes he would see mice, and he would feed them TimTams from his pockets. When his parents fought, or when he’d had a bad day, Max would slip into the walls. He could still listen to conversations outside, though he never intentionally eavesdropped. Sometimes, when his parents would have parties, Max would crawl into the wall and listen to the grown-ups talking and feel content and safe.

After Jesse and the baby had died, Max had felt as though he had crawled back into that wall. He refused to connect with anything or anybody. Eye contact was physically painful. And once Orga had started using him, Max had stopped talking altogether. He crawled further and further behind his wall, deeper into the darkness, hoping that if he got far enough inside of himself he wouldn’t have to exist at all.

Then he had seen Officer Rator’s boots.

Max never looked anybody in the face, especially not a guard, but he had seen her boots and he was jolted to his core. Citadel Pen wasn’t strict on footwear, but most guards wore carefully shined patent leather Oxfords as a sign of status. Officer Rator wore scuffed up old boots with three long pieces of electrical tape on each one to hold them together.

Max had seen the boots and wanted to know more about the woman behind them. He hadn’t wanted anything for a long time, and the feeling of curiosity surprised him. He felt like he had just put weight on a broken limb, and he had turned around abruptly and walked back to his cell, skipping breakfast.

It had been another week before my learned her name: Officer Margaret Rator. He had watched her from a distance, avoiding her when he could.

He had finally made eye-contact with her by accident. It had been a day haunted by ghosts. Every synapse was buzzing and snapping. He was jumping away from Jesse’s long fingers, then feeling his little boy tugging at his pant-leg only to look down and see nothing there. He was exhausted and wired and ready for a fight. Then the ghost of Glory had pointed and said, “There, Max! Over there!” and he had looked and he had stared right into Rator’s eyes.

Her eyes were like big green headlights, and when they beamed in on him he felt simultaneously blessed and exposed. He wanted to stare forever and he wanted to look away. Then an inmate behind Max shoved him and grunted “Get on with it!” and Max had moved ahead to get his lunch.

Now Max stared up at Octane’s bunk and thought about Rator’s lizard eyes. Her name was Furiosa, he had to keep correcting himself. Furiosa. It fit her.

How strange, now, that he longed to hear about her and the other girls. He hadn’t cared about anybody for over five years, and he didn’t know if he liked the feeling or not.

He was still inside that old wall, holed up from the world, craving the dark and quiet. He was pretty sure he would always be there. But now Furiosa was behind the wall with him.

Chapter Text

“Do you have a condom?”

His eyebrows jolted up to his hairline.

“I… What?”

She looked down, shy.

“ I thought… maybe… we could try. Just try. And then if it doesn’t work we can stop?”

“Is it what you want?” he asked.

“I just want to see.” She sat up a little. “Can we try?”

He ran his hand down her cheek.

“Mm. Any time you want to stop, just say so, okay?” She nodded somberly. “I think I have one in my sock drawer.”

He watched as Furiosa walked to his dresser and bent down to open the drawer.

“Beautiful,” he rumbled.

“What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Found it,” she said, holding up the condom triumphantly. She jumped back onto the bed, bouncing slightly.

She bit the wrapper open and held the condom between her fingers.

“Believe it or not, I’ve never actually put one of these guys on.”

“I’ll teach you,” Max said, “It’s not hard.”

Furiosa winked at him.

“Oh we’ll make it hard all right.”

“Jesus, you’re like a middle school boy, always making- OH.” She slid the condom onto his cock, disrupting his sentence and making his fists clench. She positioned herself above him and rested her forehead on his.

He let out a strangled groan as she gripped him by the base of his dick, and started tracing it up and down her entrance. She started moving up and down, massaging her clit with his cock, and he bit and sucked her nipples until she came softly with a hand in his hair.

She was soft and relaxed now, and she moved forward enough for him to enter her. She looked him in the eye and he nodded, questioning. She nodded back. She sank down an inch and Max groaned deep and rough. She was the tightest thing he had ever felt, and her wetness dripped down his cock. He leaned forward to kiss her and the movement pushed him an inch deeper. They both whimpered together. Then she relaxed and settled fully down onto him, letting him fill her up to his hilt, closer than they had ever been, her fingers tense around his neck. He could feel her clenching around him and tried not to move, to let her adjust, but it was so good and he couldn’t help but rock slightly into her.

It pressed something in her heart, as if he was reaching all the way up to inside her chest, filling some long-empty space that wasn’t used to being filled. It was all too tender, too sensitive, and she couldn’t tell if the pain was physical or emotional. With a great effort, Max stopped moving. He reached up and stroked tears off her face.

“Breath, Baby. Deep breathes. You want to stop?”

She took a shuddering breath and shook her head.

“You sure? We can stop.” She opened her eyes. He was staring up at her with love and concern that broke her heart and stitched it back together at the same time.

“You don’t have to... prove anything, Furiosa,” he said.

She smiled and kissed him, wet and open. His smell and his taste were familiar, like home, and they brought her back into her body. She began to grind on him, almost imperceptibly. He clenched his eyes shut and let out a breathy whine.

It was a different sort of movement than she was used to, and she was clumsy as she rolled up and down, slowly gaining speed, gasping with every down-stroke. She turned her head and sucked two of Max’s fingers into her mouth. Max opened his eyes and stared at her, her head thrown back, her face tense and sweating. The lamp on the table lit her from behind in gold and blue. She was moving faster now, their thighs slapping together. Then, with a strangled shout, Max jerked and shook and came, burying his face in her chest.

Before the aftershocks had worn off he licked two fingers and reached between to massage her clit, making her jolt and moan. He moved faster, and she began to slam her hips down on his, and then she bit down hard on his shoulder and she was gone, nothing but light in her brain and her eyes rolling back into her head and her hand gripping at his hair hard enough to pull it out.

It took her a while to stop clenching around him, and they both moaned as he pulled out.

“I love you,” he said. Furiosa nodded. “You okay?” he asked. Furiosa smiled and kissed him lightly.

“I’m perfect.”

He stood and walked bowlegged to the bathroom to throw away the condom.

Furiosa smiled at his retreating form, at his tattoos, at the two dimples over his lower back. Once he was out of sight, however, she was filled with a sudden sense of melancholy. She curled in on herself and stared at the wall.

Max turned out the light when he came back in, and crawled in beside her. He breathed in her hair, then wrapped his broad chest around her shoulders. He put his hands on her clenched fists and held them until she relaxed. He pried her open like an oyster, and pulled her raw inside self tightly against his chest, kissing her hair and stroking her back. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask her why she was crying or what was wrong. He just hummed a song without a tune until her breathing grew slow and steady.

He thought that she’d fallen asleep when she said his name. He hummed in reply.

“I may not be the marrying type…” she said, then turned to face him. Her eyes glinted softly in the dark. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Seeds knew that Furiosa drank when she was depressed, and she had put a strict no-alcohol policy on the house for as long as Furiosa stayed there. Furiosa would run to Safeway and get a bag full of whiskey and powdered sugar donettes, only to find Seeds waiting, arms outstretched to take it away at the door.

This night, though, Seeds had invited Furiosa and Valkyrie to the kitchen table, where she sat with a bottle of Jameson and a plate of mini cheesecake tarts. Furiosa looked at her, warily.

“This is as much for me as it is for you,” Seeds said.

“What’s this about?” Furiosa asked.

“It’s about your aunts’ inheritance.”

Furiosa sighed and reached for the bottle.

“I don’t want anything,” Furiosa said, “I have enough money from the army. Not to mention the nice chunk the FBI gave me.”

Valkyrie was quiet.

“I know. But this was their wish for you and Valkyrie.”

“What about you,” Valkyrie asked, “Don’t you need it to pay for you treatment?”

“I was included in the will as well, as were the other members of Green Place.”

Furiosa ate a mini cheesecake in one bite.

“Fine then,” she said, “What’d they leave?”

“From Joy, you each get two thousand dollars.”

“How much did you get?” Valkyrie asked.

“Val, please--” Seeds protested,

“How much?”

“Fifteen hundred.”

Val nodded, and Seeds continued.

“Maddie left you each ten thousand in stocks. And before you ask, Val, she left me the same.”

“And Antoinette?”

Seeds bit her lip.

“There’s something you guys should know about Antoinette. She kept quiet about her past a lot. We didn’t even know most of it until just now.” Seeds picked at a cuticle. “Antoinette came here from Poland as a teenager in the 70s, to make a better life for herself. She became a model, which is how she met a multi-millionaire named C.F. Hector.”

Valkyrie looked up, surprised.

“Hector. As in Hector’s Jewels?”

“Yes.”

Furiosa shook her head, confused.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” she asked.

“Hector’s Jewels is one of the most famous jewelry stores in the country. You’ve heard their ads on tv, I’m sure.” She mimicked the cool female voice from the commercial. “Hector’s: the way into her heart.”

Seeds took a swig from the whiskey bottle, grimaced, then continued.

“She married him. She was so desperate for money and attention that she called it love. Hell, she was nineteen and in a foreign country. She didn’t know shit about evil men. Once they got married he started abusing her. He would hit her sometimes, but mostly he starved her. He put padlocks on all of the refrigerators and cabinets. He would call her a fat cow, and force her to get plastic surgery.” Seeds shook her head. “He died of a drug overdose five years into their marriage. When she came to me…” Seeds looked up at the ceiling and tried to blink away the tears. “I had never seen anything like it. She shouldn’t have been alive. She looked like a corpse. But at the same time she had these enormous breasts that were weighing her down. She needed a walker to stand. ” She wiped at the tears streaming down her face and breathed deep before continuing.

“It took her a month before her stomach could handle solid food again. You girls didn’t meet her until about six months later, because we didn’t want to scare you. She didn’t tell us anything about her past, just moved into the Green Place and started living again.

“I spoke with her lawyer today. She informed me that right before his death, Cole Hector sold the company for 1.5 billion dollars.”

Furiosa choked on her cheesecake.

“Billion?”

“The new owner almost doubled that, until the market crashed.”

“And Antoinette had all of that?”

“And then some, because she also got all of his existing money and his homes. Of course she used some of it to cover medical bills, pay rent, survive until she got a job.”

“So she was a multimillionaire all that time and never told us?” Valkyrie said, annoyed, “She could have done so much good with that money. She could have saved the Green Place from Crow! She could have saved so many lives!”

Seeds shook her head sadly.

“To Toni, money symbolized everything bad that had happened in her life. She had this block about it. She couldn’t even think about it. She pretended that none of it even existed. Until now.”

Furiosa took a swig from the bottle. Drunkenness was beginning to blur around her periphery, and she was grateful for it.

“So what does this mean for us?” she asked.

“It means that, after taxes, we are now in the possession of a million dollars each.”

After Valkyrie left, Seeds came into Furiosa’s room and sat on the edge of her bed.

“I don’t want it,” Furiosa said, “I don’t like this at all.”

“You can donate the whole thing, it’s your choice,” Seeds said, “But I ask you to consider this: you have four young women, one of whom is barely a legal adult, and, whether you like it or not, they are all looking at you for direction.”

“So what do I do, give it all to them?”

“No. If they knew how to handle money they wouldn’t have been in prison. I say invest in them.”

“I’m not their mother.”

“I know. Just think about it.”

Furiosa closed her eyes and let the room spin around her. She heard Seeds get up and walk out of the room.

She didn’t want any of it. All she wanted was for her aunts to come back. Her aunts, and her mother, and the women at the Green Place who had disappeared, and all of the men and women in her squad who died that day in Mexico. She was angry and sad and empty.

She tried to sleep, but one thought kept echoing in her ears, darting through her mind like a minnow. She tried to cover her ears to it, but it wouldn’t go away.

Angharad’s Books.

Chapter Text

Cheedo Vuvalini

This can’t be happening. It just can’t.

Elvis Morsov

It’s gonna be okay.

Cheedo Vuvalini

Spoken like somebody who’s never had their pussy grabbed.

Elvis Morsov

Solid point.

Elvis Morsov

I really thought the country was better than this.

Cheedo Vuvalini

I’m scared.

Elvis Morsov

Where are you right now?

Cheedo Vuvalini

At home. All the other girls are at the bar. It was too loud there, but here it’s too quiet.

Elvis Morsov

Can I come over?

Cheedo Vuvalini

I thought you’d never ask.

Morsov held up a bottle of wine in front of the peephole, because he knew she would be looking. Cheedo answered the door in fuzzy pajamas patterned with geese playing soccer. She was smiling as she ushered him in, but her eyes were puffy and red. She sat on the sofa and gestured for him to join her. He sat stiffly on the edge, which made her smile.

His phone buzzed and he looked down at it, then laughed. Cheedo rested her cheek on his shoulder to read the message. It was Ace, asking if Morsov had taken his wine. Cheedo smiled, then ran a finger across one of Morsov’s hands. It was quiet, and still, and everything crackled with energy. The air was too thick, no room for words, as she stroked abstract patterns on his wrist.

Morsov cleared his throat.

“You want some wine?”

“Do you have enough for the next four years?”

“Please. America won’t last four more years. We’ll be living in a nuclear apocalypse by February.”

“Might as well live it up while we’ve got the chance, then.”

She swayed to the kitchen and brought back a bottle opener.

“No glasses?” Morsov asked.

“Glasses are for celebration.” She popped the cork and took a long drink from the bottle. “We’re drinking to forget.”

“It’s that bad, huh?”

Cheedo looked down, and when she spoke her voice was soft with grief.

“It’s that bad. Worse even. He’s just so much like Joe.”

Morsov hummed in sympathy and took drink from the bottle.

“How much do you know about it?” she asked, “My past, I mean?”

“Not much, but enough. I know you were a hacker who got sent to prison, where you were abused by the warden.”

She bit at her pinky nail.

“What about me,” Morsov asked, “How much do you know about me?”

Cheedo grinned guiltily.

“I know you were born in Flagstaff to a drill-sergeant father, joined the military right out of highschool, where you were stationed in Mexico. After losing your legs you went to UC Berkeley and studied political science. Then you went on to Columbia Law School. After graduating you spent a year at Pander and Jones law firm before coming here in search of Furiosa because you are in love with her.”

“You hacked me?”

“It’s what I do.”

“Well, you were almost all right. I am not in love with Furiosa.”

“No?”

“Well, maybe I was hoping for something to happen. But I like Max a lot. They’re good together.”

“They are.”

She stared at him intently until he turned and looked at her.

“What?” he asked.

Cheedo blinked slowly.

“Are your eyes blue or grey?” she asked.

“Neither, they’re green.”

“No.” She looked closer. “No way.”

He turned so that he was closer to the light and stared so deeply at Cheedo that she felt filled up.

“See?”

She squinted, then bit her lip.

“Yeah, I see it now,” she said, “God, you have beautiful eyes.”

Then, before she could talk herself out of it, Cheedo put her lips on his. It was dry and soft and close and quiet, and over in a second. He jerked away, and she buried her face in his neck.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m just not- I just don’t... feel... that way. About you.”

“Alright,” she said, blushing. She sat back on the sofa.

“Can we just... talk a bit?” he asked. Cheedo smiled.

“You’re amazing,” she said, “You don’t want to make out, but you do want to sit and talk. No wonder I like you.”

“Did you watch the game the other day?” he asked.

“Oh yeah. I was wearing my jersey all day. I was freezing, but I didn’t want to cover it up.”

They sat on the bed for an hour, until the bottle of wine was gone and they were both soft and warm. Morsov told her about his three brothers and his half sister, his childhood hamster, his dad, who was gay but still voted for Trump, his mom, who’d died years earlier. Sometimes they lapsed into silence, and Cheedo would stroke the side of his face, or run a finger from his forehead, down his nose, ending at his collarbone. She rested her chin on his shoulder and inhaled his sharp green scent. She watched the way his mouth moved when he talked, and then, when he was silent, how his lips parted just a little, like they were asking to be paired up.

She rubbed her nose against his ear and whispered,

“You’re like a cupcake.”

Morsov raised an eyebrow.

“How so?”

“Because you’re right there and I want it,” she pouted.

Morsov laughed breathy peels of laughter that made Cheedo smile.

“Are you sure you don’t want to make out?” she said.

“I’m sure.”

“You’re positive?”

“Yep.”

“But it would be so fuuunnn.” She sighed. “Jesus look at me, trying to coerce you into bed. I sound like Donald Trump.”

“Ah, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re not that bad.”

“True. I haven’t grabbed you by the dick yet.”

Seeds pounded on Furiosa’s bedroom door, eyes wide.

“It’s Dag,” she said, “She wants to get rid of the baby.”

The screeched into Melita’s driveway, where Dag was staying temporarily. Melita melted with relief when she opened the door and saw them.

“What’s happening?” Seeds asked.

“She had a doctor’s appointment,” Melita whispered, “She found out that there are some birth defects, due to the drugs that were given to her in the prison. They don’t yet know how severe it will be. So far the baby has no jaw or inner ear.”

A strangled wail rose from the other room, and they all rushed in to find Dag on her knees, head in her hands.

“Dag,” Seeds said, “Honey? Let’s talk.”

Dag looked up at Keeper with haunted eyes.

“It’s the curse,” she growled, “Joe couldn’t just leave us alone. He has to hurt every girl he touches. Now he’s broken my baby girl, just like he’s broken me.”

Dag knelt down in front of Dag and put a cool dry hand on her cheek.

“Are you broken, Dag?”

Dag nodded, her chin crinkling with tears.

“Are you really?” Seeds asked again, “Cause last time I checked, broken things are things that don’t work. Are you still working?”

Dag looked up, confused.

“I look at you,” she continued, “And I’m seeing a heart that’s still beating in and out. I see two lungs that are pumping air, just like they’re supposed to. I see a brilliant brain, that’s still thinking up beautiful poetry and art. I see love pouring out of you, and love pouring into you from all your sisters here, and your aunties. I’d say you’re working pretty well.”

“But my little girl… Her ears, they don’t work.”

“You fill a bowl with holes and you have a great sive. Just because she works differently doesn’t mean she’s ruined.”

Dag smiled a little bit.

“She’s your daughter,” Seeds said, “She will be perfect.”

Chapter Text

“Hey Dag.”

Furiosa was helping Dag at the nursery, pricing poinsettias and putting bows on wreaths.

“What’s up?”

“I know a while ago you said that Colin was hinting about marriage. Is that still a thing?”

Dag shrugged.

“I guess. Sure. I mean, I know he wants to get married.”

Furiosa carefully avoided eye contact.

“Do you want to?”

“I’d want a long engagement. At least a year.” She squinted at Furiosa. “Why do you ask?”

“What? No reason. Just… making conversation…”

Dag’s eyes got wide and excited.

“Did Max propose?” she squeaked, so loud that Maggie turned around, annoyed.

“No! Jesus, no!”

“But is he planning to? Like, dropping hints, or acting all mysterious?”

“No more mysterious than usual.”

“He is mysterious. A mysterious man.” She cocked her head in thought. “Does mysterious come from the word mist? Myst erious … Myst erious…”

Furiosa hoped that Colin didn’t mind Dag’s disjointed ramblings. Dag had once confessed that she needed to be blindfolded during sex just to keep from getting distracted.

“What was I saying?” Dag said, “Oh, yes, marriage. Maggie really wants us to get married. She wants a daddy.”

“Dada,” Maggie cooed. It still surprised Furiosa when Maggie spoke, mainly because her signing was so eloquent that Furiosa often forgot she was barely more than a baby. Her spoken vocabulary, however, only consisted of about five grunted words.

“See?” Dag said, “She’s all for it.”

“And you?”

Dag blushed, uncharacteristically.

“I’d be all for it too.”

“That’s big,” Furiosa said, “I mean, wow.”

“I know. Dag the man-hater, wanting to get married. And after only a year of dating.”

Furiosa’s eyes widened, and Dag slapped a hand over her mouth.

“A year ? I thought you guys started dating four months ago!”

“I know. I should have told you guys sooner. But neither of us wanted the public scrutiny that comes with relationships.”

“And Capable didn’t catch on? She always knows when people are together. That’s like her super power.”

“We weren’t having sex, which probably threw her off. Besides, she was still pretty broken up about Nux.”

“So you didn’t meet in a dance club for the deaf?”

“That was how he met me,” Dag said, “But I’d observed him long before that. He used to come into the nursery recurrently. I was too shy to introduce myself, and of course he couldn’t see me.” She smiled at the memory and adjusted a bow fondly. “He came in every Sunday and asked for a bouquet of dahlias. I assumed they were for a girlfriend, so I never spoke up or flirted. But he was itching my brain, this beautiful blind man, he dazzled me, and he was always so gentle with the plants. So finally I decided to see who this lady was, who always received such beautiful flowers, and one day I followed him.”

Furiosa laughed.

“Wow. That’s so sketchy.”

“I know. But I had to know. And, I mean, my flowers are my babies, I wanted to see who was getting them. And it wasn’t like he could have caught me, he’s blind.”

Furiosa shrugged, conceding.

“Anyways,” Dag continued, “I followed him for a mile, with Mags napping in the stroller.”

“And?”

“And he led me straight to the cemetery.”

Furiosa’s jaw dropped.

“Turns out he was going to see a woman, just not the one I’d expected. It was his sister Dahlia’s grave. I knew then that this was a guy who I had to meet.”

“And the concert for the deaf?”

“Divine intervention.” Furiosa raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Alright, so I checked the name on his credit card and looked him up on the internet. I still think it was miraculous.”

Furiosa nodded.

“So if he proposed… you would say yes?” she asked. Dag smiled.

“Yeah. I think I would.”

The women sat huddled in the center of the living room, talking in hushed voices.

“Was it really a good idea to leave her alone in the shower?” Toast asked, “Should we knock and check in on her?”

Keeper checked her watch, then shook her head.

“No, she’s only been in there for fifteen minutes. She needs some time to cleanse.”

“Cleanse?” Cheedo said, “She’s gonna cleanse right down the drain if-” the shower turned off, and Cheedo gave a sigh of relief.

They all turned when she came out of the shower. Her wet white hair clung to the fuzzy pajamas, and her skin had been scrubbed so hard it was red.

“Hey you,” Toast said, “How are you feeling?

“Better,” Dag said, voice hoarse, “A little.” She looked down at her stomach. “I have to be, don’t I? I have to be strong. I have a daughter, who’s going to need me.”

The women all smiled. Capable opened her arms up to Dag, but Dag held up a hand.

“That’s why I’ve come to a decision.” She took a deep breath, then said, “I don’t want any men in my baby’s life.”

They blinked at her, dumbfounded.

“Not for a while, at least. I want my daughter to grow up knowing that women are powerful, and beautiful, and strong.”

“But Dag,” Capable said, “What about-”

“None,” Dag said, “Not even Nux. Not at first.”

Seeds nodded slowly. “What will you teach her about men?” she asked, “To be afraid of them?”

“No, of course not. That’s why I’m keeping her away from them. She’s gonna be afraid at first, cause the world is a scary place, and I want her to be around people like her. People we can trust. Men whirlwinds, and right now she needs quiet and peace and stability.”

Capable was about to speak up, but Seeds sent her a warning look.

“Dag,” Seeds said, “How you raise your daughter is your decision. And we will support you no matter what.”

Dag nodded seriously. Then she said,

“Do we have any hot chocolate left?”

Valkyrie nodded and led Dag into the kitchen for some hot chocolate. As soon as they left, Capable burst into defensive chatter.

“Nux is the safest person I know!” she said, “She’s going to mess that kid up so badly, Keeper, we have to convince her out of it!”

“Give her time,” Keeper said, “You’ll see, her walls will come down. She’s just hurting right now.”

“We’re all hurting,” Capable argued, “That’s no reason to shut people out.”

“She’s just processing it differently,” Keeper continued, “She’ll come around. Just be sure to love her. And love that baby. That little girl is going to need an aunty like you.” She smiled. “Just watch, someday she’s going to find a man she’ll want to spend the rest of her life with.”

Toast laughed.

“Dag? No way, She hates men.”

“She hates what men have done to her. Someday she’ll realize that there’s a difference.”

The girls continued to protest, but Seeds just smiled to herself, like she knew.

Chapter Text

“This is not only a question of innocence and guilt. This is a question of starting a new Citadel. A Citadel free of corruption, a city based on trust and good judgement, without the need for vigilantism and unjust death.”

Morsov looked at Cheedo, indicating that he was done. Cheedo applauded, and he took a little bow.

“What did you think?” He asked.

“I liked it. I would find him guilty.”

“Yes, but you already know he’s guilty.”

“Still though. It was excellent.”

“I need to work on the ending a bit.”

“True, maybe not end it on a list. I think it’s good if you end it on ‘starting a new Citadel’. Although I liked the list, just not at the end. Maybe stick it in earlier.”

Morsov sat down heavily and rubbed his eyes.

“What time is it?”

“Eleven thirty.”

“So we’ve been practicing my closing statement for four hours?”

“Something like that.”

“Where’s Capable?”

Cheedo shrugged, but she looked uncomfortable.

“I don’t know. She’s been really distant since I didn’t come home that one night.”

“I’m sorry. I should have just taken you home.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

There was a long silence. Then she said,

“I should be the one apologizing.”

“For what?”

“For the other night. When I kissed you. I got pretty carried away.”

“Oh. That. Don’t apologize. It was… Nice.”

She smiled up at him and he felt himself freezing all over.

“Nice?”

“I mean, you know. It was sweet.”

“I didn’t… I was caught up in the moment. I don’t really feel that way.”

“You don’t?”

“No. It was the wine, and the stress, and, I don’t know, you were a guy, who was there, and you were safe. And I needed a reminder that there were safe guys.”

“You’re not attracted to me?”

“No.” She smiled. “Don’t look so forlorn. You’re a gorgeous guy. Plenty of girls want to kiss you. Some of them might even meet your standards.”

“It’s not that you don’t meet my standards,” he said, “It just wouldn’t work.”

“I know.”

“You’re a lot younger than me.”

“I know.”

“And I’m your lawyer.”

“That is true.”

“And I hate relationships.”

“Relationships are the worst.”

“They’re terrible.”

“They always end.”

“Exactly. I can’t lose you as a friend.”

“I love being your friend.”

“You’re an amazing friend.”

And then he was kissing her, and they were kissing, and it was open and wild and wet and both of them were equally surprised.

Christmas when she was a child, Capable’s family would drive to Citadel City and walk around downtown, looking at the Christmas lights and the window displays, picking out what they wanted for Christmas, and proving that they were a normal happy family dammit. It was always intended to be festive and jolly, but usually somebody had a tantrum, and her mom got sloshed, and her mom’s boyfriend got bored, and her sister ended up stealing something from a store.

“If it’s filled with such bad memories, why do you want to do it?” Nux asked. Capable adjusted a big woolly sock around his cast, making sure the bare toe of it wasn’t exposed.

“Because. This time will be different. You’re here. Besides, I really do need to show you what I want for Christmas.”

“Who says I’m getting you anything?” Nux said, teasing. Capable grew serious.

“You don’t have to. I don’t expect you to. I just want to show you.” She ran a hand through her hair. “You’ll see.”

They rolled around downtown, getting free samples at William Sonoma, staring into window displays of glossy mannequins, going into a high-end lingerie shop and giggling uproariously before looking at the price tags and slinking out in shock. Snow started to fall, turning everything impossibly, painfully lovely. Capable’s cheeks were flushed with cold and happiness, and big sparkly flakes caught in her hair, and she knew that she had never looked so beautiful. They could still see signs of the financial crisis that had hit Citadel City when the factory closed down. They passed a large building, holding three connected storefronts, all of which were empty. They stared into the dark interior, and it gave them an odd lonely feeling.

“What would you do with that space, if you got it?” Capable asked Nux.

“Turn it into a surf shop,” he said, not hesitating. Capable laughed.

“This far inland? Good luck.”

“I said what I’d do with it, not that it would be a good idea. What about you?”

“Bookstore,” she said, “For Angharad.”

“That’s for Angharad,” Nux pressed, “What would you do for you?” Capable had to think for a moment.

“Angharad is a part of me,” she said, carefully, “So I’d want the same. That said, I’d make sure the bookstore sold some little gifty things, too. Like fancy soap, and baby toys, stuff like that.”

She pushed him onwards. Nux noticed that she was getting quieter, almost nervous, as she wheeled him down, past the sporting goods store, past the bank, past the First Congregational Church.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked.

“I told you I wanted to show you my Christmas gift,” she said.

“Uh-huh.”

“I…” Her voice trembled. “I don’t expect this gift this year. Or even next. But… Someday… I’d like…” She trailed off.

Nux was so busy trying to look behind him to make sure she was okay, that he didn’t realize the trajectory on which she was pushing him until she stopped.

Then it was impossible to look away.

The window radiated brilliance. A trove of diamonds glittered, and glinted and teased up at him, scintillating brazenly against the darkness of the evening. Nux couldn’t say anything but,

“Christ, that’s shine.”

Capable giggled. He had to tear his eyes away to look up at her.

“I’ll get it all for you,” he said, “All of it. I don’t care if it costs everything. Which one do you want? Do you want that necklace?” He pointed to an emerald statement necklace with a large crystal rose. “I’ll get it for you. I’ll get it all for you. I’ll drape you in diamonds.”

“I don’t want it all.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I just want that one.”

She pointed a slender finger to a little velvet box in the corner of the window. Inside was a ring, white-gold molded in the shape of a coral branch, curling around a pink sapphire.

Nux stared at the ring, then back at her, until the gravity of what she was saying sunk in.

Chapter Text

They were all going to gather at Gillian’s house for Christmas, as it was the only house big enough to hold the four girls, the aunts, Valkyrie, Max, Furiosa, Morsov, Slit, Giddy, Meg, Ace, and whatever other lonely wanderers straggled in.

Furiosa and Max opened most of their own presents earlier that morning, just the two of them. Max got her a new set of tools, a book of short stories, and a Camelpack. Furiosa got him a cast iron skillet, a murder mystery, and a new pair of pajama bottoms. Then she’d looked at him embarrassed, and murmured, “There’s one more thing.” Max looked up at her questioningly.

“I know you like lingerie,” she said, blushing, “And you know I’m… much too practical for lace and frills. But I thought, maybe, for Christmas, we could find a compromise.”

She didn’t think it was possible for his eyebrows to rise any higher, but when she lifted her pajama top over her head she was proven wrong. The bra was simple black lace in the pattern of leaves.

“Ah fuck,” Max murmured.

They arrived late to Gillian’s house. When Gillian asked why, Max just cleared his throat and said, “A Christmas miracle.”

An hour later, as the last of the gifts had been opened and the wrapping paper was being gathered into the recycling bin, Colin cleared his throat. The murmuring died down and eyes turned to face him.

“I have another gift for you all,” he said, “I wrote you a song.”

The room hummed their appreciation.

“Christmas is a time for giving and receiving,” He signed along as he sang, so that Maggie, who was still learning words, could understand.

“I want to thank you people for the gifts you’ve given me.

Thank you for accepting me into your family.

Your trust in me is humbling, inspiring, profound

I promise I will do my best to never let it down.”

He turned to where Dag was sitting, Maggie in her lap.

“Dag you know I hate cliches

But suddenly they all seem true

And there’s no other way to say

That I was lost till I found you

Your voice is light

Your voice is water

You brought me peace

You brought me a daughter

Like ivy you’ve grown in around my holes

And led me home.

Dag and Meg I have a question

For the both of you

I’m asking you with all my heart,

My whole mind through and through

Margaret Seeds please answer me and made me very glad

Will you grant me the highest joy

And let me be your dad?

Dag I want to carry you

The way you carry me

Dag you are my love, my heart,

Please will you marry me?”

Dag’s face was shiny with tears as Colin got down on one knee in front of her and Maggie, a ring in his hand. Dag looked down at her daughter, giving her the chance to answer first. Maggie looked around at the expectant faces and beamed, her chubby little hands on her face. Then she shouted “YES!”

The room burst into applause, as Dag nodded through her tears and helped him find her finger to put the ring on. It was a small circlet of leaves, each one with a tiny green stone in the center. She smiled and kissed him, and laughed, and everybody cheered.

Furiosa’s gifts were difficult to wrap, and she just wanted to tell the girls what they were, but Seeds insisted on some sort of surprise. So the girls were blindfolded, (luckily that wasn’t a trigger for anybody) and put in Gilly’s minivan. Furiosa bit at her thumbnail. She had never given a gift quite so large, and wasn’t comfortable with it.

She had developed an aloof and silent attitude with the girls, almost the the point of rudeness. They invited her places and she turned them down. They came over to the house and she stayed in her room, convincing herself that they were only there to see Seeds, not her. It was true that a part of her blamed them, however unfairly, for the death of her aunts, but that wasn’t the real reason she kept her distance. They were so filled with life and depth, whirling planes of condensed emotion, like pools of water of untold depth that Furiosa had to step carefully around for fear of falling in.

All the same, she loved them. They pulled her out of her flat emotionless depression. They were such bright colors on her grey plane of existence that she saw spots when she forced her gaze away.

They babbled under their blindfolds, giggling and knocking into each other and guessing where they were. Finally the van stopped and they lurched forward with a whoop.

Furiosa and Seeds helped them out of the van, then up onto the raised wooden walkway. The girls could smell the snow, and the jingling of a key in a stuck lock. They were led into a room that echoed and smelled like dust. Then Furiosa told them to take off their blindfolds.

It was dark and musty. The girls looked around, confused. Furiosa shifted and grimaced at her feet.

“So uh… Merry Christmas.”

“This is one of those empty shops in that building that’s for sale, isn’t it?” Capable asked.

Furiosa nodded. Then she held out three manila envelopes, and handed one to Dag, on to Capable, and one to Toast.

“Cheedo, yours is in there with Toast’s,” Furiosa said, “But I figured, you’re still so young, not to tie you down…” Her voice ran out and she scratched at her nose.

“Jesus Christ, Furiosa,” Dag said, “You bought a building?”

“I did,” Furiosa said, flushing, “And I’m giving you all space here. To rent. See, Dag, now you can have your plant nursery, I’m thinking the space next to this one because it has an open space in the back. And Toast and Cheedo, you can have the one on the other side, for your coffee shop. And Capable, you can have Angharad’s Books, just like how you said you wanted. And Cheedo, you’re still young, so I didn’t put your name on the lease because you should be free of responsibility for a while, but it’s here if you want a job. And I’ve enrolled you all in business classes, if you’d like to take them, but you don’t have to. You don’t have to take any of this, but it’s here if you want it, or if you want to do whatever, I mean you could rent it out as a strip club, what I’m saying is it’s yours. I can’t make it rent free, but I can make it rent controlled.” She took a deep breath. The girls continued to stare at her like she’d suddenly burst into flames.

“You got us a store.” Toast sounded like she was under water.

“Uh huh.”

Before she had a chance to withdraw, Toast jumped on Furiosa and wrapped her arms fiercely around Furiosa’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” she said, “Thank you so much.”

Chapter Text

Capable slipped out into the kitchen and sank down in the little space between the oven and the corner of the room. She buried her face in a kitchen towel and sobbed. She felt ugly and cruel. Her friend was getting married. Why couldn’t she be happy about it, like everybody else? Why did she have to turn it into a spotlight on her own loneliness? She’d had her moment of happiness, why couldn’t she just be content? She looked down at the ring she still wore on her finger. A gold branch of coral, circling a pink stone. She cried a little longer, then blew her nose into the towel and wiped her face. She hugged her knees and sighed. She was done crying, but she still didn’t feel like going out and seeing everybody. She stared at a little white spider, crawling its way up the side of the oven. Then she heard a heavy pair of footsteps come in and she hurriedly tried to straighten her hair and come up with a plausible excuse as to why she was hiding behind the oven. Before she could come up with anything, however, Slit’s enormous face popped up over the stovetop.

“Halo,” he said.

Capable nodded in greeting.

“Boy, you picked a difficult spot for company, didn’t you,” Slit said, trying to squeeze in next to her in the cranny behind the stove. Capable giggled. She couldn’t help herself, the thought of such an enormous man trying to fit into her hiding place was too ridiculous. He finally managed to scoot in beside her, his huge legs splaying out across the kitchen floor. He looked down at her as if he understood completely. He pointed to the ring she was worrying in her fingers.

“I always liked that ring. I was surprised that Nux chose so well. Usually he had such shit taste in jewelry.”

“Nux didn’t pick it out,” Capable said, “I did. But it was a while before he actually got it for me.”

Slit slapped his knee with his hand.

“I knew it! I knew he couldn’t have done it on his own!”

“He wasn’t that bad at jewelry,” Capable said, “He got me those beautiful seaglass earrings for me that one time.”

“Actually, I picked those out.”

Capable looked at Slit, stunned.

“ You did?”

Slit’s smug smile faded slightly as he nodded, realizing that he may have said something wrong.

“What about that pearl bracelet?” Capable demanded.

“That was me too.”

“The steampunk necklace?”

“With the clockwork heart? Fuck, that one was my favorite.”

Capable’s head fell back onto the wall.

“Jesus Christ, all this time I thought the gifts were coming from him…”

“Nah nah nah,” Slit said, “They were coming from him. You think he didn’t pine over those gift catalogues? He would call me up, practically in tears, saying that he wanted to get you something perfect, something as magical and shiny as you were. He’d be tearing his hair out-- figuratively of course--” He looked to see if Capable was smiling, and she tried to hide the twitch in her lip. “So I’d come over, and he’d tell me the latest funny or smart or amazing thing you’d done that day, and we’d go online and look at all these different pieces. And he’d say ‘She loves the ocean, she always smells like the sea,’ so I’d say the seaglass one, or he’d say ‘Today she came home with these badass welding goggles, how cool is that’ and I’d say the steampunk thing. He had all this love for you, he just didn’t know how to turn it into gifts.”

“So you were his translator.”

“Yeh. Something like that.”

Capable smiled.

“Well thanks. They were beautiful.”

“Sometimes it felt like I knew everything about you. How you cried during a documentary about sea turtles, and how you took unicycle lessons, and how your grandma wore pearls every Sunday.”

Capable wrapped her fingers around Slit’s. She had always been embarrassed about her big hands, but next to his they looked tiny. He flipped his hand palm-up and rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb.

“I miss him,” Capable said, “But I think I’m ready to start dating again.”

“You know he’d like that,” Slit said, “He once told me that he wanted you to move on, be happy.”

“He told me the same thing,” she said, “But it just seemed so impossible. I didn’t think I could be happy with anybody else.”

“And now?”

Capable sighed.

“I don’t know. But crying with envy behind an oven at my sister’s engagement sure doesn’t feel like happiness to me.”

Slit didn’t say anything. He just squeezed her hand.

“Dear Officer Rator   Furiosa   Ms. JoBassa

Merry Christmas. We were given materials for making christmas cards: construction paper, glue, glitter, markers, etcetera. No scissors, of course. All the other guys are making cards for their wives girlfriends and parents and kids. I don’t have any of those. You’re my only connection outside, really. Not that you’re really a connection. Or that we had a connection. Ah fuck me I hate writing cards. I’m only doing it cause I’m keeping an eye on a guy for Giddy. People talk at things like this. So I’m here making little stars out of glitter, wondering if my job for Giddy is worth the lessened jail time.

Christmas is better this year, meaning that there is a Christmas this year. In years past there was nothing but the pageant, where some poor bitch was picked to play Mary, and he’d always shake in fear and humiliation as everyone threw food at him. This year it’s not like that. Officer Slit keeps a tight ship, and the guards know not to try any shit with Warden Giddy. So she’s been able to do some other things, like get a tree in the dining hall, get the choir to sing some carols. Even got some menorahs for Hanukkah and Kwanzaa, which made the neonazis mad, but fuck them anyways.

I don’t want to say that things are perfect here, cause they’re not. Once the drug trade was cracked down on men started selling sex again finding other ways to get power. Things got really violent for a while. Lockdowns every other day. Once they realized that Warden Giddy isn't a pushover, though, it calmed down. I keep donating blood, which gets me on folks’ good sides. The Warden wants to keep on with the bleach making plant, but I disagree. It all needs to go. Hell, get us into sweatshops, like all the other prisons, making jeans and shit. Have us on assembly lines, I don’t care, we just have to stop with the Mother’s Milk.

So it’s not all merry and bright, but it’s a hell of a lot better than it was before. You're still a legend here, the guard who went rogue and killed Joe. Guys ask me about you. It's strange to a lot of them, I think, being indebted to a woman. I don't answer. I keep to myself. 

I hope things are going well. I think about you every day. I know the one called Daria Dag must be really coming along with the baby, if she kept it. Giddy said Nux has been healing well. I hope that is true. I hope he and Capable are happy. He was a good one. At least once he got off the drugs. Tell Doctor Seeds I say thank you. Tell them all I say thank you. 

Anyways, you don’t have to write back. I would like to hear from you, if you did, though . I’m getting by fine. I’ve started writing letters for inmates. I used to be a cop, so I guess I know how to talk the talk. Or at least I know how to talk in complete sentences.

Merry Christmas,

Max

Inmate Rockatansky”

Max finally crumpled the card up and flushed it down the toilet. It stuck a moment, then disappeared, filling the bowl with glitter. He pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered what the hell he had been thinking.

“The fuck is wrong with me,” he muttered.

A voice from the stall next to him piped up,

“It’s the meatloaf at dinner, man. I’m having the same problem.”

Max blushed furiously and got out of the bathroom as fast as he could, wondering what the next occupant would think about the fairy dust in the toilet bowl.