Ash leaned the reward caps on Moira's counter with a soft clink. The pup barked again, tail whipping, as if proud of him.
"You always come back heavier than you left," Moira said, scooping the pouch toward her till. "Caps, trouble, stories… take your pick."
Ash shrugged, tugging his coat aside to show a faint scorch mark stitched into the leather. "Trouble mostly. Caps are just the excuse."
She raised an eyebrow. "And what about stories?"
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You'll get those when I'm too old to swing a gun. Not before."
Dogmeat yipped, chewing on the strap of Ash's boot until he crouched to ruffle the pup's ears. Then, without another word, he crossed to the workshop in the back.
The skeleton waited there — steel beams welded rough, two battered wheels scavenged from different wrecks, handlebars bolted from a rusted motorbike frame. At the center, the scavenged jet turbine crouched like some gutted beast, silent but promising.
Ash's eyes lit in a way they didn't on the road. "Still standing," he said, running a hand along the bare frame.
"Barely," Moira shot back, following him in. She grabbed a wrench off the bench and tapped the turbine with it. "You know this thing'll probably blow you to smithereens if you ever do get it running."
Ash chuckled, kneeling to check a weld seam. "Nah. She'll purr like a brahmin calf. You'll be begging me for a ride when she's done."
Moira laughed, leaning against the bench. "Right. And I'll be the one scraping what's left of you off the crater when it cooks you alive."
"Better than rotting behind a counter," Ash quipped, standing to test the handlebars. They wobbled, but held. "Besides, don't you think it fits? A drifter on a jet cycle, cutting across the Wastes?"
Moira tilted her head, studying him. "Fits too well. That's what worries me."
Dogmeat barked again, this time tugging at a scrap of rubber hose like it was a prize catch. Ash bent down, wrestled it free, and tossed it across the workshop. The pup bolted after it, tail a blur.
Ash laughed quietly. "See? Even Dogmeat's in on the testing."
"You're both crazy," Moira said, but her grin softened the words. She rummaged in a box and pulled free a set of dented metal brackets. "Here. Found these in the last shipment. Might keep the whole thing from falling apart when you hit a bump."
Ash took them, running his thumb over the edges. "You keep handing me parts, and you're just as guilty as me."
"Maybe," she said, smirking. "Or maybe I just like seeing you try to build the impossible."
Ash tightened the brackets into place, sparks showering as he welded. The glow lit his face, sharp against the dim workshop. He worked steady, hands precise, as Moira watched, arms crossed, smile lingering like she couldn't help herself.
The cycle frame groaned but held. Not much to look at yet — but it was more than nothing.
Ash leaned back, wiping sweat with his sleeve. "One step closer."
Moira tilted her head again, a quiet note slipping into her voice. "And one step farther away."
Ash didn't catch it. He was already lost in thought, staring at the machine like he could see the future humming through its veins.
Dogmeat dropped the chewed hose at his boots and barked for attention. Ash bent, scratching the pup's head, and for that moment the dream — the machine, the road, the impossible horizon — felt close enough to touch.