Their worlds collide on the desert roads that run through their veins.
The first time Furiosa sees him he is a part of them, the Immortan's horde, and not a part of them, like the wives. Like her. Chained to the front of a War Boy's car as the wives are chained to the Immortan, as she is to her War Rig. Their eyes lock and break away. She doesn't pity him. There is no room left in her heart for pity. She drives into the storm and doesn't care if he lives or dies.
The next time she sees him he is staring at her down the barrel of a gun. He has gone through the storm and survived. She has no inclination to be impressed. She watches as first the Dag then Angharad are forced to approach him, watches as he almost drowns himself through the bars of his mask. Notices her opportunity. He is stronger than she thought he would be, considering the tube that draws his blood from his body. He fights, like the wives. Like her. It takes three gunshots for her to admit defeat, but he doesn't kill her. She wonders why as he drives the Rig away and wishes the storm had killed him.
It is only hours later that she is telling him the sequence to her Rig. Trust born of desperation is the only option left to her and she names him fool. Perhaps, she thinks, it is what she should be calling herself. She goes to surrender the guzzoline, notices the war parties drawing closer. The air explodes with bullets.
She calls 'fool' and he drives the Rig.
He tells her 'under the wheels' and they press on.
She watches him wake from nightmares, tells him of the Green Place. Sees no hope in his eyes. They are like her own.
The night is black and blue and they have stopped the War Rig momentarily. She asks what they will do if he does not return, knowing the answer. He says only what she expects. It is what she would say.
They work to defend the wives and the War Boy from the forces that draw ever closer to their stalled vehicle. She wonders when it was she decided to trust him with her life.
They reach the Vuvalini and she knows loss like his. She has no home, is a drifter like him. She wonders how he keeps from screaming.
She says goodbye with a bike and supplies.
He says hello with a map and a plan.
They fight with abandon, with only one instinct: survive. Their world becomes fire and blood.
The last time she sees him he is a face in a crowd. Their eyes lock in a silent conversation.
'You don't have to go.'
'I know.'
'Survive.'
'I will.'
Their eyes break away and their worlds reform, different but the same. They will never collide again.