First off, thank you guys so much for reviewing! I love getting any kind of feedback! Keeps me motivated to continue to write.

I went and saw Fury Road again last night, for the third time. It's addicting. It's beautiful. And it helped me decide in what direction I want to go with this story.

Going to try to explore Max's side of things a little more.

I do not own these characters.

Thanks!

She had never seen his face clean. Always smeared in grease, always covered in ash. He had always been the quiet boy, working on his V8 Interceptor.

"He's going to be a road warrior someday," Sev would tell her when she asked.

"I've never met a road warrior before," she would whisper back, as she watched the brutish boy called Max, slide in and out from underneath his vehicle.

Sev would laugh. "That's because they're all gone now. They were people of the old world. Called cops. Part of a club called 'police'. I think he just likes to make believe. He'll never be a warrior."

But as time passed, years passed, and Max finally completed his V8, he would disappear for days on end. He'd come back, sometimes, covered in bruises—blood beneath his nails. And though it was a fearsome sight, she never was afraid of him.

"Protecting the Fury Road?" she asked him, while they sat in her father's garage. He picked at the massive scabs decorating his forearms. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, then back at his arm.

"There's a road, that connects all the cities," he spoke lowly, a near growl. He leaned forward, placing a finger in the sand. He dragged it back and forth, making deep canyons in the ground. A map. Then circles at the end of each line. "Gastown, Citadel, Bulletfarm… Bartertown…" he stopped, then drew a large circle at the end of one road in the sand.

"What's that?"

He wiped the back of his hand across his nose. "The salt." He drew a line through the circle that represented the salt. "Someday, we will cross it. And be free of this place."

She smiled then, patting his filthy hand. "I'll go where you go."

He looked up at her, and she could have sworn, at that moment, that a faint smile had spread across his face. And she wondered if he were right. If one day, they would cross the salts, and finally be free.

Eve? Where are you?

Where are you, Eve? Why have you left me?

Eve.

Eve.

"Eve?"

Her eyes fluttered open, pained against the light that seeped past her dust filled eye lashes. She blinked heavily, against the pounding in her skull, the ache in her body. She felt as though a War Rig had hit her with such force, it knocked the very soul from her being.

War Rig.

Chase.

The Citadel.

The Wives.

Her eyes snapped opened, shooting up into a seated position.

"Honor, The Soft," she cried, looking around furiously.

"We're here, Eve," came The Soft's quiet voice, as she and Honor stepped out from behind the women that surrounded her. They were beautiful girls, chrome, pure, like the other Wives. One with hair the color of the skies, when consumed by clouds. The other, with sun kissed skin. Another with green, mischievous eyes, another with a fragile face, and hair as dark as her own. And lastly, behind them all, leaning in the door frame, was a woman fiercer than she had ever seen before.

She was not chrome, not like the wives. Yet more beautiful. Her face was straight, dark grease smeared across her brow, making her more terrifying than any War Boy she had ever seen. Her eyes were bright, yet filled with certain hatred. And instead of a fleshly left arm, it was one made of many beautiful metals. She was an instrument. A beautiful, terrifying machine.

Eve held the woman's gaze before she pushed away from the door frame and walked out.

Eve had been lying in someone's cot, she realized then, and slowly turned, placing her feet on the stone flooring. The Citadel Wives all took a step back, but Honor and The Soft quickly approached her. The Soft, sitting at her feet, rested her cheek against Eve's knees. "I was afraid you'd never wake," she whispered, and Eve stroked back her blonde hair.

"How long?" she whispered, resting her head against Honor's strong shoulder, who had taken a seat beside her.

"Three days," one of the Citadel Wives answered. The one with short, dark hair. The rest of them stared at the Gastown wives in wonderment.

Eve smiled at them. Their lovely, chrome saviors.

Furiosa sat at the mouth of the mountain, staring down at her nation, drinking water, trading food, building housing. She smiled faintly.

Redemption came in a different form than she had imagined, yet a lovely, lovely outcome it had been.

She imagined, one day, that it would be a healthy nation. Prosperous, happy. That maybe, in the end, she would die knowing she had created something good, something pure. Die with the Wives by her side, not alone.

Maybe with him by her side. Maybe.

"I didn't think you'd return," she spoke out into the air, sensing him to be watching her.

He said nothing, but stood beside her, staring at the lush greens growing at the top of the mountains. She looked up at him, at his bristled jaw, at his hair that grew in more evenly now. His dark eyes, unwilling to look down at her. His hands hung limply at his sides.

She reached out and grabbed one.

He looked at her then, his brows creasing.

"I went back," he said lowly, "To the canyon. Just to see if, maybe…" he paused, flexing his hand within her own. "They had torn the girl apart, and the boy… Ashes."

Furiosa shut her eyes. "There was nothing we could do."

He twitched violently, shaking his head, staring through vacant eyes. And it was gone, just as fast as it had come. He blinked. "They haunt me. Those I could not save."

Silence.

"You belong here," she whispered, looking up at him. "This nation needs you here."

His upper lip twitched slightly, and he stared at her. But then his head snapped to the side, his face straightening. She followed his gaze.

The girl stood in the doorway, her chest heaving, her jaw locked, as she stared at Max from across the room. Furiosa could see from here that her knuckles, clenched in fists, were white with fear. That she shook. Her long, black hair, matted up from lying on it for three days, was pulled back behind her ears. She was an intoxicating sight.

"She haunted me…" he whispered, and Furiosa wondered if he had meant to be heard.

Furiosa looked up at Max, who stared back at the girl. His jaw was set as well, but his eyes were soft. Softer than she had ever seen them before. He pulled his hand from her grip and stepped forward, slowly. She watched as he approached her, slowly, cautiously, like an animal stalking a weaker being.

And the girl, she shook harder. Her chin trembled, her eyes lined with silver. She was holding back a storm. A deep set storm, that raged inside of her.

Finally, when Max stood before her, the girl reached out her hands, and touched his face. Her fingers traced the lines of his skin, and he merely gazed back at her, allowing the contact. And finally, her face crumpled, and she pulled her body against his. And to Furiosa's surprise, instead of simply allowing the contact, Max embraced her—tightly. One of his thick arms capturing her behind the back, the other hooking her under her good thigh. And in one fluid motion, he lifted, and she hooked her legs around him, and they became one.

Furiosa's breath hitched in her throat and she quickly looked away, rising to stand. She quickly made her way toward the exit, her eyes averted. But she took one last glance before exiting the room.

Max's face was buried in the crook of the girl's neck, while her chest wracked with sobs. And they held each other tighter than she had ever seen anyone hold someone before.

And she left while her heart sank into the pit of her stomach.

Because her hopes were once again being smothered.

Max could her tenseness as she passed them, exiting at the doorway. And his body absorbed it, locking down his muscles, collapsing his lungs. He wondered if she meant to do it, to play with him so. The brilliantly fearful woman, brave and terrifying. Mesmerizing.

He placed Eve onto her feet, looking her squarely in the face.

She was different now. What had once been smooth skin, was now a little more course. Lines from years of unhappiness, misery. She had the body of a woman, with curves he never thought she'd grow to have. She was not the young girl that played in the sand, but a woman who fought for her freedom.

His vision went red. Flashes of her screaming, being torn from his arms clouded his senses. He jolted back, stepping away, shaking the images from his mind. But he couldn't shake free in time. They all started, all of the faces. All of the voices.

Why did you leave us, Max?

Why did you let us die?

Max!

He screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head furiously. "Not now," he hissed. "Not today."

But they kept coming. First his blue eyed child, then the old man, then Nux. But they didn't stop. Splendid, his mother, his dearest friend in his youth, Sevan. And finally, Evening, again. She was tore from his arms.

His grabbed at his hair. "She's here!" he cried at the visions, the hauntings. "She cannot haunt me any longer!"

"Max?" he felt hands on his face.

The hauntings. They were consuming him. Hands on him, holding him down, under water. He was drowning. He grabbed a wrist between his finger and his thumb, and bent it back, away from him.

But he was dragged from his hauntings to the sound of a cry of pain. And reality snapped back into place. He stood over her, collapsed onto her knees, preying at his hand as he held her wrist, her hand bent into a painful position.

"Max!" his eyes shot up. Furiosa stood before him, her chest heaving, as though she had sprinted. He looked down at the girl as his feet, and quickly released her.

He brought his shaking heads to his face, swiping his palms across his jaw, over and over again. He cleared his throat, cocking his head. "You're here," he whispered, shutting his eyes. He swayed. "Here now, can't haunt me. She's—she's—" he shook his head. "safe. Safe now. Not dead. Not a ghost."

He looked back down at her, now being helped up by Furiosa. He reached out to touch her, back she drew back, like a wounded animal. Furiosa shook her head at him, pulling the girl close to her body.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and placed his palm against the girl's head.

The contact instantly plunged him back into his hauntings, and he jumped back, shaking free of them.

"Sorry. So sorry," he breathed and quickly exited the room.

I look forward to hearing what you guys think. And any suggestions or requests would be awesome!