#travis miles

"Socrates, open the window. It is just sweltering in here."

Quill was trying to cool herself with a makeshift fan she'd fashioned from the side of a Sugar Bombs box, but the small draft it generated left her sweating through her shirt.

"Right away, ma'am. These Boston summers are quite trying." the Mister Handy agreed, hovering quickly to crack open the mostly-boarded window to let in some of the breeze that rattled trash across the alley below. Immediately, she sighed with relief.

"Thank you." the former Vault-dweller reminded herself to say, though a moment or two too late. As she finished wiping down the dining table, she reached out to turn up the volume on the radio that sat on it, a boisterous, jazzy tune filling the house. Her hips moved with the beat as she discarded the rag she'd been using and fetched the broom. The place hadn't been properly sealed against the wind since long before she'd moved in, and every day felt like a constant battle against accumulating dust that seemed to come out of nowhere. Sweeping with only one full arm took much longer, but a clean home made her happy.

"Hope you all, ah, enjoyed that new jazz piece I found. I broke what I was originally gonna play." he said, sheepish-sounding as ever. The sound of it made her smile, and she let herself settle down into one of the dining chairs to listen to him speak.

"And, uhm now for a little segment I've been...doing lately." he went on after a slightly-too-long pause. "A very nice fan has been sending me some letters. Well, I guess it might be, uh, a bit much to presume she's a fan."

Ever since Quill had left her Vault, she'd been more than a bit enamored with the Diamond City Radio station and its disc jockey, Travis Miles. He was quiet, awkward, and seemed almost painfully shy, and she thought it was sweet. The music itself had proven to be a great source of both comfort and entertainment for her.

"Anyway," he went on, "I'm gonna read her latest one. If you guys don't want me to, I guess you can speak up."

She laughed.

"Dear Travis," he began. "I hope this most recent letter finds you well. I enjoyed Monday's show even more than usual. You are so right about Nat King Cole. He truly is an amazing talent, one of the best, and I get really excited any time you play something of his. I grew—oh, whoops, hold on. I dropped it."

There was a short break and the sound of some scrambling, some things knocking together. A thump.

"Ow. Heh, sorry folks." he said. "Where was I? Oh. I grew up in a Vault, and we had the same collection of one-hundred and forty-two records in the recreation room my whole life. Not to get too personal, but the first time I'd heard a new song since I was a child was when I stumbled upon your station. It was 'Orange Colored Sky', and there was something about it that was just so beautiful that I cried."

She could feel her face warm, crossing her arm under her and resting her chin in her palm.

"Thankfully, I can listen to it now without any tears...most of the time. It's still one of my most cherished memories, though, and I wanted to make sure I thanked you properly for it. Excited for new Silver Shroud. Until next time, Quinn."

She frowned, her brows knitting together in confusion. Who the hell was Quinn? Did he think her name was Quinn?

The man cleared his throat, audibly shifting in his chair.

"Well, Nat King Cole really is, um, the best. You know? Anyway, I hope you're listening out there, Quinn. I'm gonna dig 'Orange Colored Sky' out just for you, so keep, uh, listening. If you want, that is." Travis said. "In the meantime, Roy Brown did...well, he did two songs about Butcher Pete. Here's the second one."

She turned the volume back down as the next song started to play, a knot of tangled, excited snakes wriggling themselves into a ball in her stomach. Every time he read one of her letters, she got the same tingly thrill, and this time was no different...even if she found herself a touch annoyed that he’d read her name wrong.

"Bring me paper and a pen," she called to Socrates.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, dropping the things in front of her almost instantaneously. The pen clattered across the tabletop, and she caught it easily.

"Be honest with me, Soc: do my L’s somehow look like N’s?" she fretted.

"Your penmanship is impeccable, ma'am. I can find no flaws with it," her robotic companion responded as he continued to hover beside her. "Perhaps Mister Travis just has bad eyes."

"Maybe. I guess we'll find out." she shrugged, giving the ballpoint a couple of shakes before putting the tip to the paper.

Dear Travis...

---

Travis' back was really starting to kill him. Day after day of sitting in this rickety chair, hunched over the microphone that sat at chin-level was starting to wear on him physically. He silently chastised himself about his posture as he straightened up, adjusting his jacket over his shoulders as his lips hovered over the faded old mic.

"Now let's, uhh...let's hear a really good song by Bob Crosby." he announced, fingers poised to hit the buttons to silence himself as the track began. As the horns began to blow, he rose to his feet and stretched his arms over his head. There was just barely enough room for him to do so. The tiny trailer he broadcast the show out of had no windows and was jammed half-full of the various equipment he needed, but it felt like more than enough to him.

After a deep breath of the stale air, he decided he'd pop outside and get his vitamin D dosage for the day while the small lineup he'd set played out. Shucking his outer layer, he draped the patched jacket over his chair before pushing the door open.

It was later in the day than he'd expected, past noon if the long shadows the few outbuildings around him cast were any indication. He needed to wind his clock, apparently. The thought immediately left his mind, however, when he caught sight of a Mister Handy unit floating down the final bit of the walkway that led from the ground up into his trailer. He turned his head and found another folded letter stuck beside the doorway.

"H-Hey!" he called, grabbing the thing up.

"Oh, Mister Travis! Splendid to meet you." the bot replied pleasantly, wheeling back around and heading straight for him. For a split second, he was nervous.

"Who are, uh...?" he fumbled, backing up until his back hit the door.

"Socrates at your service, sir." he greeted, miming a tip of a hat.

Travis rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, waving the letter.

"Who's...?" he began, but he didn't get a chance to get his full question out.

"Socrates, what is taking you so long? Let's go!"

The impatient-sounding words disappeared into the air as the young lady wound around the corner, shielding her face from the sun.

It took him a second longer than he'd like to admit to put two and two together, studying woman and robot together until he felt that bolt of realization strike him.

"Oh!" he said suddenly.

"Apologies for the delay, ma'am." Socrates said, moving to float beside her. "I was saying hello to Mister Travis. He came outside as I was leaving."

The young woman might have been his age or a few years younger, but it was difficult to tell with the way her warm chestnut hair partially obscured her face. What he could see was decorated in long, very old scars, one that ran from her hairline and just across the top of her brow bone, another that cut a wide arc from her sideburn down to her jaw. One hand rested on her hip, her opposite sleeve rolled up to the elbow to reveal that she was missing the lower portion of her other arm. There was apprehension in her face, but the shy sort that he could feel on his own.

"So, you're Quinn?" he asked to break the sudden silence, reducing the distance between them.

"Yes," she replied instantly, though she immediately corrected herself with a "Well, no. It's Quill, actually."

Travis could feel goosebumps of embarrassment immediately break out along his arms and legs.

"...huh?" he asked.

"You know, like the fancy pen." she elaborated, scribbling nonsense in the air to further demonstrate her point.

He opened the newest letter already in his grip, eyes skipping straight down to the bottom of the page where he found that the flouncy, girly signature that would typically be there had been replaced by a blocky, fluid script that read "QUILL" very clearly in caps.

"Oh." he said, numb with embarrassment. He felt like such an idiot. "Sorry."

"It's no big deal!" she said, waving her hand dismissively. Her own cheeks seemed quite a bit pinker than they had been only a moment before. "Who knows, maybe we were supposed to run into each other today so that I could tell you."

Travis could feel himself relax incrementally at her words, her efforts to soothe him. The horrifying knowledge that he'd been calling the one person to ever refer to themselves as a real enjoyer of his work by the wrong name was still smotheringly present, but he could breathe easier, at least.

"Hm. Maybe." he replied, grasping for words to keep the conversation going. He was in no rush to see her leave. "So...do you come here often? You know, Diamond City, I mean."

She smiled that small, private smile again at his quick correction. Her little expressions were cute, he thought.

"I try to get out of the house regularly. A little afraid I'll go crazy if I don't. Still, sometimes Socrates has to drag me out, anyway."

He nodded, a quiet chuckle rumbling in his chest.

"I get that. I see the sun so little that sometimes I worry about bursting into flames when I step outside." he joked, looking at his pallid hands and arms.

She giggled playfully at that, and the sound was musical.

"Well, obviously I'm glad you spend so much time at the microphone," she said, fiddling with her bag and not quite looking at him. "Burn risk aside."

The squirming, nervous feeling in his gut only grew at her compliment, and he tried his best to not fidget in place.

"That's really nice to hear." he said.

She shrugged, sweeping her hair away from her face. It was longer than he'd thought upon first inspection, he thought, his gaze tracing the wave of it as it fell down her back.

"I'm sure you get lots of compliments." she said.

"Nah. Most of the time when people are, uh, talking to me about the show, they're complaining." he responded, both joking and a little serious. Not everyone had negative things to say, but many people did have constructive criticism about the way he did things. Very few people had ever outright told him to quit or told him he sucked, most very well-intentioned, but his new friend's kind words warmed his chest in an unexpected way anyway.

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true!" she shot back, her tone more incredulous than he'd expected. "I know so many people who depend on the radio to keep their sanity."

He shrugged in mostly-begrudging agreement.

Another moment passed, the three creatures all looking at one another.

"By the way." she added suddenly, breaking the silence. "If you don't mind, I've got my eye out for a tape of my favorite song from back home. Maybe you'd like it. You wouldn't have to play it on the show if you didn't or anything, obviously. I just have been wondering what your opinion would be on it for a while now."

"Oh." Travis replied dumbly, his brows disappearing up into his floppy, dark bangs. "Sure. I'd like to hear it. That'd be, uh, cool."

Hearing that seemed to please her, her eyes bright and excited as she beamed.

"Great!" she said. "Hopefully we find one soon. I'm excited."

"Yeah, for sure," he said with his own timid smile. "Me too."

After a flash of eye contact that was probably a second longer than intended, Quill let out a sigh and looked toward her shiny, hovering companion.

"Well, I guess we'd better get going, Soc. It'll be dinnertime soon." she announced, kicking at the exposed dirt with the toe of her shoe.

"You two get home safe." Travis said, projecting as much confidence as possible and still not hearing a change in his voice.

He stuck his hand out for her to shake, his heart jumping into his throat when he realized he'd offered her his hand on the side where she didn't have one to reciprocate. Mumbling an apology, he switched sides and gave her a shake. Thankfully, Quill seemed to take it in stride, her grip strong as she smiled warmly at him. It made his heart race. The grip they maintained on one another's hands lingered just like their eye contact had, but only for a split second.

"Thanks for being cool about the letters, by the way." she said, throwing it in casually as she pulled away.

He shrugged, stalling while he struggled to think of something cool-seeming to say.

"It feels a little egotistical to say 'keep 'em coming', but, y'know...keep 'em coming, I guess." was what he settled on, and he wanted to kick himself for it.

"No worries on that." she responded, miraculously.

Neither of them managed to come up with anything else to keep the conversation going, so they exchanged hesitant goodbyes before Quill and Socrates headed off. Travis paused at his door, leaning against it as he watched them go until they disappeared out of view. It was only after he took a deep breath that he noticed he was trembling excitedly.

---

The two both left the interaction an equal mix of excited and utterly humiliated, each nervous they'd come across as too strange to be the sort of person you hang out with casually while still hopeful for the future. Back at home, Quill was lost in thought while she gave herself a bath with a rag and a bucket of water Socrates had warmed on the barely-working stove for her, each pass of the rough cloth over her skin removing more of the grime of the day's travels. Yet another thing she hated about Diamond City: it was filthy.

As she rinsed her hair, carefully leaning over the dry sink, her mind turned to Travis and their conversation. She passed the rag across her chest, and her nipples stood at attention.

Back in the city, Travis had set the station to play on its own for a longer stretch so he could get some rest, sprawled out across the rickety bed that sat up against the wall as he listened to Cole Porter lament the times. For the umpteenth time, he ran over what had happened in his mind, trying to determine just how much he'd ultimately embarrassed himself. Fretful, he worried that his strange behavior might have been too much, but he soothed himself by thinking about her reactions. If she'd found him repugnant in any way, she'd hidden it masterfully behind a dozen kind smiles and a warm laugh.

For the half-dozenth time, he turned his eyes to the letter laying on his chest.

Dear Travis,

Firstly, I want to say how much I enjoyed the most recent Silver Shroud, even if big cliffhangers really annoy me! I'm trying my best to become a more patient person, but it's difficult sometimes, you know? Waiting for good things is so hard most of the time. If there's anything living in the Commonwealth has taught me, though, it's how to deal with hard things.

If I'm honest, I'm not sure I'd have made it out here without the friends I've made and your show keeping my spirits up. I know you like to be a little hard on yourself for kicks sometimes, but I sincerely hope you never quit. You have so much potential, and your work means a lot to me. I know I'm not the only one, either. Keep your chin up!

Sincerely yours,

QUILL

P.S., Ella Fitzgerald outdoes Danny Kaye, hands-down. Sorry to have to disagree with you on that one!

Her name wasn't written quite as pretty as he was used to, but he still found himself captivated by each and every elegant swoop and curve on the page. He'd never had a fixation on another person's handwriting before, but, then again, he'd never received complimentary letters, either. A time for everything, he supposed.

Goosebumps decorated Quill's skin as she pulled on her well-worn sleep clothes, thin enough to breathe in the still-warm night air. After her nightly routine of double-checking the door to ensure it was locked, she settled herself into bed. The mattress smelled more than a bit like mildew, but it was one of the nicer ones she'd found in all her time exploring the world outside her Vault. It had been quite the sight to watch Socrates carry it all the way home. A smile spread across her face at the memory, but a frustrated huff followed right after.

Sleep was evading her.

She rolled over onto her side, staring at the little specks of moonlight that seeped through the boarded-up window and scattered themselves across the floor. With enough deep breaths and reassurances from her robotic companion, she'd managed to convince herself that the meeting with Travis had actually gone pretty well despite her nerves.

The relief she felt did nothing to soothe her nearly obsessive replaying of the events over and over again as she closed her eyes.

He was handsome. She'd always sort of expected that, she supposed, but him being as cute as he was had really thrown her for a loop on top of the surprise of meeting him face-to-face so unexpectedly. His tall, lean form was very clear in her imagination. She peeked an eye open and tuned her ears to see if she could hear Socrates moving around outside. He was prone to frequent security rounds, but by and large spent his nights in his power-saving mode near the front door. Though his movements made no sound on the floor, she couldn't hear the telltale sound of his exhaust fan.

Rolling onto her back again, she thought about those long, elegant fingers, how they'd felt gripping her own. Her teeth dug into her lower lip as she let her hand wander down her torso, ticking across the soft, faint hairs that ran from her navel to her mound. She took a slow, steadying breath in.

Travis, too, was fighting sleep. His mind refused to give his body any relief from thoughts about Quill, about her pretty face and the soft, feminine curves that filled her clothes so perfectly. Guilt tickled at the nape of his neck, raising goosebumps along his forearms and legs as he thought about the long, open way he'd stared at her as she walked away, tracing her hair as it danced in the breeze before moving down to lock onto her ass and hips.

He groaned in frustration as his cock started to throb. Since he'd settled in, he'd been fighting off an erection, but his inability to think about anything other than how the rest of her was probably even softer than her hand had been was only pulling his head further into the muck. There was a tension in his core that was slowly spreading to his back and neck, his limbs, and he flopped back and forth in discomfort, unable to settle.

Yawning, he pointed his toes toward the wall and arched his back, relieving none of the nagging stiffness. A few small holes had broken through the rustier spots in the roof, he noted as his eyes traced the spot. He'd have to get up on the roof and patch the thing, he thought with a frown. He was already none too keen on the height of the trailer itself, so the idea of going higher didn't exactly thrill him.

Thoughts of home maintenance were only able to occupy him for so long. Pondering how nice it would be to have Quill keep him company while he did the repair work rapidly devolved into wondering what sort of sounds she'd make if he grabbed her hips and pulled himself into her from behind, burying his face in her hair and grinding against her like he'd fantasized as she walked away. His fully-stiff erection nagged at him, trapped within the fitted thigh of his jeans.

He pulled his shabby little pillow over his face and sighed deeply into it.

Wriggling around in her sheets, Quill was ahead of the curve, but stalling out a bit. Her hand was buried between her thighs, tracing lazy circles around her bud, but she wasn't moving any closer to where she was trying to go. The motion felt good, but she was struggling to relax enough to fully enjoy herself. Exhaling bluntly, she ran her hand down her face, still thinking about Travis and his tall form, his long fingers. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to imagine them in place of her own, touching her just the way she liked, petting her hair and rubbing at her slickened clit. She let a grunt slip, nearly a groan, and her whole face felt burning hot as she bit down on her lip to keep herself quiet. If Socrates found her like this, she'd die of embarrassment.

Travis lost his battle with temptation after a few more minutes of attempting to deny himself the release he so badly needed, running a hand over the jutting bulge in his trousers. He was burning from his core to the tip of his ears.

It felt dirty, perverted to pleasure himself while thinking explicitly about a real person—it always had to him, even when he'd had crushes before. But between the thoughtful, borderline romantic letters, her unique beauty, and having real physical contact with her, he could picture no one else as he fought with his belt buckle, whimpering when he tugged his cock free.

"Fuck." he whined quietly as he began to stroke himself. He moved lightly at first, but rapidly built up more and more pressure, leaving him throbbing and leaking into his own grip.

Quill, still threatening to chew a hole straight through her lower lip, was finally making progress towards her goal. Her hand took a break from strumming herself to tug and roll one of her straining nipples between her thumb and forefinger, which made her shudder. Her toes began to curl the tighter the knot in her gut became, her breathing labored. She wondered if he would feel heavy on top of her, pressing her down into the bed.

"Oh, Travis." she breathed.

The object of her fantasizing was blowing past her despite his early stalling. It wasn't terribly often that he allowed himself this sort of indulgence thanks to his guilt, so his stamina was nearly nonexistent. He lacked any ability to meter out the pleasure, to keep himself on the edge so he could enjoy himself longer. No, he was abusing himself harshly, fist working hard around his erection as his hips mirrored the rhythm he'd set.

His imagination was even less controlled than his hand, fully envisioning a naked Quill on top of him as his unoccupied hand gripped the edge of the metal bed frame for dear life. He wanted her there with him, to feel the heat coming off of her body as she rubbed her naked skin against his, to meld their lips together as she rode him. Envisioning the sway of her breasts as she did so was more than he could handle, and he shot his load all over his stomach and hand with a pitiful cry. The unexpected rush of pleasure made his whole body twitch and writhe, which was nearly enough to overwhelm the embarrassment at his sudden end.

Nearly.

As he went about cleaning himself up, Quill was balled up with tension, her knees toward the ceiling as she huffed and hissed. Her arm burned with the exertion, her eyes screwed completely shut as she pictured Travis burying his face in her throat while he touched her. For a split second, she could smell him again, that tang of cedar and old books that had ridden the breeze and tickled her nose as they'd shaken hands.

"Shit." she groaned as her orgasm broke over her, feet scrambling for purchase as her hand knotted in the sheets. Every hair on her body stood on end as she swallowed back more whimpers, arching her back high.

Suddenly she could hear the humming of an exhaust fan.

"Is everything alright, ma'am?" Socrates called from around the corner.

"Fine, Soc." she responded quickly, gripping the blanket to pull it up to her chin. "Go back to sleep."

"Yes, ma'am."

Both young people were trembling hard as they curled up in their respective beds, Quill's brow still decorated with beads of sweat as Travis tossed away the cloth he'd used to tidy his mess. They were red from the crown of their heads to the base of their necks, both still pricked with discomfort despite the relaxation that also washed over them. The spots beside them weren't any emptier than usual, but felt ice cold, regardless.

Travis held the newest letter to his chest, running his fingers over it as he let his eyes close. She did the same, fingers tapping as she listened quietly to the radio. Already, she had the itch to write more. The raven-haired young man was quick to fall into unconsciousness, his lids heavy and breathing slow. The former Vault-dweller mirrored his posture, curled up on her side and patting at the empty space absentmindedly.

As they drifted off, each wondered how long they'd be able to keep their thoughts and feelings to themselves.