A/N: Thanks for the reviews, favourites, and follows! I personally like this chapter much better than the first. Let me know if you agree! Sorry it's on the short side. I'm going to try and update every few days, but I haven't finished it yet, so we'll see.

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Max stays away longer, though not by much. And not by design. But once more he gets drawn into other people's problems, and it nearly gets him killed.

He comes to in the middle of surgery.

Face down on a broad table, arms and legs wrapped around the edge and tied beneath to keep him still. Gagged, to keep him from biting his tongue.

The bullet is lodged in the meat of his lower back, a couple inches to the right of his spine.

Might have been a ricochet, or gone through something before it hit him, to lodge there without penetrating further.

Lucky. Any deeper and it would have gone into his bowels. A painful way to die.

The bullet is deep, and swelling is making it difficult to extract. It is fortunate he is unconscious for the procedure.

Until he isn't.

There is no warning. One second he is still as death, blood flowing sluggishly over his sides to pool on the table beneath him as the doctor looms over his back, digging forceps around in hard dense muscle, trying to find purchase among the blood.

The next, the doctor is thrown to the side as Max makes full use of the couple inches of play his bonds allow, bucking and writhing with an inhuman roar that echoes off the walls.

Furiosa knows the sound instantly, flashing back to the memory of a man, or something shaped like one, with an iron muzzle strapped around his face, and a chain snaking off the back of his head.

She doesn't bother apologising to the man she'd been speaking to outside the operating room, racing back to the doorway.

A solitary lantern hangs over the table, casting illumination on its occupant and shadows everywhere beyond. The doctor has his back pressed to the wall, wide-eyed in horror, and the two women acting as attendants cower in the corner. "Everyone out!" Furiosa says over the sound of Max's feral growling. Her voice is calm and even, but there is a lethal edge to it that brooks no argument.

The women scurry past her out the door, staying as far from the table as possible. The doctor stands to his full height, eyeing his leader. "Furiosa," he says, "I do not think you should…"

"I am aware of the danger. I did not ask for your opinion. Keep close," she orders. "We'll need you back here when I get him calmed."

One of the doctor's greying eyebrows raises in disbelief, and she repeats, "Get. Out." Her prosthetic arm points out the door behind her. The man leaves, muttering to himself as he goes.

Finally alone, Furiosa approaches the table.

"Max," she calls out. Then once more, "Max!"

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He comes to in a haze of pain, his entire body reflexively jerking as it always does when he wakes.

Something is wrong.

Legs: tied.

Hands: tied.

Mouth: gagged.

He jerks again, testing his bonds, and pain sears through his back.

Despair washes over him as he remembers the last time he was in this position.

Never left. Never left. Never left.

Rage joins in, and boils out of his chest in an inhuman cry.

Blood rushes through his head like howling wind, drowning out all but his own insanity.

The voices. The voices are back.

Max? Where are you, Max? Why didn't you save us?

The endless scrolling of faces. The ones he failed. A new one added to the list. Hers.

Something inside him whispers that's not right. If he never left, he hasn't failed her. They've never even met.

The others drown it out before he can fully grasp the thought. They join with the sound of rending flesh to a screaming crescendo that reverberates in his head.

He jerks against his bonds again, his entire body bucking ineffectually in a desperate attempt to escape.

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There is nothing before her of the man she knew. The man who spoke of hope and redemption and insanity.

The last of which she clearly sees now.

The words "ISOLATE PSYCHOTIC" taunt her from where they are etched across his shoulders.

She calls his name again, taking slow steps to his side, and resting her hand on his arm.

He only thrashes harder.

She tries another tack, stroking her fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. He tries to bite her hand.

She says his name over and over, but the calm that permeated her voice is ebbing away, and it cracks around his name.

Her chest is heavy and her throat aches. What have I done? she accuses herself. The recriminations don't last long. He needed to be tied down, for the safety of the others. Whatever darkness his current situation has uncovered, there is nothing else she could have done. Without the surgery, he would have died.

Will die.

She grasps the back of his gag. He is making it difficult to grant him this one comfort, twisting his head around. The knot is tight, but she has just enough slack to slide it up and off his head, despite his struggles. He spits it out and tries to bite her arm again.

She stops saying his name, sliding to the floor in a heap. She closes her eyes, willing the tears gathered there not to fall.

If they fall, it means he's really gone. She opens them again, and sees his hand where it is tied beneath the table. She reaches up, clasping it as they did before, when he asked her to find redemption.

Together.

She leans her forehead against his elbow, allowing herself this last bit of contact before she has to walk away. They could leave him until he passes out from blood loss, but that may be too late. She doesn't know if he'd come back from the madness when he wakes anyways.

She wonders if a bullet to the head would be kinder.

If necessary, she'd do it herself. It's only right. If their roles were reversed, she would want it to be him.

He would understand.

She laughs, a choked and bitter sound in the silence.

When did the room go silent?

He is still on the table, and she distantly wonders if his wound has done the job for her.

She feels his fingers close around her wrist. Gently.

A voice sounds from above her. "Fury?" It is hoarse and hesitant. She awkwardly maneuvers to her knees, not daring to let go of his hand, and raises her head above the edge of the table.

Blinking blue eyes meet hers from the brink of the abyss, and she feels his body go slack.

"Why am I tied to a table?" he asks calmly, as though he wasn't a bloody feral five seconds ago.

She lets go of his hand and grabs the edge of the table, pulling herself to her feet. "Dammit, Max," she sighs, and her voice catches, "You scared the shit out of me." She strokes her hand across his hair, and brings her forehead to rest on his temple, closing her eyes and taking a long, deep breath. Underneath the metallic blood smell that permeates the room, he smells of gunpowder, and grease, and sweat.

Her breath tickles his ear as she answers his question. "A family brought you in. You were shot defending them, and they managed to slow the bleeding long enough to get you here. You have a bullet in your back. We're trying to dig it out."

Doctor Addams has moved to the doorway, drawn by the sudden absence of growling. He sees his fearless leader with her forehead pressed to that of a madman, speaking in low tones. She sees him and beckons him back in.

She straightens up, leaving her hand resting on the back of Max's head. "As I've said before, you tend to come up swinging. I had you tied to the table to protect my people."

She says it so calmly, and it is the truth. In the six or seven months since they reclaimed the Citadel, its residents have become her people. Her responsibility, and her pride.

Max nods, understanding.

"I'm sorry," she says.

Not for having him tied to the table, but for putting him in a position where his demons got a free shot. She doesn't have to explain. He knows.

"We need to get this bullet out before he loses any more blood," the doctor reminds her.

Furiosa nods and moves to the open door. She points to the first two people she sees, and orders them to help with the surgery. They follow her in with looks of trepidation. "You two help Doctor Addams here. I will keep the patient calm." Their uneasiness turns to abject disbelief. If being tied to a table can't keep the patient calm, how can she expect to?

"Alright," Addams announces, "I'm going to get started." As he picks his tools back up, Furiosa grabs a stool from the corner and drags it next to the side of the table by Max's head. "Max, is it?" Both Max and Furiosa nod. "I need you to keep as still as possible. Feel free to scream if you need to."

Furiosa lays her head on the table, face to face with Max. She reaches her hand underneath to clasp his, and lays her prosthetic on his shoulder.

The doctor starts, and Max does, in fact, scream. His hand clenches around hers, and his eyes slam shut.

"Come on, Max," she chides. "Open your eyes. Look at me. Remember where you are." Remember who you are, she adds silently.

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His back is on fire. He screams and closes his eyes against the pain.

Above it all, there is a voice. It tells him to open his eyes. It's her. The one who has pulled him back from the brink. Again. Her eyes are calm and her voice is smooth and her hand is rock steady in his. He feels her other hand stroking his shoulder, no less welcome for being metal instead of flesh.

And still, the pain. It washes over him and threatens to swamp him under. He doesn't want to go under. He doesn't want to wake to the nightmare again. So he holds on. With his hand, and his mind, and his will.

An eternity later, the faintest clink of metal against metal sounds in the room. "It's out," Addams declares.

It still hurts. The blood loss is getting to Max, Furiosa can tell from the haze that clouds his eyes. The stitching makes it hurt more, but Max no longer has the energy to fight, lying still. The only signs of his discomfort are the way his eyes crinkle at the edges, and the way his breath hisses through his clenched teeth. Furiosa takes an offered rag from the nurse and wipes the beaded sweat from his brow with her prosthetic hand, ever so gently.

And then it's over. The doctor places a clean pad of cloth over the wound, and one of the nurses holds it there. "If you think it's safe," Addams gives her a dubious look, "We can untie him now."

"I'll do it," Furiosa declares. She releases Max's hand once more and lies on her back under the table. His feet are unbound first, and he pulls them up on top of the table. Then she releases his hands, and before Furiosa is even able to stand, he clasps the edge of the table and tries to lever himself up. He barely manages to lift his chest before collapsing back down with a cry of pain.

"Lie still!" the doctor commands.

Max hasn't the energy to argue.

In the end Furiosa and the nurse have to hold him in a sitting position as the doctor cleans the blood from his torso and wraps the wound. He is barely conscious when they raise him to his feet, Furiosa and the doctor holding his arms across their shoulders as he half-walks and is half-dragged back to a pallet in the back corner, far away from the other patients.

The doctor suggests that Max be restrained. Furiosa is adamant that he not be. The argument gets so heated that they are standing nose-to-nose yelling before Capable steps in and with a gentle hand on the arm of each, almost casually diffuses the situation.

Furiosa still doesn't know how the red-haired woman does that.

Furiosa knows that restraining Max is what caused his relapse in the first place. She offers to stay with him, thereby ensuring he stays calm. Addams doesn't believe that will be enough, and his first priority is his patients. Max will be restrained, or he will have to stay elsewhere. Finally she asks if his wounds are dire, and if they will be difficult to care for.

His dressing needs to be changed twice a day, but other than that he needs rest and time.

She has a stretcher brought, and two former war boys help roll Max onto it. He grunts in pain, but remains dead weight, out cold. She whispers an apology before the war boys lift him and carry him out of the infirmary.

Addams has given her a concoction for him to drink. It will help with the pain and sedate him. He recites a list of things she's going to need to do or know, and makes her repeat them back to him twice.

"Furiosa?" he asks as she turns to leave.

"Yes?"

"Are you sure it's safe to be alone with him?" The doctor is deeply concerned.

"I trust him with my life," she replies simply. "He's saved it more than once."

The man's eyes widen. If this man is so important, why has he never even heard his name?

"And he helped us reclaim the Citadel. If it wasn't for him, none of us would be here," she adds.

He wonders what the story is, but finally understands her loyalty to this volatile man. He just hopes she knows him as well as she thinks she does.

If not, they could all be doomed.