Chapter Text
Supporting each other on unsteady feet, Furiosa and the Ace walked away slowly from the infirmary to the silence of the empty Half-life Noble nest. Looking around the moonlit room, Furiosa could see the discarded belongings of the former crew; a broken pair of bootlaces, a skull-carved stone, a crude engine pinched out of clay like a small mechanical heart, and she wondered who those things had belonged to, though now they belonged to no one.
Once they were settled with their boots tossed off haphazardly, both collapsed onto the sand, exhausted.
It was the first time in a long time that Furiosa had slept the night through, and the warm sand was a stark contrast of comfort to the cold and unforgiving stone benches of the infirmary. It seemed that even the deep ache of her missing hand couldn't wake her, as though she had grown accustomed to living with it.
But eventually something did, the burning scent of kerosene and soot and something else she could not identify.
Furiosa's eyes opened blearily. In the early morning darkness that shivered with the growing energy of impending dawn, the faint glow of a shuttered lantern illuminated the Ace.
Holding a knife in one hand, its red-hot tip glowing in the darkness, and the rusted steel frame of a round side-view mirror in the other, the Ace slowly pressed the hot blade to the skin of his face, unflinching, making no sound as the steel sizzled against flesh..
Drowsy, it took Furiosa a while to realize that the Ace was putting on mourning for the Imperator Acosta.
Again and again, the Ace heated the knife-edge and pressed it to his face, building the branded scar in imitation of Acosta's scars. His steady hand followed the contour of the skull beneath the bone, of the death beneath the flesh, and in the sleepy darkness, as still as a dream but for the mutual rhythm of breath that moved and shifted following the individual paces of their own lives, it took Furiosa a long time to realize that the strange feeling she had looking upon the Ace was love.
“First order of business, boss. Who do you want raised for your Half-life Nobles?”
Furiosa did not hesitate; she had been thinking over the matter for some time. “Besides you, of course: Coil, Morsov, Tran, and Dart.”
“Good choices,” the Ace nodded, making a mental note of it.
“On top of that, I want supplemental Lancers aboard. As many again as there are Half-life Nobles.” Furiosa looked at the Ace levelly, daring him to disagree. “We can pull them from the Lancer pool, but I want there to be at least ten total up top at all times. I don't ever want a repeat of what happened.”
“No, you're right. We failed...we failed Acosta and we failed each other.” The Ace brought his hands together briefly, interlacing his fingers into the V8. “Should have had supplemental Lancers on board in any case. Idea's been floating around too long without anything happening. All right, who do you want?”
Furiosa named off a list of possible Lancers.
“What about Slit?” The Ace suggested.
“What about him?”
“Slit's been in the patrol pool for a long time. He's the best Lancer without a permanent ride by far.”
“Let someone else deal with him. He may be talented, but I need a crew I can depend on.”
“Fair enough,” the Ace said mildly, but she could tell he was irritated; he had been looking to place Slit for some time.
“I'm sorry Ace. If it were only for you, I'd do it, but it's for the War Rig. I need a cohesive crew.”
“Sure, boss. Understood.” The Ace sighed, and then winced as the breath afterwards caught healing ribs in a bad way. “He'll be fine. Forgot that there are some other options for him now that Morsov's been raised. You want me to break the news to the boys?”
“Let's go together.”
“All right, but...” The Ace caught her eye. “One thing first, boss...”
“Ace?”
“Just...a little personal business.” The Ace mumbled, seemingly embarrassed and he rubbed his hands nervously through the scruff of dark hair, grown out jagged during his time of convalescence. “Probably lots of War Boys will be asking you but...well, suppose someone's gotta be first...”
“Ace, what is it?” Furiosa asked gently. “You know you can ask.”
“All right.” The Ace nodded to himself, as if convincing himself of something. “Furiosa. You're the last one to-- That is, you Witnessed him. Acosta.”
Furiosa nodded.
“How...” The Ace cleared his throat. “How did he die?”
“Fighting. He was shot. Through the arm, the neck and in his chest; mostly bled out by the time I got to the cab. But he held the War Rig steady the entire time, until he couldn't hold on any longer.” Furiosa frowned at the dark memory of blood slicking the inside of the War Rig a ghastly crimson, blacker where it had pooled beneath her boots.
“Did he...say anything?”
“No.” Furioa sighed. “I'm sorry, Ace, he was too far gone by the time I got to him. He was your friend, wasn't he?”
“Just an old War Boy from the old days,” the Ace sighed, shrugging it off. “But...if you could.”
“What is it?”
He gestured her over, and took her hand. “Since you Witnessed him,” the Ace's voice was low, difficult to hear. Bringing her hand up, he touched her fingertips lightly to the livid red marks of his fresh mourning scars, one after the other.
“Ace! Doesn't that hurt?”
“Pain won't cling for long. It'll go away soon enough. But I'll have this to remember.” The Ace sighed, letting go of her hand to touch the new scars himself. “Thank you, Furiosa.”
“I don't know if I did anything...” Furiosa stared at her fingers, rubbing them together; the branded wounds had been hot, as if the fire that birthed them clung still to the Ace's scarred and weathered skin.
“You did for him what every War Boy needs most,” the Ace said simply. “Now, I guess we should--”
“Ace. Furiosa. Oh, thank goodness.”
Furiosa turned at the sound of the familiar voice.
“Coil.”
Coil stood politely outside the stone-chipped doorway of the Half-life Noble nest, forbidden by custom to enter. He appeared palpably relieved, but over what, Furiosa could not say. It seemed to her that her crewmate – no, former crewmate – looked unusually strained; his face was drawn and hollow and it seemed to her that he had lost flesh. Briefly, Furiosa wondered when it was that she had last seen him, but could not rightly remember.
He seemed different now, a stranger, and she wondered if that was what he saw as well. Self-conscious, she found herself tucking her left arm slightly behind her, not wanting him to see her loss.
“Went to the infirmary to find you...” Coil began, but then he shook it off. “Never mind, it's nothing. Just glad to see you both up and about.”
“Should come in, War Boy. Imperator needs a word with you,” the Ace said mock sternly, and Furiosa could see the faint curl of a smile at the corner of his crooked mouth.
“Um.” Nervously, Coil folded his fingers into the V8, ducking his head as he came in.
“You don't have to do that for me, Coil, even if I am an Imperator now. But there is something else you can do.” She offered him her right hand, and he clasped it tightly, his grip firm and sure despite the faint tremor in his fingers.
“What's that?” Coil blinked.
“Coil. All the time we've ridden together,” Furiosa began, and paused as Coil looked down at her expectantly, his brow furrowed with concern. “You've been the best crewmate a War Boy could ask for. So now that I'm War Rig Imperator...I'm bringing you with me. Coil, I want you to be my Half-life Noble--”
“Wait.” The Ace shook his head. “There's right words for that, Imperator. 'Be now a Half-life Noble for the rest of your half-life.'”
“Of course.” Furiosa looked up to meet Coil's blue eyes, bright with unshed tears. “Be now a Half-life Noble, Coil, for the rest of your half-life.”
“Furiosa!” Unthinking, Coil drew her into a tight, familiar embrace, and it sent a flood of memories through Furiosa, the warmth and security of her crewmate's arms. Driver. Lancer. They had been both for each other, and had worked alongside each other for so long now that when she thought about it, she realized that it was near half her life. “I won't let you down.”
Lightly, Coil kissed her, his lips touching hers to seal the deal.
Furiosa was surprised. “You don't have to promise that. I know you won't let me down.”
“That was for something else, Imperator.” Coil let her go and wiped at a stray tear. “I'm promising you that we'll ride together, always. No matter what.”
“No matter what...” Furiosa breathed, catching the faint metallic scent of his skin, the iron scent of a War Boy.