Furiosa. Imperator Furiosa.
He looks at her as she rises up above the seething, the worshipping, and she looks down at him. It is only for a moment, a fraction of a moment, that their eyes meet.
In that moment, he wants to tell her everything.
He wants to tell her that the world ended more slowly for him, that rigs-cars- were means to an end, not the end of all means, that he had seen the shows that bounced off satellites the Wives and the Vuvilani had wondered at. How people went to stores for food, how people lived in houses instead of caves, how water was plentiful and life was good. He wondered if she would be surprised that he too came from a green place. He wondered if her sea-green eyes would widen if he told her above the ocean, about the endless waves of water that lapped the shore by his old home.
It had been so long since that time, that time when the road pulled at him but could never call him away from the sedentary life he lived. A life anchored by the promise of law, of family, of friends.
He was not that man anymore. The sort of man he was is tattooed on his back now, like the flavor of the blood that burns through his veins, yearning for the open sky above, the open road below, and a steering wheel at his fingertips. Lone Road Warrior.
Lone. Alone. It is his penance, to wander. His chance to gather ghosts and dispel them. Redemption. Furiosa's word. He likes the sound of it. It sounds of seeking. And that is what it means to be a Road Warrior, he has learned since the time his own personal world ended. Seeking. Always seeking, never finding. No destination. Only a promise. Redemption.
Furiosa. Imperator Furiosa. Her sea-green eyes burn into him asking him a thousand questions, lit by the knowledge that none will ever be answered. She is rising, the Wives-the Sisters, now-clustered around her, jubilant. Like angels, like Valkyries lifting their chosen warrior to Valhalla.
He nods to her. She has found her redemption. She will lead these people. They will flourish. The Wasteland will know the touch of the green again. She will be happy, with her strange sort of family.
He nods to her. Respect is scarce in the Wasteland, and all the more valuable for it. She has his respect, and he hers. There is invitation in the small answering smile she gives. You could come back, it says. You can stay.
He turns and walks away, sliding easily through the crowd, already thinking of ways he could use the debris from the battle to rebuild his car.
He knows her invitation is one he could never accept. The road calls to him, as it once called to her. She found her destination. He has not. Nor will he ever.
He is the road warrior, he whose world is fire and blood.
...
Max. Mad Max.
A name. A title. A legend. Gone, swept up by the sky and the fury road, in search of his better self.
She is Furiosa. Imperator Furiosa. The new leader of the people of the Citadel, the bringer of water to the Wretched, the bringer of peace to the Warboys, the bringer of freedom to the Sisters.
He is gone. Her questions about him, his past, are unanswered. But she is Furiosa, who once knew the calling of road warrior. And she does not forget.
...
A/N: Wrote this in about 5 secs on my iphone. Finally got around to watching Fury Road. I thought I was going to hate it because I'm a longtime Mad Max fan (which does not mean I am super old, it just means I saw Mad Max and Road Warrior long before anyone heard about Fury Road). Surprise surprise, it rocked my freakin' world, and my love for Mad Max has now somehow expanded.
Anyway, terrible story, I know, but for some reason I just couldn't be satisfied with the fics that have Max comin' back to settle down with Furiosa. I mean c'mon, he's the road warrior. He doesn't stop.