I can’t help but feel Max’s Interceptor is almost like a replacement for his lost family, in a symbolic sense.  He sees the Interceptor as “home”.  It’s how he says it in the comic too.  So let me present to you some very sad thoughts I’ve had about this:

Max talking to the Interceptor as if it is Jess.  Looking over to the seat next to him and imagining her laughing with him when they were young.

Max thinking about all the times he and Jess cruised together.

Max remembering how it felt to be a good man, driving that car, knowing people looked to him to be a hero.  Him being okay with that, taking pride in that.

Max out on the road, late night of working, and he stops in the middle of nowhere just to look up at the stars to remember the world still has beautiful things to see.  He looks over to the seat next to him and Jess’s image is there, smiling at him, agreeing that yes, there’s still beautiful things to see.

Max rolling up to the Citadel in a nearly battered-beyond-function Interceptor.  It’s caked in mud, has had numerous thundersticks thrown at it, mirrors all gone.  When a familiar face greets him, he feels so ashamed of his attachment to the car that he can’t bear to look at her, save a quick flash of red eyes.

Furiosa helping get the Interceptor into the garage, scooting under the it to inspect the extent of the damage.  She says from under the mass of wrecked metal that it’s not so bad, not bad all.  Max doesn’t believe her, he knows how bad the condition is.

Furiosa asks if she can look inside, and on Max’s nod she opens the door.  She touches everything reverently and gently.  She knows.  She looks at Max and says “She’s a beauty.  You’ve taken great care of her.”  Max wants to look at her but he can’t, he stays with his back turned.

Days go by, nights go by.  Furiosa doesn’t leave the garage.  Max takes short walks to think, alone.  He’s not sure about what he’s looking for anymore.  When he goes back to the garage, he tells Furiosa, who’s been working for days, to get some rest.  She simply replies that she’s never been a sleeper.

Max wakes up to see an empty space in the garage.  Just outside he hears running water.  He’s not alarmed at all, he knows Je—the car, is in good hands.  She’d feel safe if she were here.  He shuts his eyes again and drifts back off into daydreams.

When he finally wakes up, Max sees something that almost makes him think time has reversed.  The Interceptor, almost glimmering in the sun, has returned to him.  He is so amazed all he can do is stare, and walk around the car in a circle with his hands tangled in his tousled hair.  

Furiosa says he should take her out, see how she feels.  Max is almost giddy.  He opens the door, sees the newly cleaned interior, or as clean as it can possibly be in this world.  He goes to start the car, but he pauses, looks out from the window and nods over to Furiosa. 

As much as she wants to go with him, she knows it’s not her place.  “Go on, go, but come back and at least tell me how she does.”  She wipes her dusty brow and begins to walk away, but Max calls back to her, “Hey” Again he nods to the other door, more insistently this time.  

She gives in, but only because he asked twice.  She wanted him to be sure it was ok.  

As Max drives the Interceptor out onto the plains, he marvels at how smoothly she runs.  She feels almost brand new.  She’s still beat up, dusty, she’s been through everything with him, but she feels new.  How?  He swerves sharply to test the vehicle further, and he actually hears himself let out a laugh.  For the first time in so long, he’s forgotten what it felt like.  

Suddenly he hears another laugh, and he looks to the seat next to him.  There’s a familiar face, but not the one he usually sees.  Another laugh he’s never heard, another smile he feels he’s waited for for a long time.  He feels more at home than he has in ages.  But something feels wrong, too.  He’s not supposed to feel like he’s home.  That’s not the face he’s supposed to see.  He turns to drive back to the garage when he slowly comes to a stop.

Furiosa asks him if the car’s feeling right to him.  He doesn’t look at her, but instead steps out of the car.  He nods to the seat, and then looks at Furiosa.  She stares, gaping at him with a questioning face.  She’s not sure she understands but she’s trying to.  Her face is asking him if he’s sure.  He walks around to the driver’s side and opens the door, motioning her to scoot over to the wheel.  She does, but hesitantly.  

Furiosa has been working with this car for weeks, she’s touched nearly everything on it with a steady hand.  Suddenly, as she goes to grip the wheel, her hands, one flesh, and one metal, are unsteady, trembling.  Max looks at her and then to the road ahead.  She returns the gaze, and understands. 

As she drives the car, she glances at Max before making any move, any decision.  She feels the weight of every movement of the wheels, leaning just so on the ripping turns, shifting the gears on a dime.  She smiles and lets a small laugh escape as a bit of dust flies up onto the windscreen. Max laughs too.  He remembers this feeling like it was yesterday.  Furiosa yells over the roar of the engine, “She’s perfect!”  Max agrees.

It’s twilight as Max drives the Interceptor back to the Citadel.  They’re far enough out that the stars are showing brighter than they do normally.  Furiosa had rested her head in her hand on the door, and had fallen asleep.  All the times he asked her to rest and she wouldn’t do it, but here she is, sleeping not unlike she used to.  On those long, lazy drives together, just having fun.  Just living, with no fears, no feeling alone.  

Max suddenly finds he’s come to a slow stop.  They’re on a small hill and can see the Citadel just in the distance.  The sun is gone, but the sky is an array of colors not unlike the sunsets he loved from his home.  He bows his head to rub his eyes, for some reason burning with wetness, when he glances over to the seat next to him.  She’s still there.  Normally, when the tears come, she disappears.  

Max hears a whisper, not from the seat next to him, but from his open window, in the distance where the sun has set.  “She is perfect, don’t you think?  Good as new.”  Max knew this voice.  He knew it wasn’t real, but she sounded so real.  “New engine, and lot cleaner than you ever kept her…”  Max scanned the distance for her face but saw only the stars.  He frantically looks to the seat next to him, desperate to ask something he needs to know but she’s not there.  Only the sleeping face of this person that can’t answer what he needs to know, because she has the same question as he does.  

Max gazes once more through moist eyes, out to the horizon in front of them.  He sees a hazy figure just beyond the hood of the car. “She’s crazy ‘bout you, you know.”  She turns just enough so that he can make out her delicate profile against the starlight. “It’s ok, Max.”  He sees the shape of her mouth smile, and he collapses, head down, grasping the wheel of the Interceptor.  He can’t quite say it, when he feels a hand rest on his shoulder.

“Hey”, she says, watching him in the now violet dusk.  She can’t see his tears, but she hears the catching in his voice and the sniffs of his nose.  He could do like most and claim it’s just the dust, an excuse she’s used countless times to disguise her own cries.

“Sorry”, Max says as he turns the car on and presses forward, to the Citadel. She tries to lighten the mood by telling him the Interceptor is probably the best car she’s worked on. She slides her weathered hand gently over the dashboard and tells him, “She won’t ever let you down.”   He simply nods, blinking away the last of the tears.  

When they arrive, Furiosa takes a long, lasting look at the Interceptor.  This car means to him something she can’t ask about, something she can never offer him.  This piece of home.  All she could do was try and make her strong again, for him, strong enough to keep him safe for however long he needed her.  This place of rock and steel was not his home.  It wasn’t even her home, but was the best she had.  She looks up from the vehicle to ask if he needs anything more, saying they have plenty of food and water, and of course guzzoline.  Anything he wants, he’s more than welcome.

Max looks at her through the dark, only barely sidelit from the fires of the encampments surrounding the entrance to the tower.  When he doesn’t answer, Furiosa knows she’s offered what she can. It’s time for another goodbye.  

“You…need a couple more hands in the garage…maybe?,” he mutters.  “It’s ok…if you don’t.”

She stops dead in her tracks, facing away from him for a few moments, hiding her tearful smile.  When she’s certain he can’t see much in the growing dark, she turns, and nods towards the gravely road.  “Garage is this way.”