They drive through the first night. Max wakes as the sun sets and he and Furiosa exchange places. She falls into an easy sleep and he uses the stars as a guide.
The next day they are not so lucky. Halfway through, when the sun is at the highest point, the rig grinds to a halt and they are forced to make repairs. The sun beats down on them as they swarm over the vehicle, tightening loose bolts and giving the engine a chance to cool down. Neither of them have a chance to rest through the day and, by the time the moon is rising, they feel they should sleep. There is nothing pushing them at a fast pace this time and Furiosa finds it odd to be allowed as much rest as she needs.
They settle on opposite sides of the cabin, Furiosa leaning against the driver side door, Max leaning against the passenger side door. Their feet are a tangled mess in the middle, but they've both slept in far more uncomfortable conditions.
She feels the urge to thank him again, but knows he won't appreciate it. Instead she says only, "It's good to be back out here."
Max grunts in acknowledgement, lets silence fall again. After a few beats he glances back up at her, eyes slightly narrowed. "Worried?" he asks.
Furiosa shakes her head. "About the Citadel? No. The Sisters can take care of things. They don't need me as much as they think they do." The thought is reassuring, but also a touch unsettling. If she doesn't belong in the Citadel where does she belong? Maybe she just doesn't have a place anywhere.
They fall back into a comfortable silence until Furiosa hears Max's breath deepen. She glances out the windshield, looking up at the stars spread out across the blue-black sky. She thinks of the Green Place and of the Immortan, thinks of how nothing lasts long in the desert and hopes the Citadel will be different.
Eventually she settles her head back, runs her eyes over Max's sleeping form once more, and closes them, drifting off.