Furiosa watches the dust trail from Max's rig grow bigger and bigger as he approaches the Citadel. The fingers on her right hand twitch as she feels the hard leather of her wheel underneath them. There are things she misses about her old life. Driving the War Rig, or any vehicle for that matter, is one of them.
He rumbles through the gates and is swarmed by a group of War Boys who immediately begin unloading the vehicle. Some of the War Pups hang around the fringes, watching the older men work. His forehead is smeared with the black grease that Furiosa had grown so used to applying and she feels an unreasonable surge of irritation.
He lifts a hand in greeting to her and weaves his way through the crowd to reach her.
"Trouble?" she asks, voice slightly sharper than she intends.
He shakes his head.
There's never any trouble on his runs, if he's to be believed, but she can see a freshly scabbed wound on the side of his neck and her eyes harden. "What's this?" she asks, reaching up and running her fingers over it.
He shrugs. "Nothing. Run-in with a scavenger."
For an instant Furiosa is back on the Fury Road, three war parties on her tail, fingers curled around the wheel, adrenaline surging through her veins. But that isn't her place now, and she blinks back to the present, throwing Max a frustrated glare.
"Be more careful next time. I need you alive", she snaps.
An eyebrow inches up his face and she knows she's being unreasonable, but she doesn't much care.
She turns on her heel and marches off, back to her life of settling arguments and cleaning up the mess the Immortan has left.
It is only two days before Max is smearing his forehead with grease, climbing into the driver's seat of his rig.
Furiosa has come to see him off, as she always does. She taps his door twice, signaling that everything is in order and he can take off. Her hand lingers on the sun-warmed metal just a fraction of a second too long.
Max pokes his head out of the window and looks at her for a moment. "Could use some help on this run."
She glances sharply up at him. He's never needed help before and his tactic is easy to see through. Most of her wants to climb right up beside him and take back the roads that were once hers, but she has different responsibilities now and she sighs. "I'll find a War Boy."
When she turns to do just that, she is confronted by a wall of wives.
"We'll take care of things", the Dag promises.
"Go", Capable says.
Furiosa doesn't hesitate. She gives them a nod, the relief on her face acting as thanks for their understanding. She starts to walk around to the passenger side door but Max shifts over, gestures to the wheel. Almost reverently, she climbs into the cab, curls her hands around the wheel, shifts the gears.
Black-rimmed eyes meet her own as they eat up the ground, on their way to Gas Town. "Thank you", she says.
Max brushes it away with a shrug. "Didn't feel like driving." He settles back against the door and is asleep within seconds.
