Furiosa can count on one hand how many times she's fought one of her crew outright, discrepancies and mutinies that she put down as quick as if blowing out a flame, but never had it been Ace. He might not have been sneaking behind her back trying to start trouble but something in his anger and the shadow that passed over his grey eyes at Capable's question was enough for her to feel betrayed. She cast a glance over the ripped weeds and her bindings, the empty hook from where her chrome arm once hung, and finally to the sting of her open shoulder. Ace had dabbed at her with his shop rag, wetting an end with his spit before he cleaned at the flakes of her blood, but the wound was still flushed and fresh. She'd had worse, but there was something about this one that hurt more than all the other mangled scars hewn on her skin.

She felt the weight of exhaustion behind her forehead, and like many days, wanted to sleep until she sated the weakened beast in her, wanted to close her eyes and let the problems become someone else's.

'Sometimes you gotta just lie down.' Ace had once confided as she tried to escape the Chop Shop, the mangled bits of her arm bandaged, face pale with bloodloss. Furiosa bitterly wanted to tell him just what sort of things laying down got a woman. Instead, she set to unhooking herself from the mute Bloodbag with barely a wince and led Ace back to her Imperator's Quarters to rest.

Furiosa flexed her fingers against the cold silk of her blanket and tucked away the feeling that rose in her throat, forcing herself to stand.

-QQ-

"I don't bleedin believe it."

"Gave Malik quiet the fright when it finally thundered to life, he'd still had his head under the hood." Hatch smiled over Ace's hunched shoulder, eyes flitting back and forth over the belts and screws and welded parts. The lines looked clean, the motor sounded shine, and the underbelly wasn't leaking anything at all. The Hauler couldn't be more perfect.

But Ace wasn't convinced in the slightest. "You told me a week, Talcum," he groused as he unscrewed the ribbed cap and eyed the water level.

"The transmission wasn't as hard a fix as we thought. And we found the parts needed for the break system and twin exhaust, split the pipes below so there's two towers-"

"I know how it works; I want to know how ya'll took a seven day job and gave me barely one." Ace looked around the garage, its mounted torches throwing odd shadows over the Blackthumbs as they shrugged and regarded each other noiselessly. At their guilty expressions, Ace set his hands on his hips, eyes on the ground in thought. "I know ya'll want to be out there, picking up the rest of the litter. But I don't want this rushed, especially if the Hauler is the last hope those Boys and their rides have." The garage felt tiny with all the War Boys and Pups crowding around the machine, eyes on Ace like he was the Boss. "You hear me?"

"The Hauler will run." Malik spoke up, shifting his weight as he tried to catch anyone else's eye, get them to back his decision. No one said another word and Ace wondered what Furiosa would say in this case. That as the answer they wanted to hear.

Ace should be able to trust them on it. Each Revhead and Blackthumb understood what it took for a vehicle to run, knew the danger if it wasn't primed correctly. The implicit consequences if even the slightest mod was unfit rested on each of their heads.

"Ok. We'll head out in the morning, after you get a good rest. And until I pick a crew," He raised his hand against their sudden fit of quarrels and the whining stopped. "I can't take the lot of ya, you know that. And until I gather the crew I want the job double checked. Not a bolt out of place."

A choir of 'yes sirs' followed him as he nodded for the group to disassemble, either for work or sleep, and turned to look up the stair way, weighing his chances of being welcome.

-QQ-

The hallway of the Life Givers was one of the top most levels, protected by a door smaller than, but just as unescapable as, the one guarding the Vault. But since the end of Joe's reign, the women left it wide open, enjoying the simple choice of coming and going as they pleased, dividing their time between the misted rooms of the Greenhouses and the sun lit patches of the top levels where they were ferrying books and things down from the Vault.

Furiosa had told them they had no reason to fear the War Boys but had shown them simple ways to fend for themselves, bolstering their idea of independence, the strength in self. So far they hadn't seen a single Boy, only Pups who wandered in and out with news and requests, sometimes just passing through to get a hug or kiss from the Life Givers, and they couldn't be more pleased. Their bodies were theirs, their children where theirs, and these rooms were no longer cages in which to keep them.

The Dag had met many of the Life Givers, past wives of Joe, each with different stories, different children in their arms or toddling around their feet, but each still had the brand burnt into the skin of their spine. As she watches them move to water the leaves, singing back and forth little melodies she'd sometimes heard Miss Giddy hum, there's a voice in her which reminds that she would have ended up like this, had Joe continued to reign. Plump with good food, breasts always heavy with Mother's Milk, her body, her babies, everything seized from her until she died in childbirth. That's always how they went.

Her hands traced the subtle outline of her belly, the child quiet now, and she wonders if it will kill her. Force its way out like how Joe had forced his way in, as if to tear her in half, leave her bleeding to death with the primal act.

"Need help there?" Eva asks as she sets a pail of shelled beans at her feet. The Dag had been pinching holes in a row of soil, imported from Bartertown no doubt, and covering the hard seeds that had been collected and preserved by Keeper.

"No, just thinking." She says as she presses her fingers into the soft dirt, burying the seed, lingering on the grit and moisture.

"It's fertile ground. Should spring little sprouts as long as we tend them." Eva says encouragingly as she inspects the rows of mounds, a smile brightening her round cheeks. The Dag grits her teeth against spitting at that word. Fertile. That's what the Organic Mechanic had called her while kneeled between her legs, fingers feeling around as Capable presses her forehead to hers, thick, red curls like the vines in a jungle, hiding her. At the memory, her fingers dig into the soil as if to claw the seed out, and Eva's hand curled over hers. "How about you help me shuck the peas." She offers kindly.

There was something in her tone that The Dag couldn't possibly disobey, and whether it was her trusting eyes or the soothing warmth of her hand, Eva was a force of nature. She was struck wondering if Eva had been a wife when Furiosa was in the Vault.

A Greenthumb who was missing three fingers on his left hand and had tumors mottling his legs shushed the Pup tied in a sling around his chest by kissing the child's bald head and murmuring something lowly to him. He wasn't painted, wore only the slave brand and another symbol that tied him to the Green House until death, and when the Dag passed him, she didn't feel the revulsion that the War Boys dug out of her.

Eva led her under the revolving tendrils of the hydroponic gardens and waved to the ladies who were sitting around peeling potatoes in the dying light of day. Dag sat beside Eva and another woman whose hair was twisted into tight rows against her scalp, and settled into the job, picking at the fleshy sleeves until the little pea pearls were free. Those she dropped into the empty bucket between Eva and herself, the mindless task easy to do while she chewed on her thoughts.

There was gossip between the Mothers, small little things passed back and forth of no real importance, and the bucket was half full when she asked, "Did you know Furiosa as a Wife?"

The other ladies didn't pay her any attention, their hands idly sliding their blades to shave the skins of the potatoes, mouths still moving in a background sort of buzz, but Eva slowed and met her eyes.

"Yes."

"Was she always like how she is now?"

"Like what? Rough? Driven? Dangerous?" Eva picked up another handful of beans, as if The Dag's question wasn't as appalling as she had first expected, and gave an odd sort of sound in contemplation. "All women have those. Some in different forms. Some don't even know it. Some have been pushed to it, others driven away." She keeps her eyes on her work but Dag stills, watches. "Furiosa wasn't like most of the wives, who were willowy and bright and soft. She came to us bristly and angered and never did anything when told, always had a smart remark for Joe. I think he kept her because of it. Because things like her were hard to break." As soon as the words were out in the air, Dag felt something sour inside of stomach, and she noticed the other women had turned their attention to Eva.

"Women like Furiosa aren't rare. She's just as much a woman as we are." One of the other Mothers says, the toddler in her lap chewing on potato skins. "But there's a choice that everyone has to make. Either that we can't change it, and there is nothing better, and we will have to make the best of our circumstances or…" She trails off and the Dag remembers the frantic anger in Furiosa as she fought Max, and the unrelenting perseverance to keep moving forward, her despair at losing her home, the race back to the Citadel, unmasking Joe.

"How'd she get to be a War Girl?"

Eva shrugs, finishing the peas, and settles her hands in her lap. "That story is her's to tell."

The other women nod and go back to their work, quiet and content, while Dag chews on her thumbnail, tasting soil grit and bitterness.

End of Chapter 10:

I know a lot of you are upset with how The Dag acted with Furiosa so I hope this fleshes out the issues Dag is working through. There's more to come about those two later. As well as Ace and Furiosa. And everyone else. There's just a lot.

I hope you guys continue to read and follow. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think.