Chapter Text
Max thought he'd never want to see the Citadel again. He doesn't exactly have a habit of returning to places where he was held captive and tortured.
He doesn't have a habit of returning anywhere at all.
And yet here he is and he isn't sure why. Furiosa greets him like this was always the plan, like he is one of her scouts. She looks strong and healthy again, recovered from her wound. Perhaps that is what he came to see?
He tells himself: 'One day. Supplies and water and food'. And then 'Maybe a night rest'.
Three days later he drives away, determined not to return.
Three months later the Citadel comes into sight again. He inexplicably traded for some small Aloe plants (why?) and then decided it would be a waste to keep them in his car when they could grow big at the Citadel. This reasoning made sense until he is getting out of his car at the base of the Citadel.
Toast is called by the sentries, and she nods to let him in. Then she leads him to Furiosa, only slanting him a curious look at the careful way he cradles the small bag with soil and two little plants.
Furiosa's mouth ticks up when he awkwardly hands them over, and somehow that makes it all worth it.
"Things here look good," he says, because they do. They've mostly recovered from the attacks they suffered not long after Joe was killed.
The people look better fed, and there is an industrious feel to the Citadel, a sense of purpose. She leads him around, obviously proud of the changes they have wrought in half a year or so. The gardens on the top of the Citadel are lush and green, and groups of War Boys are occupied with digging and installing an irrigation system.
"We're going to start seeding down there," she gestures down to the open space next to the Citadel, where a small section of the desert has been roped off and dug over.
His eyebrows rise. She means to eke useful ground out of the desert? Can such a thing be done?
"The Vuvalini have lore on how to do it. Cheedo is going to try."
They arrive in the part of the gardens where Cheedo is working. Cheedo the Fragile, he remembers, but she no longer seems fragile at all. She directs a team of workers, her back strong, her hair tied back, her hands purposeful as they dig in the soil. She rises to greet them, receives the two small plants with pleasure.
"Thank you, Max. These will do great here," she says, and he draws in a quick breath on hearing his name. It's OK that they know it. It's OK. It's safe.
"You want a room?" Furiosa offers when they've wandered toward the well and taken a drink of clean, fresh water. The Citadel had temporary rooms for visiting trade partners and allies. She sounds like she already knows his answer, so he doesn't bother giving one. "Or you can crash in the work room again."
She's kept Joe's suite of rooms, because in the beginning nobody else dared to live there. Her sleeping quarters are in the smaller room, and there is a larger space, formerly Joe's grand room, with a corner where she works out supplies and trades, keeps important papers and books. The rest of the large room is where community meetings and hearings are held. The suite is busy in the day, but Furiosa's private space after sundown. It's far up enough to be a quiet haven at night, and it locks from the inside.
Not that he's ever going to sleep through a night, but it might be the closest he's come.
He inclines his head in thanks. The shadows are already lengthening, and it won't be long before he can use the room.
Furiosa has business to attend to, and he makes his own way to the kitchens, where they feed him generously and without hesitation. He's not sure if word was sent ahead of him or if this is just the kind of place the Citadel has become.
He's not sure if he could believe that second option. That's not how the world works.
After he's eaten the cook directs him to the communal wash room. It's high up, with a tank of almost fresh water and cups to pour it with, and a newly built system of water catching trays. It allows you to wash with minimal waste of water. The trays bring the water into a reservoir where people are washing clothes. From there it is collected to be filtered and lead to the hydroponics garden.
He'd forgotten how good it feels to wash the dust off his body. When he's done, somebody shows him the wash boards, and he spends a good hour standing in a damp room dressed in only his damp underwear, scrubbing years of hard living from his clothes.
Strategical oversight: it's night, and he'll be lucky if his clothes are dry by morning. Sleeping in them won't be pleasant. Should have waited until morning so they could dry in the sun. Nonetheless he's pleased with his work, a cold night is worth being clean for. He finally heads to Furiosa's quarters dressed in his damp clothes.