Sleeping came hard for the both of them. The reality of their situation only settled deeper into their minds, manifesting itself in the forms of dreams and nightmares of The Hold and The Green Place, re-surfacing the ghosts and memories of people they used to know and those they might never see again. Both Max and Furiosa had their turns of jolting awake, and the other was always there to set them at ease. It went on through the night, and they slowly closed the gap between them until the sun came up and they woke with their backs firmly pressed together. The intimacy didn't shake either of them; the night had left them more fatigued than rested, but they pressed on anyways into the southern lands.
It was easy to tell that getting through these days would be hard. Eight days of nothing but driving and looking at the horizon for a sign of something or someone or somewhere, all three of which seemed unlikely to find. They could very well drive themselves to death. There was nothing they could do about it, though. They were doing the very best they could. They were maximizing their possible exposure to settlements and people, and were going as far as they could until the guzz finally went dry, and were stretching the food out for as long as they could. Max and Furiosa needed more guzz, because without it, they certainly wouldn't make it to the Green Place alive.
He'd take a car. Oh, how he'd take on any wreckage that had even a drop of fuel, even if it had a most dastardly trap ready to set off from a hair-trigger. Max almost welcomed roadkill to come along and chase them. They'd have guzz and more, surely something to trade or fight with somewhere in their vehicle. The possibility of only running into peaceful parties passed through his mind, and he still wasn't sure if he'd leave them alone or not. His ghosts jeered at him for even considering running them down for their guzz, but damn it they needed it.
If Max and Furiosa were two and there was only one other, it would be okay, right? The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, right? It was justified, right?
Right?
Mid-day came soon enough. Positions were switched and rations were doled out (and promptly inhaled). Max felt more at ease behind the wheel; it gave him something to occupy himself with. Shift up, shift down, careful on the accelerator, mind the path, watch the horizon. It was a goody-bag of ways to keep his mind out of the moral gutter he had allowed himself to delve into. He had always made an effort to defend the defenseless, and there he had been, considering doing the very thing he had tried to stop to the very people he had tried to protect. His ghosts were right to berate him for it. It was shameful.
His punishment, so it seemed, was to see and find nothing. They went on for hours until the sun set and the moon basked the wasteland in a shade of blue. The world was uniform in a worrying way that made them think they were going in circles. Max could tell they weren't thanks to his compass, but the lack of any sort of landmarks or defining feature was demoralizing. It projected the illusion of no progression, even though the last functioning odometer counter still managed to roll over. Limbo was the word that came to mind, and it stuck. Purgatory found itself a suiting label as well. It would be here that they'd stay until the world made its decision of helping them or abandoning them to the sands to die. They had seven days now.
As per their decision last night, they stopped again. A final ring-around their area revealed nothing. They settled the car into a low point beneath the hills, and both moved to leave the vehicle. Furiosa had the same intentions from last night in mind, and Max had been tempted to do the same as her. As much as he loved the Interceptor, he needed a break from it. The world had shrank, and the Interceptor had quickly become everything he had. Max needed to pretend he had more than that.
It made sense that, since they were both willing to stay up and mill about, they should rotate on guard. They had done it before, so why stop now? Well, last night, they had gotten along well for hours without the need for one. The only hints of human life they saw were those they left behind him. There was also the uncomfortable belief that if anything would happen to them, then it was only about time.
The Interceptor was left behind in favor of the outside world. Max and Furiosa both took blankets, weapons, and their rations with them, planning only on returning once there was nothing they wanted to do but sleep. He broke off from her as soon as the canteen was empty and made his way onto the top of the car. Looking up at the stars was always a fantastic escape. It was a great way to remind himself that there was a lot more to the world than miles of sand. The millions of stars soothed him and instilled him with the belief that maybe somewhere out there, everything was okay.
Furiosa walked her own walk, wearing a circular path into the dirt that winded around the car. It was tiring, yes, but that was half the point. The other half was that she was outside and stretching her legs. Their present situation only filled Max's car with dreadful monotony that even driving couldn't break. It was always in the same direction at the same speed with the same scenery. What fun the Interceptor had been, with its speed and size and handling, had been over-ridden, and she needed out.
The two took the few hours of night they had willingly spared and did their best to decompress. If they didn't need it, they certainly wanted it. At worst, the Interceptor felt like a cage. At best, it was an uncertain vessel that in seven days' time would deliver them to their fate. The longer they could keep their minds off it, the better. Fixating on it didn't do either of them any favors.
Furiosa returned to the car when her legs once again felt like rubber, removing her prosthesis along the way. Max promptly rolled off the roof and followed her in, knowing very well he could be outside for as long as he wanted. Truthfully, he was just fine with heading back in and settling in next to her. The proximity and the intimacy it brought frightened him, but it was welcome all the same. It was a comfort that reminded him that he wasn't alone, and that she was there, and it sure as hell was better than facing the night alone.
The two of them settled in for the night, backs to each other. They spared themselves the effort of inching closer in the deep night and instead closed the already small distance between them until their bodies were pressed together. The shared warmth was a plus, considering the dropping temperature. Max was thankful that it was only Spring, though with a harsh post-nuclear Summer ahead of them, they'd need a lot more than thisto keep warm - if they were to last that long.
He sighed and settled into the seat to get what sleep would come to him, feeling Furiosa do the same. It was getting easier for Max to admit to himself that he enjoyed the company. She brought with her a warmth that warded off his ghosts, and good company that memories couldn't rival. She brought the reliability of an ally, despite his initial reluctance to accept her as one. The harsh words he served her those few days ago outside of the Highlands came back to mind, and became another weight on his chest. Furiosa didn't deserve to hear that, even if it was his measly excuse for exposing the both of them to unnecessary risk. Max almost let out an apology right then and there, but the words dried up in his mouth and he kept silent. It could wait. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow came soon enough. Their dreams were dark and murky, but still infused with themes of guilt and hopelessness. Neither of them had woke, only settling deeper into the seat and closer against the other. Through some miracle, they only rose at the crack of dawn. They only allotted themselves a small break for rations and a quick stretch before getting back on the road.
The silence between them was growing louder. While the both of them had been comfortable with what few words were shared, and neither of them could think of anything to say, it felt weird to stay quiet. Maybe it was because they didn't know much each other - no, it was definitely because they didn't know much each other. It didn't help that the deadline of six days to find fuel loomed over their heads. They could starve to death together as near-absolute strangers. Even though sharing stories hardly mattered if they both perished, it still seemed better just to know.
Max's mouth ran dry again. He hadn't made an effort at honest conversation in years. What should he ask? What could he ask? What she told the War Boys and what she spoke of the Green Place was all he knew of her. On the flip-side of the coin, what he told her in that day past the Highlands was all she knew of him. The shared information was critical to the situation's context, but it was hardly anything for either person to use as a proper gauge of the other. What was out of bounds? What would make her shrink away instead of - well, not necessarily warm up, but keep things alright, at the very least? Start simple, he told himself, but there was hardly anything simple about the world for them to meaningfully discuss.
"You have a look again." Furiosa had been observing him, being only marginally more interesting than the flat horizon. Max's usually relaxed posture and face (well, as much as they could be given the circumstances) had turned rigid and concerned, not unlike how she had seen him the day after The Hold was discovered and promptly abandoned. He turned his head to look at her, but focused his attention away from her again, having apparently nothing to say. "What're you thinking?" she decided to ask him, unsure if it was alright to ask at all. Think too much, she remembered him replying to her. Maybe she didn't want to know.
Apologize, was what came to mind. Max's final fleeting thoughts before falling asleep returned in full force, flinging themselves ahead of the need for small talk. She deserved an apology for what he had told her, no matter what she thought of it. For all he knew, that's what she could be thinking. The words almost didn't come out of his mouth.
"You... I called you a burden. Before The Hold." Physically, mentally, and emotionally, she introduced something to his world that he did not need or want. She complicated damn near everything, from supplies to travel to relations with Bartertown (damn, damn, damn that guard, he couldn't help but think) and forced him to scrutinize everything he usually did to consider how she'd fit into the equation. Furiosa came into his world too much like Hope had, reminded him of relationships and people destroyed due to his own foolishness. And he told her that. "Didn't deserve to hear that. Can't pretend to... know if you think that of yourself, but it wasn't right to tell you. 'm sorry." Max's nervous thumbs wore into the leather of the steering wheel.
Furiosa listened to him speak, words very nearly incomprehensible as his volume shrank to nothing but a rumbling bass. She had thought of herself as a burden from day one, especially before they had their confrontation with the Buzzards and Ace on the Powder Lakes. Hearing him say it for himself after they had conquered the Highlands didn't do any favors; Max did it all to save himself. She had been thankful, yes, but he was ready to clean his hands of anything to do with her once they got to The Hold.
The Hold, of course, was an ordeal of its own. The closest thing to what Max could call home was destroyed, and in turn, the chance to even find one for herself was gone. Focusing on the need to find somewhere – anywhere – that they could find for rest, trade, shelter quickly overcame the idea of fretting over whether or not she was a burden. They were suddenly cast into the same position of knowing of and having nowhere else to go, barring the Green Place. Still, they continued down the path of hopelessness. The Rock Riders' pass would be closed to them, and the only option they had was to ride around the mountains with less supplies than it would take. Dying was, once again, a very real possibility.
Was Furiosa over the burden thing? She was certainly more understanding of it, no matter how callous it had been in the moment. He had a very real affliction that she only accentuated, something that was either always on the brink of being brought to the surface, or being absolutely overcome. It was brought on by no fault of his own; the human mind was complex and in many ways was separated from the walking talking consciousness. Max didn't want to have that state of mind, and she couldn't blame him for wanting to keep out of it.
It was better to be over it. Neither of them could afford to hang on to the concept of being a burden when the circumstances were too dire to focus on much of anything else. It would only complicate their interactions. Max at least reached out with an apology, if not to sincerely repent for what he had done, then to simply put it behind them. She was more inclined to believe the former. "It's okay," she replied. "I can't pretend any of this has been easy, especially now. I..." Furiosa let out a sigh. "I understand, and it's okay." She decided to say nothing else of it; it wasn't something they needed to keep on their minds.
If her response set Max at ease, she couldn't tell. There was still a look on his face. "Is that all you want to talk about?" She took the risk of pushing him further, even though she had no right to. Curiosity was the only excuse she had, besides caring - no, worrying about what he was thinking. There was predence set to worry about what was going on in his mind, but engaging him about it wasn't something she was sure she should do.
"Ah, it's... hrm." Max still wore dimples into the steering wheel's leather. She had called him out on it before he could think about it himself. He was on the spot. It was too easy to dismiss as thinking too much, and there was a good possibility of it going somewhere that neither of them wanted to go. "It's stupid," he decided to warn, but Furiosa waved it off.
"I've been surrounded by War Boys for seven thousand days and I've heard some really stupid stuff. It can't be that bad."
It was a small relief for Max to hear that, though he was still conflicted. He always expected and planned for the worst, but what could go wrong with such a simple, well-meaning conversation? With no certain thought of how she would react, and deciding that waiting wouldn't any favors, he sighed. "It's... odd to have been through what we have and to not – to know nothing. About each other. And with... the days in front of us. Being strangers, seems weird."
That was your build-up? Furiosa almost asked, but didn't want to belittle him. Max had always been uneasy about opening up. The second day they were together, he disregarded the need for her name, and when they left the Highlands, he struggled to reveal his reasoning for his actions and urgency. He had wanted nothing to do with her, but he was here now and wanted to know, and there wasn't any harm to be had in knowing more about each other. "So what do you want to know?"
"Don't, uh... don't know where to start, 's been years," Max admitted with a nervous chuckle. "Don't know what not to ask."
"Well, you know where all great stories begin, right?"
"Hm?"
"In the beginning."