A/N: Hi guys! Unfortunately, I don't own anything related to Mad Max. But I hope you enjoy this new chapter! I'm going to be mainly focusing on Fury Road, but you'll see things from the video game and from the older movies as well. The timeline won't be truly exact, but it'll still flow nice.
The scene was painfully nostalgic; a table ladened with food and beverage, surrounded by laughter and smiles. Not a drop of tension poisoned the mood, no fear lurked around the corners, no metallic smell of spilled blood bit through the air. For a moment, Max hesitated in the doorway as Capable joined her family, grounded to reality by the sharp stab of homesickness that suddenly assaulted his heart, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. It felt like he was having an out-of-body experience as he stood and gazed at the gaggle of beautiful girls who abruptly spun from their dinner plates to look at him with huge eyes, their expressions similar; surprise, joy, gratitude. The rough canvas strap of his backpack felt alien in his calloused, dirty hand, the heaviness of the shotgun in his other hand suddenly feeling fake. His lungs felt incapable of drawing air, a burning sensation clawing at his throat, and he could hear the dull buzz of speech as the Sisters spoke to him all at once but he was unable to decipher actual words. His eyes moved from one pretty, clean, flushed face to the next, until they met the pale, intense eyes of Furiosa, who silently remained sitting. Staring back at her in equal silence, it was like she was the only one in the room and it anchored him back to reality, bringing him back down from the paralyzing anxiety that had started to overcome him.
Warm hands grasped at his wrist and he turned his head, becoming face-to-face with Toast.
"Here, I'll put your things in the guest room," she offered, gesturing towards his backpack and weapon. His grip only tightened around his belongings. Confusion clouded the girl's face, but he only licked his dry lips and averted his gaze.
"It's okay, he can keep them at the table with him. Max, come eat," Furiosa spoke up. She stood and began putting a plate of food together for him, knowing full well he'd only take enough morsels to stave away the bite of starvation if she allowed him to make his own plate. So as Toast led him to a chair, Furiosa filled the plate with fresh, crisp vegetables grown from their own garden, a generous slice of bread still warm from baking in the oven, a couple servings of grilled chicken, and a handful of ripe berries. His dinner was placed before him along with a cup of clean water, but he didn't reach for any of it at first, instead looking around the room with an expression of pleasant surprise.
"You did it," Max said, his voice low, gravelly, but…happy. Furiosa smiled, understanding even when the others didn't.
"Did what?" Dag asked.
Before either of them could answer her, a sudden cry interrupted the conversation. The familiar sound turned Max's blood to ice and his cup froze at his lips. Nobody else seemed to be bothered; in fact, a few smiled as they turned to face Cheedo, who was now entering the room with a platinum blond toddler in her arms. The boy's big, dark gray eyes were filled with tears as he reached for Dag, who uttered soothing noises as she accepted him into her own arms. Seeing how identical the child looked to Dag, Max remembered she'd been pregnant during their mission; this was her son. His stomach dropped, eyes glued to the way the boy buried himself against the young woman's chest, quickly calmed by her presence.
"He woke up from his nap and was scared when he realized you weren't there," Cheedo explained, chuckling lightly as she stepped back to survey the table. Her gentle eyes landed on Max, and she released a quiet gasp from soft, pink lips.
"You've come back?" Cheedo asked, eyebrows lifting in surprise. She had never become significantly close to the drifter, finding him untrustworthy, intimidating, and unpredictable. Though she'd never said it aloud, she was a little afraid of Max, seeing his madness as a threat. Max gave a hum of acknowledgement of her words without necessarily answering her, draining his cup in one long drink. Capable refilled it immediately, giving him a pointed look, a reminder to stay hydrated.
"Max, this is my son, Exordium. I was afraid he would come out all ugly and messed up, but…he's perfect. His name means 'beginning', Capable gave me the idea from one of her poetry books. He's gonna be a good man one day, when he grows up, like you. That's why I gave him some of your name as a middle name. Exordium Maxwell. Strong name, right? He's a good boy, such a good boy," Dag said, her voice trailing into a coo at the end as she rubbed his small back. The toddler sucked on his thumb and closed his eyes, at peace in the reunion with his mother.
A rare, soft smile tilted at the corner of Max's mouth as he gazed at the pair, touched that she'd thought so highly enough of him to give her son his name. He didn't deserve the regard, was unworthy of the pedestal she'd placed him on, but he wasn't going to argue with the kindness he'd been gifted.
"He's perfect, Dag," Max agreed quietly, lowering his eyes to his plate as the ghost of his own toddler son giggled and gurgled somewhere behind him, Jessie's sweet voice praising him for unseen actions.
What a perfect baby, doesn't he remind you of Sprog? Those chubby cheeks, those little hands, and tiny toes; an embodiment of new life, untouched by the evils of this world. How do you think he'll die? Will he get crushed under the tires of a motorcycle gang, like Sprog was?
Max gripped his fork as tightly as he could, forcing the cold steel to drive out Jessie's voice as he brought a piece of chicken to his mouth. He focused on chewing, not tasting the food, not wanting to even eat anymore, his stomach clenching and unclenching at the memories of discovering his son's mangled corpse in the road. Her voice disappeared, but as he ate bite by bite, mechanically chewing, he could hear the distant ghost of her saxophone playing in the chasms of the past.
The dinner table thrummed with life, unaware of the ghosts that haunted Max's head. They ate and drank merrily, telling their guest a thousand stories about events he'd missed; their success of claiming the Citadel, the structure of life they'd created for the Wretched, who they renamed as the Citizens, the birth story of Exordium, and all the people who he'd sent. The Citadel had schools, churches, stores, medical centers, and so much more. There were jobs and homes, and all of this had happened over the course of only two years. The future was bright for the Citadel, and the women had many dreams for the plans they had for it. There was finally happiness growing because of them. Max listened quietly, giving a hum every now and then in response to their words, a jerk of his head or a shrug of his shoulder. They accepted him as he was, happily, not pushing him for more than what he offered.
As they finished their food – Furiosa frowned at Max's half-full plate – a bottle of wine was broken out, scavenged from Immortan Joe's cellar of goodies. It was passed around cheerfully, everyone enjoying the beverage as they celebrated Max's return.
"Dinki-Di!" Max suddenly exclaimed with a relieved grin, giving a rumbled chuckle that startled them all. All eyes turned to the black Australian Cattle dog that trotted into the room with a permanent limp. The dog went straight to Max, who moved from his chair to kneel down and give the animal appreciative rubs. 'Dinki-Di' rubbed his head against Max's chest and neck, barking happily, and licked his cheek.
"He looks healthy," the drifter noted approvingly, scratching the dog behind his ears.
"Is that…his name? He was all dirty and ragged when he got here, we didn't even think he was going to live. But he cleaned up pretty nicely, he's doing great now. Exordium loves him," Dag said, grinning at the boyish look of happiness on Max's face. He looked years younger when he smiled.
"He helped me in the Wastelands. But things were getting too dangerous for him, so I sent him here. Thank you," Max explained, speaking the most words in one conversation they'd ever heard from him. The girls all smiled at the dog, seeing him in a new, more loving light. The animal had lightened the mood of the drifter so successfully, he even accepted a couple cups of wine from the bottle. Toast waggled her eyebrows at Dag as she offered a third cup to Max, who by now was resting comfortably in his chair without the stiff tension in his shoulders. Dag hid her smirk behind her son's head, watching the drifter take the cup without a thought as Capable told him about the services her medical center offered. It was Toast's goal to get him drunk, make him loosen up. He desperately needed it, in her opinion. Besides, if he was inebriated, maybe he wouldn't try to leave tonight. He still hadn't explained his presence.
The table had opened a third bottle of wine after Dag left to put her son to bed. Max's eyes were sparkling with a life that hadn't been there earlier, his cheeks a little pinker, and he appeared to be more involved in their conversations.
"So, what's it like out there?" Capable asked. Toast paused, her cup pressed to her lower lip, eyes moving to Max.
"Well, you saw it," the drifter responded carefully. He drained his own cup and set it down, allowing himself to enjoy the warm, pleasant buzz that embraced his head.
"But haven't you been places that we didn't go?" she pressed. He hummed indifferently, glancing at Furiosa. She had barely spoken during dinner, and even now she sat silent, watching him as the others did.
"Different places, same situations," Max finally said after an uncomfortable stretch of silence in which they all looked at him.
"Then why do you stay out there? What are you doing?" Toast asked, ignoring the warning look Furiosa flashed towards her. She didn't care that they were supposed to all ignore his insanity. She was tired of avoiding the subject of his whereabouts and actions, pretending like he wasn't roaming the desert in search of some nonexistent purpose or forgiveness or whatever it was he sought. If they cared about him at all, then she believed they should be trying to understand him, reach through to him, do something to help instead of shutting their eyes to reality.
"What does it matter?" Max finally grumbled, his mood souring. He was touchy about his cagey travels, disinterested in discussing personal or private matters.
"Seriously? It matters a lot. You disappear for two years and the only times we know you're alive is when a random person or gift shows up. There's nothing out in the Wasteland, hence the name. You're living off the absolute minimal of essentials, and for what? You could live here, with us, in this city that you saved. Don't you want to be safe, to be happy? Not have to keep looking over your shoulder, constantly on guard for danger and enemies?" Toast burst, leaning over the table on her forearms, penetrating him with her steel, unrelenting gaze. Cheedo slipped from the room to escape the tension, leaving just Toast, Capable, and Furiosa with their guest. Capable and Furiosa remained silent and unmoving, the redhead staring at the table and the leader's eyes unbreaking from Max's face. The drifter stiffened in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, meeting Toast's gaze, his jaw jumping with a click as he grit his teeth.
"You don't know me. It's just what I do," he said stubbornly, barely touching her points. She heaved an exasperated sigh.
"I guess I don't, then. It doesn't make any sense," she snapped.
"It doesn't have to. It works for me."
There was a beat of tense silence, and then Max was rising from his chair, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
"This was a mistake. Thank you for the food and drink," he said simply, picking up his shotgun.
"Of course, run back to the Wastelands to rot away in isolation," Toast snarled. Her air of anger was ruined by the look of despair that filled her tear-glistened eyes. Max didn't reply, he turned only to come face to face with Goose.
Running away, Max? I guess it's what you do best. Goose shook his head disapprovingly.
Max stepped back, away from Goose, distantly aware of Toast storming from the room, door slamming. Capable had taken advantage of his momentary distraction, coming up to grab his arm. He looked at her.
"Don't go, please. Stay and rest. She just cares about you; we all do," she said, doing her best to avoid sounding like she was pleading.
They don't understand that everyone who makes the mistake of caring about you gets killed. Don't they see that you couldn't even have a dog without gambling its life? Jessie caressed his cheek. Max brushed away the ghost hand.
"I'm sorry," Max said sincerely, avoiding her eyes, guilt washing over him along with the familiar heaviness of loneliness. Her hand slid from his arm as he threw a final glance in Furiosa's direction and left the room, door shutting quietly behind him.
He moved from hall to hall, lost and unsure of how to find the elevator. His heart was heavy, void of the fleeting happiness it had once held, and he resisted the urge to sigh or scream or simply throw himself from one of the open windows. The agitation crept up his spine with scratching claws, his many ghosts all whispering, hissing, laughing, crying at the same time in a psychotic cacophony that bounced wildly in his tired, sickened brain. Belting saxophones, roaring engines, crying children…Max punched the nearest wall, chest heaving. His fist drove into the wall over and over, even after a hole had been created, until his knuckles were raw and bloody, and even then the pent up frustration beat wildly at his chest.
"Do you feel better after damaging the wall?"
Max whirled at the voice, believing it to be one of the ghosts, but it was Furiosa standing there, a look of mild annoyance mixed with concern on her tanned face. He took a deep, stabilizing breath and glanced at the hole he'd created.
"Not really," he replied, wiping his bloody knuckles across his grimy shirt.
"Nice exit by the way; sudden, dramatic, and leaving my girls distressed. I'm glad you came by," Furiosa commented flatly. She moved closer and took his bloody hand into her own, examining the torn skin that had already started to swell. Nothing appeared to be broken, just surface injury. He didn't respond, only looked down at his hand as well. She dropped the extremity, turned, and beckoned him to follow as she walked down a hall to the left. He followed without question. After a short walk, they entered a small room that appeared to be a mini infirmary. Not needing instruction, Max sat on a wooden stool and allowed Furiosa to wash and bandage his hand.
"What brought you to the Citadel?" Furiosa asked, carefully wrapping the gauze in a way that would dress the wounds without preventing movement and usage of the extremity. Max hummed.
"Went to Barter Town. Heard talk of turning Bullet Farm and Gas Town against the Citadel. Seems like Barter Town's still in early phases of their plan, but it was set enough to encourage rumors," Max responded, eyes not lifting from the gauze. Neither did Furiosa's.
"That doesn't make sense. I knew our civility with Barter Town was shaky at best, but we provide them with a generous income and products they wouldn't otherwise have. Why would they want a war?" Furiosa said, frowning. Her patient shrugged a shoulder, watching as she tied the gauze off with a neat bow. They both examined her handiwork; it earned equal approval. Furiosa raised her head, then, meeting Max's eyes. They were sitting quite close, knees touching, and Furiosa found herself a little unnerved by the intimate proximity. If Max noticed, he didn't show it; his troubled eyes followed movement that she couldn't see. She used his distracted mind to her advantage, taking the moment to inspect him. He looked the same as she remembered him; broad shoulders and chest hidden by a grimy, loose shirt that had probably once been white but was now yellowed by the sun and dirt, torn in several places, covered in old blood, grease and dirt stains. Military grade pants, probably stolen from a dead soldier at some point, hugged his legs, tight around the thighs when he sat, stolen boots also military grade but in the best condition out of anything he wore. His face had been shaven by Capable in the infirmary, but she could still see shadows of stubble along his jaw. His soft brown hair had grown a little more and was full of sand, his eyes tired but usually alert. It was obvious he desperately needed a shower and a bed. He smelled like sweat, grease, dirt, and something entirely Max.
"Barter Town feels threatened by the Citadel. You've made it a good place. People are moving here from everywhere. It's going to thrive, and Barter Town knows they won't be top dog anymore. Maybe they think that if they rally the help of Gas Town and Bullet Farm, they can overthrow you and split the benefits. My bet is that they'll cut you off from their trades, first. You'll run out of gas and bullets. Become weak; easier to destroy."
Max's words had broken the silence first, but it was the length of his speech that surprised her. The content worried her, though. The Citadel was finally starting to settle down and find a peaceful, normal rhythm. The last thing any of them needed was war. Everyone was tired of the violence, suffering, death, and lurking presence of danger. She wasn't sure her people would make it through another war.
"I don't know if my people are ready for a war. They're only just now regaining their strength and livelihood. Fear is an ugly beast. And they'd have a right to be afraid; they'd be trusting the Citadel alone to face off against three major societies and win. Their lives will be turned upside down right when they started to feel safe," Furiosa murmured, toying the mechanics of her prosthetic wrist with her real fingers. Max hummed low in his throat, thoughtfully.
"Nobody's ever ready for war. But you've given them a home. Something to live for. People will always protect their reasons to live," he said quietly. She looked up, meeting his strange, intense eyes, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.
"Besides. It's talk for now. You have time to prepare. Plan. I just wanted to give you a heads-up," Max added, breaking the eye contact with a confirming jerk of his head. She frowned.
"Are…Will you be here to help?" Furiosa asked hesitantly, eyeing his tense form. He was hunched over, forearms bracing against his knees, a look of tired indifference on his face.
"You don't need my help. But if you should…I'll be here, on your frontlines," he answered, the words making her heart stutter off-beat for reasons she couldn't understand or explain.
"Of course, I'll need your help. Stay here with me…with us. Protect the Citadel. What would you do in the Wastelands?"
She wasn't demanding, pushing, or ordering. Her tone was quiet and casual, carefully said. She was approaching a large, dangerous beast in an attempt to leash it.
"Drift between Barter Town and Bullet Farm to collect more information and do some behind-the-scenes work," he replied without conviction.
"You'd be of more use here and you know it. Stay in the Citadel until this blows over. We can strategize some plans, work out the details. You can help us prepare, organize our army and supplies, learn the layout of the Citadel for navigation and evacuation purposes. There's a lot more that needs to be done here than out there. It's not like this is a prison. Take it day by day; you can always leave. But I'd appreciate your presence and the assistance," she pushed steadily, choosing her words consciously. She knew that he needed an exit, the knowledge of freedom and options. If she made it sound like he'd be trapped here with too many expectations, he'd bail. As it was, Max hadn't responded. He was silent, brooding, mulling the idea over in his plagued mind, eyes back to tracking the unseen movements. Not wanting to lose him to the past, to the permanent damage of his mental state, Furiosa leaned forward and grasped his rough hands in hers, bringing him back to the present moment, to her. His knowing eyes, forever stamped with anguish, re-focused on her face as she gently squeezed his hands.
"It's okay. You do deserve this, a safe place. Find redemption within the Citadel. It's where I found mine. We were supposed to do that together, remember?" Furiosa said softly.
"At least that way we might be able to…together…come across some kind of redemption."
He didn't say anything, but his fingers curled around hers, a mimic of that moment when he'd said those words and held his hand out towards her, offering a chance at survival and a better future, requesting only her trust and participation. She'd grasped onto his hand like a lifeline at the time. Now she was giving him the same offer. And he was holding her hand in a silent acceptance.
Furiosa walked him back to the private quarters, remaining hand-in-hand like it was a normal thing for them, both of their skin warm and calloused. The other girls had gone to bed, someone had already cleaned up the dining room. Neither of them spoke as she led him to the guest room. Furiosa opened the door, and they stood in the doorway together. There was a queen-sized bed with a simple desk, and a trunk at the end of the bed. There were more than enough plush pillows and sheets beneath the comforter.
"The bathroom is next door, you should shower before getting some rest. I'll leave clean clothes on the trunk for you," she said, realizing she didn't want to release his hand. He made no movement to let go, those sad, tired eyes of his capturing her own.
"Where's your room?" he asked, a simple question that for some reason sparked heat deep in her groin. An image of Max in her bedroom, in the bed with her, that rough voice mumbling hot nothings against her throat, flashed across her mind and she quickly buried it away, neck flushing.
"It's three doors down the hall. There's a bathroom, a closet, an office, and then my room," Furiosa said, finally sliding her fingers from his. The loss of warmth made the emptiness of her hand more glaring. He nodded with a hum. She hesitated for a moment, lips parted as though she was going to say something, and Max looked at her expectantly, patiently. But she said nothing. She closed her mouth and gave him a nod as well before turning and headed back to her room.
In the shower, Max leaned against the tiled wall and barely felt the hot water pelt against his firm, sore body. He watched the water, browned and dirtied by his filth, swirl across the floor and down the drain until it ran clear and the heat turned into cold. Then Max washed himself with soap, scrubbed his hair with shampoo until the water and suds ran clear as well. By the time he clambered from the shower, he was covered in goosebumps from the cold water and his toes were pruned. It had been so long since he'd had a real shower, his body felt very strange and vulnerable clean and free from the layers of dirt and grime. Max wrapped a towel around his waist, eyes scanning the room for anything else. She'd set out all kinds of things for him, and he was fascinated by everything they had access to. He grabbed the toothbrush and brushed away until his gums stung, and then he swished the mouthwash, reveling in the taste of mint.
The drifter entered the guest room as a whole new man. There was a simple olive green t-shirt on the bed, with crisply new boxers, socks, and a pair of black sweatpants. He pulled on the clothing, indescribably joyed by the feel of fresh clothes on his clean body. He couldn't remember the last time he'd put clean clothing on, let alone the last time he'd washed. Max stood in the center of his room, awkwardly holding his filthy clothes. They were hardly redeemable, but he couldn't throw them away. He didn't know why, but for some reason the idea of throwing them in the trash made him anxious. But where did dirty laundry go? Max paused and then shuffled down the hall without second thought, until he reached Furiosa's room. He almost walked in unannounced, but remembered human decency as his fingers curled around the knob, so he quickly knocked first and waited to hear Furiosa's permission to enter.
Furiosa was already in bed, propped up on her good arm beneath the blankets when he entered the room. He looked at the mundane nature in which she sat in the bed, looking perfectly comfortable, normal, and safe. The image dried his throat and he couldn't swallow or formulate words, his gaze unwavering on her form even as she uncomfortably broke eye contact to look at the dirty laundry in his hands.
"You can throw them in the trash," Furiosa said. "I have plenty of clothes to give you."
Max finally looked down at the reason why he'd come to her room in the first place and hummed with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Yeah…I know," he mumbled. She studied him, almost amused. She'd never seen him clean and now he stood in her doorway like an embarrassed kid, skin clear of filth. He looked much younger. The normal-person pajamas he wore was even weirder to see, and the absurdity of the whole situation made Furiosa laugh. It started off as a muffled giggle, and then burst into full-out laughter. Startled, Max looked up from his filthy rags to look at her incredulously as she continued to laugh uncontrollably. His bewildered expression only fueled the fire of her humor, and she was soon quaking from the laughter, losing strength in her good arm and falling against the pillows, her prosthetic on the end table. It must've been contagious, because a slow grin spread across Max's handsome face, and he, too, started to laugh. They must've looked like a couple of lunatics, laughing for no apparent reason in the dimly lit bedroom, Max still by the door with an armful of dirty laundry, both of them on the verge of tears from their laughter, the drifter doubling over as the imperator choked on her guffaws.
Finally, when they were out of breath, their faces hurting from grinning so much, Furiosa gestured at the laundry.
"What, you want to keep those rags?" she asked, wiping her eyes with a final chuckle. Max merely shrugged, and she understood. She pointed at a basket in the corner of her room.
"Just put them in that basket, I'll have them washed for you," she said, and he nodded, obeying the directions. He moved to leave the room, glancing back at Furiosa settled beneath her blankets.
"And I thought I was the insane one. Goodnight," he said, smirking as she broke out into new laughter. The merry sound followed him to his room.
It should've been a fantastic night, freshly washed and clothed after being fed, nestled in a big cozy bed under a thick comforter. He hadn't been this safe and comfortable in years. Maybe that was why he laid awake staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He tossed and turned, but despite his exhaustion the numbing darkness of sleep would not consume him. It was frustrating, every part of him ached and begged for unconsciousness. In his mind, he ran through a mental checklist. His belongings were all piled into the trunk at the end of the bed, the guns that wouldn't fit were propped against the wall closest to his bed. He knew the girls were all safe and sound in their beds. His beloved car was a few miles from the gates, out of gas; he'd take Toast with him tomorrow to fill the tank and bring the car back to the Citadel. Dink was with Dag and her son. There was nothing to worry him.
Finally, he left the bed and paced the room before curling up on the hardwood floor with a throw blanket. The familiarity of uncomfortable flooring placed the last jigsaw into the puzzle and he was finally able to slip into a slumber of welcomed numbness.
A/N: Thank you for reading! Feel free to drop a review if you'd be so kind! New chapter coming soon (: