trigger warning: mentions of rape, human trafficking, and gore.

For Officers Rockatansky and Furiosa, the sharp smell of cleaning solvent and stale coffee marks the end of a six week undercover operation that almost ended both of their lives several times over. Six weeks in a human trafficking ring run out of the basement of massive auto repair yard somewhere in the deserts of this precinct's jurisdiction. Six weeks of driving cars, passing intel, and preparing for a full-scale take down of the organization.

Yes, for Officers Rockatansky and Furiosa, this marks the end of a job. For the four girls they managed to save, however, it is the beginning of a new life.

For all of them, the opening of the precinct doors sends butterflies of uncertainty into their bloodstreams.

The escort they had received from the fiery scene that they left behind at the old junk yard called ahead, letting the precinct know that they had perps, victims and officers incoming, so the sight that greets them when those doors open is a chaotic one to say the least. Reporters who got the leaked scoop are screaming for information, their photographers taking shot after shot of the women covered in blood and sand. Furiosa barks for her fellow officers to kick the news hounds out; the officers try and wrangle the men and women of the press into the conference room to await the Captain's statement. Medics run back and forth, calling out for a run down of injuries; without asking, Max shoves Furiosa in their direction, saying that she's got a bullet wound in her right leg.

"I'm not going anywhere without them," she says, nodding to the four women surrounded by a sea of blue police uniforms.

The attending medic nods to three of her compatriots, pointing to the women in question; they seem to understand and shepherd them into a waiting side room, where Furiosa's leg is inspected and treated and the four are given the initial treatments for shock. Toast holds Furiosa's organic hand as the bullet is dug out of her flesh; the women cringe at the sound of her groans of pain.

No sooner are they released from medical, Furiosa with a prescription for heavy painkillers that she almost certainly will never take and her charges with orange shock blankets over their shoulders, than another line of agents appears.

"We'll take them from here," nods one of them, superior and smug as he takes Capable's arm, oblivious to her struggling as he begins to walk her away from Furiosa.

The girls protest and fight, but it is no use. Furiosa takes a step forward as if to stop them leaving, her breast suddenly wracked with a sharp ache as she imagines being separated from her charges.

"But-" She protests.

To no avail. The detectives are going to get their debrief out of these girls and that's that; they don't have time to listen to the protestations of some cop.

"Captain wants to see you," One of them shouts behind him as he tries to keep Toast from biting his arm in her attempt to break free.

"Furiosa?" Dag cries, with a panicked look over her shoulder as a uniformed arm leads her away from the woman covered in grease.

The woman holds up one hand, a calming gesture in a sea of uncertain distress. She hopes the gestures looks infinitely more confident than she feels, but with the way her hand is shaking, she doubts it instills any reassurance in anyone.

"I'll be right back," she promises.

In the split second that Dag has to look at her, to assess the sincerity of her eyes, she notices no flicker of doubt, none of the hesitancy usually seen in the stare of a liar; Furiosa has never given Dag a reason to doubt her before, so she believes her. Furiosa will be right back. She whispers it to the other women as they are corralled into their holding room. That moment of trust is the last thing that Furiosa witnesses before the door of the holding room is barred shut, effectively closing off Dag, Toast, Capable and Cheedo from her view.

A grunt comes from behind her and she knows what comes next; she can feel her partner's stare on the back of her neck.

"C'mon," Max says.

They share a look, brief and encompassing, before marching into their superior's office with expressions of impenetrable steel. It's always a gamble, walking into Captain's office. Even a mission that went like this one did could get them in trouble. After all, they did use deadly force on more than one occasion, which could get someone like Furiosa in deep shit. Neither of them are worried, per se, but both are going in with their poker faces securely in place.

"Rockatansky. Furiosa. Front and center," Captain commands.

"Captain," they both greet in unison.

Leisurely, as if the hectic and dark mayhem of the world outside of this office was just a passing fantasy that didn't affect him in the slightest, Captain reads the accounts passed on to him during his two best agents' time undercover. Tone slightly condescending and easy, he nods in approval as he flips through the pages of printed documents highlighted and notated by his secretary. He begins listing off the admirable traits of the mission, a pleased lilt striking Furiosa's ears the wrong way.

"Minimal expenses withdrawn, no blown covers until the final reveal, perps taken into custody, minimal property damage-"

Neither Max nor Furiosa open their mouths to mention the major pile-up and minor explosion they caused in their hasty exit from the desert. The Captain doesn't need to know about that.

"And four of the five women returned safely," he clucks his tongue and looks up at the pair in front of him, waving his hand lazily, "I trust that you're both in fine shape?"

Max gives a sidelong glance at Furiosa, who is internally praying that the bullet wound doesn't bleed through her hastily slapped on bandage; through a combination of sheer grit and will power she keeps her face impassive and her eyes forward through the pain she's suffering. Her reply is assured and stony.

"Yes, Captain," she replies.

Taking her cue, Max repeats the confirmation. If Furiosa says they're alright, then alright they both must be. From the moment he requested her as a partner, she made one thing very clear, one thing that he was all too happy to oblige: she speaks for both of them.

"Well, I'm very pleased with the way this turned outThe pair of you will receive full commendations from this office and the office of the Mayor. He wants to show that this task force has produced results; a medal ceremony is going to be planned for next week, so get your dress blues ready."

"Yes, Captain."

"I'll expect your reports on my desk Monday," he says before tipping his head in recognition of his two officers before sitting back down behind his desk with an air of finality.

And with that, the Captain- a man who, with no room in his tiny spectrum of emotion has no room for ceremony- dismisses Furiosa and Rockatansky.

But Rockatansky has something else on his mind, something that keeps him from leaving so easily. Because, when he turns to go, through the Captain's office window, he can see the row of women, now lined up against the wall for fingerprinting.

"What about them?" Max asks, nodding his head.

"Who?"

"Capable, Toast, Cheedo and Dag," Furiosa answers; Max's brow furrows a bit at the uncharacteristic rumbling hostility lurking behind the teeth of such a retort.

"Who?"

Deep beneath her skin, a fire lights Furiosa's blood. This bastard doesn't even have the decency to learn their names? They've been undercover with them, sending their names in all communication, and he couldn't take one minute to learn what he should call them?

"The victims," Max clarifies, supplying the only terminology that the Captain knows.

Recognition washes over the Captain's face.

"Oh. They'll be debriefed and then released. That's protocol."

The air in the room is suddenly cement-thick; lightning fills Furiosa until she feels that she's made of the stuff. Her mind races, running the tracks of those few sentences over and over again, her temperature rising steadily as the heat of her blood overflows to a steady boil. In her mind, she recalls the things that she saw in the Citadel… That damn junk yard where the girls were locked away… She can still smell the reeking stench of blood and rust and rape filling her nostrils; her stomach turns to vomit, but she swallows it back before it can betray her. He expects someone who has been through that, survived the things that Furiosa knows they have, to just… start again as if nothing happened?

With heavy and resigned steps, Max turns to leave, but is stopped by the distant roll of warning thunder that is his partner's voice.

"Excuse me?"

The Captain looks up from his paperwork.

"Are you hard of hearing?" He questions.

"We aren't going to do anything for them?" She replies, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

Silver attachments on the prosthetic arm- which precinct lore says she got after ripping her organic arm off in order to escape from an exploding car in which she was pinned, but which police records would show she lost as a child in a threshing accident on the farm where she was raised- catch the light, dancing across the Captain's skin; his mind is filled with time and time again where he fought against her being put on active duty, and the times and times over where she fought his desk assignments. Now, to his chagrin, she's become one of the best task force members he's ever had.

"What do you suggest we do?" He asks, leaning back in his chair.

"Anything but nothing."

Max turns into her, a reminder to keep her cool.

"Furiosa-" He warns.

But she's gone now; all she can see in front of her is that basement where they were kept. The limp body of Angharad. The blinding explosions of the fire fight. The leather steering wheel slick with the sweat of her palms. The pain of the wound in her leg. Oceans of sand cut by the blaring chrome of the regiment of racing cars they built there. The blood and rust. Flashbacks sear her mind and she's lost to anything but them.

"Give them counseling. A place to stay. Help."

"We helped them by getting them out of a sex den," the Captain barks.

"You think it's over for them? You think this is it? Cheedo didn't even graduate high school before she was taken and Dag's barely old enough to drink. You think these women can walk out of this building feeling safe? Much less build lives for themselves?"

"I'm warning you. Stop this or-"

Furiosa has long since lost control of her words; her entire being has gone into defense mode. In the slats of light coming through the outside window, Max can almost see a vision of her. The beams make war paint of darkness and shine; when he looks at her in this light, he sees a warrior.

"Or what? Stop this or what? You've already proved that you can't 'do anything'!" She snarls.

Slapping his hands down on the desk, the Captain jumps to his feet and raises his voice.

"That's it! Out of my office or I'll have you suspended."

Max reaches for his partner's arm, but she turns out of his grasp.

"This isn't over!"

"Out!" The Captain repeats.

This time, Max succeeds in reaching for Furiosa, but just as quickly as he touches her, she breaks free, marching out of the door, not even bothering to close it, much less slam it. She stalks down the hallway, Max at her heels; he almost sees the cloud of smoke steaming from her ears, almost hears the pounding of her heart. At the sound of Max's familiar, heavy steps, Dag looks up from the cheap plastic chair they've sat her in. Capable and Cheedo follow suit; Toast is locked away in her debrief.

"Furiosa?"

Dag's hopeful expression catches something in Furiosa's chest, like gasoline over an open flame; the girl is almost rising out of her chair with the buoyancy of that hope, the chance that they might be reunited with the woman who saved them. But her hope is answered by the same four words that she said before, and not even a look in her direction.

"I'll be right back," She calls.

And then she's gone, disappearing through a door marked "locker room" with Max hot on her heels.

Max closes the locker room door behind him with just enough time to see Furiosa send her organic fist into the nearest locker; she wants to feel the pain, wants to bleed until there's nothing of her left. She shakes her head, grinding her jaw; Max watches silently, knowing somewhere deep in him that it isn't his time to speak. That nothing he says could help.

"I won't do this. I won't let this happen to them," she mutters to herself, slamming a nearby locker shut.

Max assesses her, this partner that he begged for all those weeks ago when he was assigned to the task force. This was her first case with victims she could see, living breathing victims of not only the crime but of the system; Furiosa had always been on the chase team, dealing with grand theft auto and getaway runs. She loved the feeling of a monster beneath her that she could control, a two ton machine that bowed to her will, a beast of technology and steel that obeyed her commands. They only put her on the trafficking task force because Max needed a driver and he knew she was the best there was. He looks at the ground and says what his first partner said to him his first time around, says what he thinks he should say.

"This is how it goes."

"Not this time. Not with me," she retorts, running her hand through her close-shaved hair as if she thinks she can pull answers from the skull beneath.

It's a cruel world, a cruel system, she thinks, that would save women from slavery only to throw them out with no hope of saving themselves. She can have no part in such a system. She refuses.

"What're you going to do?" Max asks.

It is a long while before Furiosa answers him, and when she finally speaks, she says the last thing that Max expects. With a deep sigh, she falls back, leaning against one of the silver lockers, folding her arms against her chest. In the blink of an eye, Furiosa's entire body goes from a bundle of shot nerves to the image of a smooth, placid lake. A wave of calm washes over her, engulfing her; the tension in her body goes slack, her breathing goes normal. The fire in her eyes turns to ice.

"I'm going to take them home with me."

She is as unwavering as he's ever seen her; the absolute certainty he witnesses in her is silencing. For an even longer stretch of eternity, he doesn't reply. Doesn't say a word. Until, finally, he asks the question waiting to be asked.

"Home?"

"I've…" Furiosa breathes in deep, "I wasn't raised like normal kids. I was raised in this commune of women out on the edge of town. All of the mothers- that's what the elders were called- have moved on, but they left me the house. It's outside of town, lots of gardens. The mothers wanted to be self-sufficient-"

It is in this moment that Max remembers a quiet, whispered conversation late at night between Furiosa and the girls back at the Citadel. Furiosa had just told them that the next day they were going to all make a break for it, that they were going to get them out. Angharad asked where Furiosa was taking them. After a moment of hesitation, she told them what Max repeats in recognition now:

"The Green Place."

She nods.

"Yeah. I was going to sell it, but-"

Max finishes the thought for her; she doesn't have to say it.

"Now you don't have to."

Another moment of silence. Both partners are somehow both deeply with themselves and closely locked in with each other.

"I'll get the girls released to me. Help them make a new start," she says, "The old green place is as good as any."

Max's response is immediate, coming from deep down in his gut rather than from his head or his heart.

"You can't do that," he says.

"Watch me," Furiosa says, without any trace of malice or challenge; it is just a fact, a reality.

Max corrects himself, his gruff and quiet manner doing him credit in a moment like this, a moment that could so easily become overwhelmed by emotion, "You can't do it alone."

The words are as confusing as they are brief. Furiosa envisioned doing this on her own; this declaration from Max catches her off guard, defenseless.

"What?" She asks, blinking.

"I'll help," is the only explanation she receives.

In a flash, Furiosa shoves herself off of the wall of her locker and is across the room, landing with her arms on either of Max's shoulders and her nose an inch from his. Her breath is hot and rapid against his face, her gaze focused and painful. The defensive streak in her flares and, not for the first time, Max is frightened of her, though he would never let it show. For her, this moment is filled with every dread and fear she's ever had about him.

"Don't fuck me on this, Rockatansky," she roars like the huntress she is.

If the poets were to describe the moment that follows between them, they would remark that every word spoken between them, every charged glance, is done without a trace of sentimentality. It is done without romantic pretense, without any idealization of their reality. What follows is said and done not as a way to make the soul warm, but as a way to survive, as a way to keep the heart beating.

"We're partners," Max says, shrugging even as Furiosa keeps her stare and hands on him, "Where you go, I go."

Furiosa awards herself a moment to process that, then proceeds, as passionate as Max has ever seen her.

"If we're doing this thing, we're doing it all the way. You understand? We don't back down until we leave with them. No matter what."

No matter what. That threatening promise resounds off of the tiles, echoing through the empty room with its gravity. Max merely renews his vows.

"Where you go, I go."

Releasing him from his pin against the wall, straightening her jacket and cracking her neck in preparation for what is to come.

"Alright. Let's go."

"Furiosa?"

This time, when Dag calls out to Furiosa, she answers.

"We need to talk," the driver says, commanding and cool.

Cheedo folds her knees up to her chest and crosses her arms across them, looking at Furiosa and Max evenly, "What's going on?"

Pulling up a chair, Furiosa swings it around, sitting in it backwards as Max hovers a few steps behind her. With one sweep of the wall, she takes in all four of the women. Cheedo, with her shivering shoulders, her eyelids only halfway open as the bright fluorescents burn after her time in that dark basement. Toast, with her head on a constant pivot, looking around the room for any unwanted onlookers or potential threats, suddenly feeling very exposed above ground. Dag, with her face like an open window, so pale and thin that Furiosa thinks a stiff breeze could push her over. Capable, with her hands twitching for something productive to do, tapping the balls of her feet on the cheap linoleum floor.

"Here's the situation," Furiosa starts, resolving to rip off this entire conversation like a band-aid, "It's precinct policy to give you four a debriefing and then release you back into the world."

The women all look at her with slack jaws and confused expressions; behind Furiosa, Max holds his breath. Stopping the incessant tap-tap-tap-tap of her foot, Capable furrows her brow and leans forward.

"Just like that?" She asks.

"Just like that. But, I was thinking- Max and I were thinking- that the four of you could live with us. We could all stay together."

Toast knows the score. She's been in a world like this one for too long. All of the girls, even Angharad, they are all products of the system. That's what got them taken. No one in America cares about a grown-up foster kid, so it was easy for them to just… disappear. So, after her time in the system, Toast knows that when someone offers a place to stay, that it's reason to be wary. Nothing has been forever. Not where they have come from. She raises an eyebrow.

"For how long?" She asks, skeptical.

"As long as you want to stay," Furiosa says, "I promise."

Dag scoffs, leaning forward, ready to go even at this moment. Anything to get out of this hellish precinct, away from the prying eyes of leering police officers and newshounds alike.

"You think you need to ask?" She questions.

Furiosa's face knits itself into an armor of gravity.

"You four," she looks at each of them in turn, these miracles that sit before her, "are never going to have choices made for you again," she vows, "If you want to come, you can. But it has to be your choice."

"I'm in," Dag says before Furiosa has even finished her thought; in return, she receives a thumbs up from Max, which she sheepishly returns, her cheeks flush as she tries to teach herself how smiling works again.

"Of course," comes Capable's answer.

She, too, gets a thumbs up from the cop standing over Furiosa's shoulder; she bites the inside of her lip to keep from laughing.

"Yes," says Cheedo, holding her blanket closer to her as she hides her smile at Max's thumbs up.

With the other three secure, Furiosa turns her gaze to Toast, the sole hold out. She purses her lips and looks down at her hands, these hands that have done too much and had too much done too them. Hands that are now free to do what they want. Toast shakes the rotten images away, blinking rapidly and squinting up at Max and Furiosa.

"Where, exactly, would we be going?" She asks, humiliated when her voice rattles in fear."

"Remember that green place I told you about?"

By the way the four people against the wall react, you would think that Furiosa had just promised to open the gates of Heaven for them herself. Each one of them conjures up an image in her mind, vague fantasies of worlds where flowers bloom in the dead of winter and the grass grows shoulder-high. Capable remembers, fleetingly and distressingly, that she can no longer remember what grass smells like, but boxes the thought away in favor of more beautiful thinking… She wonders if the green place will have trees tall enough to climb. The most visible reaction, though, is Dag's. With childlike wonder, her face illuminates as though someone lit fireworks behind her eyes.

"The Green Place?" She repeats, unable to hear her own ears.

When Furiosa told them of The Green Place in the Citadel, it seemed like a fantasy, like something said to keep them all quiet and serene. But now… It feels real. So close that Dag is sure she could reach out and feel fresh leaves under her fingertips.

"That's where we would be going," Furiosa explains.

All eyes turn to Toast; the group holds their collective breath. Toast's reply is simple:

"How soon can we leave?"

The Captain hears the sliding open of his door and the footfall of two uninvited guests; he looks up from over his spectacles and raises an eyebrow. Not this again. He should have known, he should have known that letting Rockatansky and Furiosa on the same case should end with a migraine and a few demotions. But no, he had to accept the commissioner's suggestion to get the Mayor off of his ass about this trafficking task force.

"Don't you two have reports to finish?" He asks dismissively.

Standing at attention, the partners stare at the open window behind their commander. It looks out onto the open road, the place that Furiosa craves in the deepest pits of her being.

"Captain," she begins, words clipped and unfazed by his attitude, "we want the girls released to us."

"I beg your pardon?" It is less of a question and more of a demand.

"We want the girls released to us."

"Let me get this straight," begins The Captain, leaning back in his chair, observing his two officers with a tight expression.

Oh, no. He just said 'let me get this straight' in his demotion voice; they've both heard it a million times. Max can feel the traffic cop vest over his shoulders now; he doesn't want to go back there, but he swore he'd see this thing through. More than that, though, he wants to see this thing through.

"You want to foster four of your trafficking victims?" The Captain raises an eyebrow.

"Yes," Max and Furiosa answer in concert.

For a second, a beautiful breath of a second, there is silence, a hesitation wherein Furiosa thinks that maybe he's actually considering it. Maybe he's actually going to let them do this. Maybe they've found the Tin Man's heart after all. But that second ticks away and, with it, goes their hope.

"No. Not protocol. You're too invested in them," he says disparagingly, "It'll interfere with your work."

"We aren't taking no for an answer," the woman says, grinding her jaw and drawing in a sharp breath between her teeth.

Heat radiates under the Captain's collar as he internally counts his straws and realizes these two clowns are about to make him lose his last one. There are rules in place for a reason; officers should know that better than anyone.

"Oh? And what, may I ask, are you going to do if no is the only answer you'll be getting?" He snaps.

"Then you'll lose your two best officers."

"Is that so?" The Captain asks, turning to look at the stoic and ever-silent Max, looking for him to speak.

Max does not grant The Captain's wish, however, choosing instead to give Furiosa deference. He said he would follow her, and follow her he will. Furiosa holds her chin higher than ever, the picture of police posture, the image of ultimatum.

"We cannot, in good conscience, continue to work for a police force that has no interest in actually helping people," she says.

And there it goes. There goes the last straw. The Captain's voice jumps to a scream as if he had two enemies standing before him.

"The victims will be released after their debriefing as per protocol. Rockatansky, you will spend the next two weeks filing paperwork on the sixth floor. And you," he says, his lips drawing into a disgusted sneer as he looks Furiosa up and down, "Mother Hen, will be running the speed trap on 53rd and Broad."

There is a point in every partnership- romantic, familial, platonic, even professional- where the need for words to communicate becomes obsolete. Between two people there becomes an unspoken rhetoric which allows them to whisper tomes of conversation without ever even opening their mouths. Max and Furiosa reached that point long ago. A look shared between them is worth the amount of speech that most people get in a week. Now, almost in slow motion, Furiosa turns and looks at him, not saying anything, but asking a question. Asking if he will follow. Asking if he understands. And in response, he seems to say, Where you go, I go.

That's all that Furiosa needs to see. With one nod from her, Max reaches for his gun and detaches his badge. He lays them on The Captain's desk just as his partner does the same.

"Alright, Captain," Furiosa says, emotionless, "See you around."

And, just like that, they are gone.

"Furiosa! Rockatansky!" The Captain shouts.

But it's too late. Furiosa reaches her hand out for Dag, motioning for the others to join them as they begin a march out of the precinct. Toward The Green Place. They leave, each taking their own pleasure from the sound of the heavy door slamming behind them, but not before Cheedo turns around and sticks her tongue out at the Captain screaming from his office door.

The girls piled high in the back seat of Furiosa's tricked-out SUV are speaking so quickly and so frantically that Max only has the time to identify the speaker.

"Where's the nearest hospital?" Cheedo.

"Are you and Max, like, married, or-" Toast.

"How many trees would you say are out there, at The Green Place?" Dag.

"Can you teach me to drive like you do?" Capable.

"Is there a security system in this house? Do you know how to arm it?" Cheedo.

"What about motorcycles? Do you have one of those I could learn to drive?" Capable.

"Max, do you ever talk, or-" Toast.

"Can we plant a tree for Angharad?" Dag.

It goes on like that for almost an hour, with the tires spinning them ever closer to freedom, with the A/C going full blast, with the radio turned down real low. All unable to wait her turn to speak, each fighting to keep her excitement under a tight leash and often failing, the girls clamor, creating a cacophonic symphony that underscores Max's rolling view out of the passenger window. In any other world, he might have found it annoying, might have encouraged them to speak one at a time or no one's questions would be answered. But, for some reason, he doesn't feel that way. He can't bring himself to. After all, these girls are only just remembering how to talk again. Who is he to say they should keep quiet?

So, they talk and yammer and even- on a few rare occasions- laugh until Furiosa brings them to an abrupt stop. They all crane to look out of the windows, straining their eyes to see where Furiosa has taken them.

"Woah." Cheedo.

"Holy shit." Toast.

"Oh my god." Dag.

"Is this really-?" Capable.

"That's it," deadpans Furiosa, her organic hand pulling the truck into park. "Home sweet home."

In the rearview mirror, Max catches the four girls looking at each other uncertainly, each feeling more hesitant than the last. Would this really be the place that they would call home? Could this be real? Or were they all suffering from some sort of sick dream from which they would all awake back in the Citadel?

"Well?" Furiosa begins, unbuckling her seatbelt and turning over her shoulder to get a better look at her passengers, "Are you going in, or aren't you?"

That's all the permission that they need; it's as if Furiosa fired a starting gun. Scrambling to get out of the car, they all start to make their way across the vast stretch of green, green grass that leads up to the porch.

"I call a bedroom with a window!" Toast shouts; she may have been in captivity, but she still remembers how "dibs" works.

She's never had a bedroom with a window before. The idea of it makes her shoulders feel infinitely lighter. Waking up with the sun on her face, falling asleep to starlight...It's a dream she's long tried to keep herself from having.

"I call a second bedroom with a window if there is one!" Dag calls, trailing behind her, a little slower as she tries to absorb the feeling of grass beneath her bare feet.

Capable is the last one out of the car; Furiosa looks at her from the driver's seat.

"All of the rooms have windows," Furiosa explains.

Capable's jaw drops.

"Are you serious?" She asks, annunciating each word as if she cannot believe what she's just been told and wants to make sure that there are no misunderstandings.

For the first time, maybe ever, Max sees a genuine smile come across Furiosa's face. It isn't big. It isn't even obvious. But he catches it all the same. She softens as she looks down at Capable, nodding her head, understanding the young woman's excitement.

"Yes."

Capable breaks into a run, tripping once as she struggles to remind herself just how running works; she cannot remember the last time she ran just for the Hell of it. Did she ever? She's sure she did, and now she does again. She hollers exaltedly to her three comrades as they all sprint up towards the house.

"They all have windows!"

Max and Furiosa do not get out of the car for a while, not until long after she has taken the keys from the ignition. They watch as, one by one, the young women disappear into the house, each after getting her own fill-for the moment- of the outside world. When the door closes behind Dag, who runs inside at the exclamations of Cheedo, who has discovered that the entire back wall of the house is covered in flowered vines, Max sighs and exits the car, walking around to survey the estate in its entirety. He hears Furiosa come up behind him, slamming her car door.

"Well? What do you think?" She asks, wiping her grease-stained hands on the back of her pants before shoving her hands into her pockets.

The Green Place. The Green Place, indeed. Furiosa parked on a dirt road, separated from the house by a stretch of the most perfect looking grass he's ever seen. Out in the distance, he can see rows of crops sprouting up, yawning heavenward in an attempt to drown themselves in sunlight. Flowers and trees surround the entire facade of the house; he's never seen so many in his entire life. The house is massive, a repurposed farm house painted the most intoxicating shade of yellow. In some places the ground had gone brown, or the flowers were wilting. A few of the shutters hung loose and the paint was peeling and chipping. The tire swing attached to one of the trees could not be safe for a human to sit on. But, it's better than alright. It's a place to start a life. He watches as the young women begin to peer out of the curtains covering their windows, as they all try to decide which room is theirs, which view they'd rather have. Capable, he notices, is looking out her window at something very particular, even holding her hand up in something of a wave. Max follows her gaze across the road where a young man on a bicycle, covered in tattoos and bald as a snake, has slowed down to survey the situation. He's got a kind of lopsided grin and returns Capable's wave; then, he rides on, but not before Max catches a blush on his pale, pale cheeks. That could be trouble, Max thinks to himself. Staring back at the house, Max bites back every compliment he wants to give it, merely shrugging once.

"It needs some work," he says.

Furiosa looks at him, then at the four girls chatting excitedly out of their windows with one another.

"Don't we all?"

So... That's it! That's the little mad max au I wanted to write! I hope you all enjoy! Please review! I'd love to hear about what you think! I really wanted to show in this fic what I love most about Furiosa, which is this balance of the maternal and feminine with the masculine. I hope I did her justice! Let me know!