Every night, he slept by her bed. The first night he rapped on her door it was near midnight, about two weeks after he returned to the Citadel. He had stood there in the doorway and stared at her wordlessly for several minutes, gazing at her all over as if to assure himself that she was there, that she was safe and she gazed back, giving him time. When he finally spoke, it was soft and gruff, "May I stay here?" he asked. She nodded and he grunted, walked slowly towards the bed and then dropped to curl up on the bare floor. She huffed a startled laugh and then laid down to sleep. When he awoke that first morning, a cotton blanket had been laid softly over him while he slept. He folded it carefully and put it in a corner for the next night. He was always gone when she awoke, and as early as she left the room, he was already in the kitchens or the garage or gazing out a window into the desert.
Max never forgot the first time he heard her sing. He had been walking down the corridor to her room, a few days after that first night. It was very late, and he had waited until his body could wait no longer for sleep, loitering in the garage after every War Boy had gone to their cots. As he neared the room he heard it, like a faint humming in his ears, and his body seized with anxiety. The voices in his head had been still for several days and he at first thought they had returned. His feet quickened towards her door, suddenly anxious to be in the warm security of her room, when he realized the sound emanated from her door.
The Imperator was singing. Her voice was low and throaty, and she sang quietly, although there was no one else who slept on this hall. It almost sounded absent-minded at first, a casual emanation of beauty in that dry place. His feet slowed instantly and his lips fell open with a sort of earnest hunger for the sound. His eyes went wide and he stood still for several seconds before approaching the door like one treading on hallowed ground. The sound rippled in his ears like cool water, and it bathed him and bathed him; numbing the voices, the panic, the anxiety of his spinning head. As her voice dipped and rose, the sound cooled his muscles, relaxing them, as his memory spun out of his head into a gentler place. He stood at the door, but he had to get closer, closer yet, without disturbing her. He settled his ear up against the rough wood of the heavy door and his eyes roved eagerly as he drank in the sound. She continued to sing in a level voice, an old, lilting lullaby of green things and small children, of hope and light and comfort in the face of a new morning. As she sang, his body drooped lower and his breathing slowed more and more until suddenly his lungs demanded more air and he drew in his breath sharply. Immediately she stopped and he shut his eyes and when she spoke, her voice was like a smile, "Max," she commanded gently.
He waited for a second, and then nudged open the door.
She sat on the bed with her legs coiled under her. She wore rough linen shorts like the wives had worn and a light black top for sleeping in. The black made her eyes burn green in her tanned face, and the knowledge that such beautiful sounds had come from such a beautiful creature turned him still again in the doorway until she looked up from the medical book she had been looking over and raised her eyebrows at him.
"I'm sorry," he said heavily, "for listening."
She shut the book and laid it in the windowsill as he watched her movements cautiously. Then she folded herself in the linen sheets and curled up with her back to him, blowing out the lantern, "Good night, Max," was all she said, but her use of his name was an intimacy between them and his shoulders relaxed.
After that, hearing her sing became a priority of his life. She sang as she read, as she repaired her clothing, as she counted seeds for Dag. Sometimes she would sing as she lay flat beneath the cars, working in the garage late into the night. Always she was alone and always he would go in search of her and wait, slowing to listen behind a corner. She knew he was there, and he knew that she would only go on as long as he had her permission to hear. Eventually, she would stop and summon him, and there would be a small smile on her face as she turned her head away. There were many beautiful things in his life now: heavy green plants and smooth falls of water, Capable's copper hair and the girls' interlacing fingers and silvery laughter. But nothing, to him, was as beautiful as that secret smile and that secret song.
She awoke sharply one night in the darkness to the sound of his roar. The sound had bellowed out of him and launched him from sleep, but he could not be calm and he thrashed for a moment in the darkness, caught in the blanket and the burning memories. "Max," she said, twisting out of bed, and his body stilled, but his throat continued to sob heavily for air and his back arched in agony against the floor. Her fingers found the matchbook and lit the lamp and he jolted again at the sudden flame of light, jerking back against the wall behind him, and labored to gain control of his breathing. "Max," she said again and she was leaning off the bed, reaching for him fearlessly. She took his face in her hands and his eyes lunged desperately around the room, as he continued to sob low in his throat, "Hush, hush," she comforted him like a child and drew his head up to her chest. He kneeled in front of her, his hands kneading desperately in the bedsheets on either side of her and his breath shuddered in escalating gasps. "Hush, hush, hush," she said, combing his hair slowly with her fingers and breathing the words into his ear, "Hush now Max you're awake Max," she chanted very softly, and slid off the bed towards him, pulling his head down onto her legs and reaching with one hand for his clenching fingers.
Slowly, so slowly, his breathing slowed and his body curled up against her like a puppy seeking warmth. His face twisted into her knees and he began to weep. She continued to stroke his hair and his face with slow, gentle hands, and carefully ran her fingers across his arms, neck and shoulders, pressing his body to hers, offering comfort in her presence, her closeness and always whispering that he was awake, he was awake, and he was with her, but tears rolled down her own face to accompany his own. Finally he lay still, his eyes unfocused and staring at the wall across from her, his head lolling in her lap as the air shuddered through his lungs. She sat still for a moment as well and they breathed together in and out, in and out: alive, alive, alive. She ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, over and over and the other hand she laid on his neck and she began to sing. His eyes widened and rolled up to hers in surprise, but her eyes were half-lidded, looking at his neck as she stroked it gently and she sang a new song, one he had not yet heard, a love song of the early days of the Water Wars:
"When the sky grows cold,
When the darkness comes rushing down,
When your hands grow old,
Wrap your heart in mine,
Beautiful one, Beautiful one,
Wrap your heart in mine."
His lips fell open and his eyes trained on her face, his muscles slightly tightening again.
"When the green has fled,
When the wind has swallowed the water,
When the land is dead,
Hide your eyes in mine,
Beautiful one, Beautiful one,
Hide your eyes in mine."
"Furiosa," he murmured, trying to catch her gaze. She looked up at him then, meeting his eyes, but continued singing, and threading her fingers through his hair.
"When you can't be strong,
When the pain has taken over,
When you can't hold on,
Hide your hand in mine,
Beautiful one, Beautiful one,
Hide your hand in mine."
He lay as though frozen, hardly breathing, and she picked up one of his rough sunburned hands and lifted it to her lips, holding it there like a kiss, breathing on his fingers.
He gazed up at her with wide blue eyes, his tear-swollen lips half parted and she slowly lifted her eyes to meet his again, interlacing their fingers and laying his hand against her neck.
"Beautiful one, Beautiful one." she sang again, and dropped her lips to his.