A/N: I'm taking from the combined FFN and AO3 feedback that Capable/Nux feels are a good thing.
Disclaimer: Mad Max, George Miller's. Me, nowt.
Manifest Destiny: Part 2
Night time in the Wastelands.
Not a time when any sane man would venture out into the dark.
And yet the War Rig still rolls onwards.
She knows she needs to show her face, show that she's alright and confirm that none of the Immortan's forces are in sight. But that means leaving him, and she's not sure she wants to.
"You head back to the cab."
"Are you sure?"
He nods, blue eyes clouded with tiredness and something that looks like sadness. "Safer for you to be down there, with all of them. I'll keep lookout."
She squeezes his fingers, grateful for the warmth and the sentiment, then leans over and presses a kiss to the top of his head.
She doesn't miss how his pulse suddenly races, how his eyes widen, how his sunken cheeks flush with darker hues.
He hopes she doesn't notice how much his heart's now pounding. It feels like every part of his body's had a jump-start.
She smiles. Her nose wrinkles slightly.
Her eyes are still green, even in the dark.
A gust of desert wind whips her clothes around her as she stands.
She looks like a goddess. Maybe even a shield maiden of Valhalla.
She leaves him to rest in the pit of the rear lookout, wrapped warm in oily blankets and with one of her scarves tied around his wrist.
He had found it in his pocket from when he had waved it desperately in front of the Immortan, something to prove he had been on the Rig, something that couldn't be ignored. After the insane chase, he had stuffed the scrap of white cloth back into his leg pocket, not wanting to see anything that reminded him of his failure.
But then she had appeared, and he remembered the scarf.
He had carefully tugged the light fabric out of his clothing and had made to give it back to her. Only right that he did.
Instead, she had pressed her hands over his, then removed the scarf from his trembling grip and carefully wrapped it around his free wrist, over a large graze with a green and purple bruise beneath it.
"There. Now we've got one thing of each other's."
He looks at the soft white bandage.
So clean. So perfect. And yet so strong to have survived intact, even in the Wastelands.
Just like her.
She has given him her favour, and he will take pride in it. He must be worthy of it, must repay that kindness.
But how?
He lies on the floor of the lookout, torn between sleep and his plans to aid the Wives.
If he is meant to support Capable and the others, there will be a sign.
The lantern throws out flickering beams of light and heat in her hands. She sits between Toast and Cheedo, the shorter brunette resting her head against her neck as she sleeps. The Dag half-dozes against Cheedo's back, the youngest girl staring into the lantern's flames.
She doesn't want to sleep.
She has a secret in her mind.
One that won't destroy a life for once.
Not like when they all swore that Angharad's injuries after her pregnancy was confirmed certainly weren't caused by an attempted self-abortion, or when they had all lied and said that The Dag had bled a week or so after her rape, and couldn't be pregnant.
Angharad's injuries had mostly healed by the time she was examined, so they had escaped punishment, but The Dag's pregnancy had been confirmed just days before their escape.
They were still awaiting the punishment for that.
Those secrets had burned in her throat and clenched around her stomach, making her taste metal and bile with every meal, and keeping her awake with fear every night.
But Nux...
He is a secret that has curled up in her breastbone, makes her heart beat quicker and makes her breath stutter. He is a secret that feels like a smile. He feels like hope.
She knows that he is meant for something beyond the Immortan's twisted ideals, that he will do something amazing with the time left to him.
She just wants to see what it is.
The jarring movement of the War Rig pulls her out of her musings. The Fool pulls at the wheel to keep the vehicle steady while Furiosa sits up. Beside her, her sisters stretch and lean forward, trying to see out of the darkened window.
She can hear splashing outside.
Water? All the way out here?
The Fool attempts to steer straight, but all of them can feel the Rig squelch to a halt, the combined weight of the cab and tank dragging them down into the boggy ground.
He sits up at the sudden swaying. Feels like they've hit soft ground or maybe a swamp. The weight of the cab and tank's too much.
He pokes his head out of the side of the lookout to check.
Yep. That's swampland. No way will the Rig get out without a fight.
They'll need to get rid of as much weight as they can, let the air out of the tyres, find anything wide with enough roughness for the tyres to get a grip on.
He draws back, then turns around, eyes wide as he scans the horizon behind him.
Every minute they get stuck here, is a minute for the Immortan to catch up.
He can't see anything yet, but they'll be getting close.
He watches helplessly as the strange blonde and the short-haired Wives remove the spare tyres from under the tank and fling them over the sodden ground.
Why can't he help them?
You'd be killed, War Boy.
The blood-bag lays pressure charges in the tracks behind the rig like he's done it every day of his life. Who knows? Maybe he did.
Furiosa, Capable and the youngest Wife are shovelling stones and sand under the tyres from the driest looking patches of ground they can see, their movements frantic but focussed.
He grits his teeth, forces himself to breathe and stay low.
But all of them are working together.
Why can't he help them?
You'd be killed, War Boy.
The engines fire up, the Wives and the blood-bag pile into the cab and Furiosa drives. The tyres gain purchase on the wet ground.
The War Rig moves on.
He counts the space between them and the pressure charges.
"500, 600, 700-"
He ducks down as an explosion rips through the night air, sudden and shiny.
He can see two rides flip in the air and land belly side up, the rest of the War Party grinding to a halt behind them.
Relief swims through his clenched guts.
That's bought them some time, but he's got enough brains to know that this won't be the last time they get bogged down.
The Fool throws a spare cab panel under one of the tyres. The grooves in the metal should mean the tyres can make some purchase, but whether it's enough to get them out of this bog...
Cheedo stands back a little from the tanker with a spanner in hand, ready to duck under and let air out of the tyres at Furiosa's word.
She scrambles onto the Rig behind the cab as the former Imperator rides the gas pedal, rocking the Rig back and forth. "Come on, come on..."
The wheels spin helplessly in the mud.
Gunshots.
Please, not gunshots.
Has to be the Bullet Farmer. He has a ride with tank treads; he'd get over this land easy.
He risks standing up...and then he sees it, poking out of the murky fog before them.
Some sort of column, maybe a post?
And there's higher ground.
Whatever that thing is, the War Rig has a winch. Loop the chains around, that'd get them out, no bother!
He glances down. The blood-bag, Furiosa and all the Wives bar Capable are standing around the stranded Rig, Furiosa armed with a shiny-looking rifle and scope.
That's it.
No more sitting around and being scared.
He scrambles out of the lookout, down the length of the tank and onto the back of the cab next to Capable.
"Where are you going?"
"Up front!"
He swings himself down to the driver's side and slides into the seat, groping under the dashboard for the ignition switches.
One. One. Two. One. Red. Black.
Go!
Somehow, wonderfully, the War Rig moves off.
She yells down to her others as they move off. "He wants to help!"
Toast sprints in front, legs pumping madly. "Who does?"
"The War Boy!"
"Where did he come from?!"
The Dag catches up with surprising speed. "I thought we threw him off the Rig?!"
The Rig slows and then splashes to a halt. The Fool overtakes the others, hauls the cab door open and aims a handgun straight at Nux's face.
To his credit, Nux takes his hands away from the wrench-wheel and gestures to a point in front of the Rig. "T-There's high ground, just beyond that thing."
She follows the direction of his shaking finger.
"He means the tree."
"Yeah. Tree."
More gunfire.
"Leave him to me." Furiosa steps up to the cab and trades guns with the Fool.
She can hear The Dag murmuring, "Say, anyone notice that approaching light? Exploding gunfire?"
She resists the sudden urge to snap. It won't help.
Furiosa doesn't take her eyes off of him. "Get out."
No!
He has to prove himself!
He has to help, has to be worthy of all of them!
"I-I can do this. I know this machine."
Capable nods at the edge of his vision. "He does, he's a Rev Head."
Gunfire echoes across the swamp. A sudden louder shot rips through the air.
The short-haired Wife glances at the blood-bag. "You've got two left."
Furiosa darts a look between him, the blood-bag and the Wife, and flicks her head slightly.
Another loud shot.
"On him."
She passes the handgun to the Wife, who aims it straight at his head.
He risks glancing back at Capable, and smiles slightly, lowering his hands enough to rest against the wrench-wheel.
A third shot...and what sounds like glass shattering.
He sees his chance.
"Hey!"
He scrambles out of the cab and hits the ground running. The Wife follows him to the front of the Rig, never taking the gun off him.
"War Boy!"
It's a threat.
He yanks at the cable attached to the front bumper. "I'll use the winch around the tree-thing!"
He doesn't wait to see if she approves. He needs to do this now.
Frantic footsteps and heavy breathing echo in his ears, and suddenly the blood-bag is at his side. He hauls the cable and chains out of his hands and points behind him. "You drive the Rig!"
He sprints back, the Wives and Furiosa already in the cab, and gets ready to drive-
No!
The blood-bag's at the tree-thing, but the chain won't reach. He's trying but there's no give.
No. Think.
Think think think.
He flicks his eyes over the side of the cab, his trousers, his hands...his hands.
The chain!
The chain where the blood-bag was strapped to his ride!
He spins around and holds out his arm, the chain links stretched tight.
Like she can read his mind, Capable is there beside him with bolt-cutters.
A fast snip and the chains are free.
Relief and delight bowl over his brain and make him bold.
He leans over to her and kisses her on the cheek.
The delighted smile she gives him spurs him on.
"Blood-bag!"
He waves the chain in the air.
She can see how much the running back and forth has drained him of energy.
But she can see how proud and happy he looks.
The little patch of skin on her cheek where he kissed her tingles slightly.
She would be lying if she said she wasn't proud of him.
He scrambles into the driver's seat and gets ready to move off.
The Fool tightens the cable and waves to them.
Now!
He revs the engine.
The cable grows taut.
The gunshots are growing louder. She can hear them hitting the ground, hitting metal!
Please, please, don't let anyone be hurt...
Nux doesn't waver. He wrenches the door shut and puts his foot down. She ducks down behind the driver's seat and prays.
The Rig moves.
She can hear Furiosa yelling next to the cab door.
She peeks over the seat, out of the window.
She can see the Fool...and she can see her sisters, all running to the higher ground, all safe.
Nux looks behind him and gives the Rig another shot of guzzoline.
With a groan and a jolt, the Rig moves freely.
The blood-bag leaps up and grabs onto the edge of the driver's door.
He can see the desperation and relief in his face, but no fear.
What kind of man is the blood-bag?
Was he one of the wanderers?
Maybe even a Road Warrior, like the stories of Max Rockatansky?
He gives the man a shaky smile, then turns his attention back to the path ahead.
Explosions rock the dunes, but he keeps his foot steady on the gas pedal and his shoulders straight. Larry twinges, but not enough to break his concentration.
The War Rig sputters to a halt once they reach the high ground, steam venting out of the front and sides of the engine block.
He puts the Rig into neutral, then turns to her.
"I never thought I'd do something as shiny as that!"
He leans out of the window as Furiosa arrives, sharp eyes scanning the vehicle. "How are the engines?"
He grimaces. "Very hot and real thirsty."
They've got at least a two minute wait before the engines have cooled off enough to move.
"Hey."
He turns back.
The blood-bag points down the trail. "You need to take the Rig half a click down the track." He sticks two explosive charges under his arms, grabs a can of guzzoline and a crowbar, and marches down the track.
Furiosa calls out to him. "What if you're not back by the time the engines have cooled?"
He turns, looks at her and shrugs. "Well, you keep moving."
With that, he sprints off into the murky distance.
She can't hear what Toast and Furiosa are saying, but she doesn't need to.
Whatever his real name is, he doesn't deserve the name 'Fool'.
She'd heard legends back in the Citadel, of the old and the new worlds, before and after the Oil and Water Wars. Miss Giddy had told them it was part of their heritage.
Some of the stories about the new world spoke of a police officer, a good man gone crazy after his wife and son were killed, a man who wandered into the Wastelands and answered injustice with honour and bravery, though he never meant to get involved.
He was called the Road Warrior. There were stories of other, lesser warriors, but this man was the real deal.
Is this Fool a Road Warrior?
Could he even be The Road Warrior?
She hopes she will know for sure.
Furiosa makes to take the wheel. Nux slides out of the cab and runs ahead of the Rig, keeping watch on the path and waving the vehicle on.
The gunfire becomes a faint echo as they move towards safety.
Then there is no time to think as they frantically pass cans of water up to the Dag and Nux, both trying to cool the engines. Cheedo is gathering food and water to store in the cab, she and Toast are cleaning as much dust out of the vents as they can, and Furiosa is keeping watch.
An almighty explosion booms across the swamp, turning the sky pink and yellow.
All of them turn and watch. And wait.
Has he managed it?
Crows pass overhead, cawing their indignation to the stars.
...There!
She watches as Furiosa raises her gun, takes aim...
...And the Road Warrior strides up the path, belts of ammunition slung around his shoulders, a steering wheel in one hand and dragging a heavy tarpaulin with the other.
His forehead is covered in blood.
The Road Warrior strides past them and hands the steering wheel to him. He takes it with a nod and a small smile.
The boot almost hits him in the face.
Why the-?
Oh. Oh yeah.
He actually remembered. He looks at the boot.
Even the right foot and about the right size.
He's good.
The short Wife—no, not the short Wife. Capable told him all the other's names while they were cooling down. The short one is Toast, the white blonde one is the Dag, and the youngest one is Cheedo.
The Wife who was lost was called the Splendid Angharad.
Toast moves forward, studying the Warrior's face. "Are you hurt? You're bleeding."
He moves to the buckets rigged up under the tanker.
Furiosa shakes her head. "That's not his blood."
He points at the buckets. "What's this?"
The Dag speaks up. "It's Mother's Milk."
He looks down at the contents, shrugs slightly, and then rinses the blood off his face.
With the new steering wheel fitted, they make their way out of the swamp. She tries not to stare at the...things...making their four-legged way across the putrid landscape.
Nux now sits beside her, one arm draped across the back of the seats behind her, the other resting against the edges of the doorframe as he stares out at the never-ending marshes.
She's happy to pretend he's shivering from the cold, not from fear, or the night fevers.
She leans back and rests her head against his shoulder.
One arm tentatively wraps around her shoulders, ready to move at the slightest hint that she is uncomfortable.
Instead she rearranges herself so that she is tucked against his chest, her head against his neck, and carefully sandwiching his arm between her own.
She lets her eyes fall shut as his breathing settles down, ignoring the questioning looks of Toast and Cheedo. The Dag studies them for a moment, and just smiles.
He's been awake the entire night, but he can't sleep.
He can't bear to miss a second of this.
She feels so warm, so solid, and so real.
He leans his cheek against the top of her head, and quietly gazes out at the sand dunes before them.
The Road Warrior jerks in his seat and suddenly bolts awake, ready to punch whatever terror has tried to crawl out of his dreams.
Furiosa looks over at him. "It's OK. Sleep. Get some rest."
He settles back down, but he doesn't go back to sleep. He looks out at the endless desert, then back at her. "How do you know this Green Place even exists?"
She stares straight ahead. "I was born there."
He frowns. "Why'd you leave?"
"I didn't. I was taken as a child."
She looks out to her left. "Stolen."
So maybe the rumours were true after all. Maybe Furiosa was one of the Immortan's former Wives.
The Road Warrior pauses for a moment. "You done this before?"
"Many times. Now that I drive a War Rig, this is the best shot I'll ever have."
"And them?"
He turns and gestures at the four exhausted women.
"They're looking for hope."
"What about you?"
She is silent for a heartbeat. "Redemption."
Redemption. It sounds like a nice word. Capable would agree with that.
But what is he looking for, now that he has joined them?
Hope? Redemption?
They sound pretty, but they don't sound quite right to him.
Maybe that's something he needs to work out on his own. Maybe it's something to work out with them, with her.
The sight of a beetle crawling up Capable's arm grabs his attention. He studies it, then carefully rests his hand against her shoulder and lets it crawl onto his finger.
Shiny.
And, he thinks as he sucks the insect into his mouth before it can fly away, the first snack he's had in a long time.
TBC