AND A THIRD MAKES IT EVEN (An Alex Turner Fanfiction)

Chapter 9- Harder To Hide Than I Thought

They stopped by Windmill House for Zia to pick up a few clothes and some toiletries before heading on to Wellesley Residence. The sun was just going down when they drove up the driveway to the hotel. It had been a lovely afternoon, they'd done a fair bit of climbing and walking but Zia didn't feel particularly tired. In fact she felt rather exhilarated.

Miles swung open the door to the room and as Zia walked in she couldn't help the smile that came upon her. Alex moved to the sofa turning on the television and pulling Zia along with him putting his arm around her.

Zia looked at the television screen and then at him "Breaking Bad?"

"It's me favourite thing to watch these days."

"Be glad the series ended, Zia or he would be drivin' you nuts with his mad theories about it."

Alex didn't even take his eyes off the screen as he responded. "Shut up, you wanker, you love it just as much."

Zia snorted in amusement. She brought Alex's face down, and kissed his cheek. "You're so cute, Alex."

"Exceedingly fanciable......don't you mean?" he said throwing back his head coquettishly.

"Nope, that'll be Miles," Zia said blowing a kiss at Miles, which Miles pretended to catch and smash it to his lips.

"You wound me, darlin'" Alex said in a deep undertone giving Zia a smouldering look.

Zia's laughter caught in her throat at his look. She glanced down at his...exceedingly fanciable...mouth, before pulling herself together and out of his arms.

"Stop making those eyes at me! I have a tonne of writing to do!" she jumped off the sofa then.

"You sure about that, love?" asked Miles.

Zia gave him a look of longing as she hugged herself before nodding in resignation.

"Well then there's a desk in Alex's room, if you'd like to use it," he said.

"That'd be best. You boys will keep distracting me otherwise!"

Zia skidded off to Alex's room. She was a little disappointed she couldn't spend more time with the boys but she was also excited about getting some writing done. She was feeling specially inspired after spending such a wonderful day with them.

So she shucked off her borrowed clothes, and got into her comfortable pyjamas and got down to it. She wrote, her words free flowing and fluid, about the pulsing vitality of the Liquid Room juxtaposed to the meditative beauty of the trek to Arthur's Seat, the lively frolicking mess that was Grassmarket, and through it all the company of two strangers who didn't at all feel strange.

By the time she was done it was a little past eight and she jumped remembering she'd wanted to hit a theatre in the evening that day. She went out where Alex and Miles were going over the set they would play for their kick-off gig in London. If they left within the next half hour they just might make it, provided there were still tickets available.

"Guys! Would you like to come to the theatre with me?" she asked. "If you aren't busy of course."

"Not particularly," said Miles. "What d'you have in mind?"

"Ah...well there's this spoken poetry event at Queen's Hall that I'd have liked to go for. It looked really interesting. But it's all sold out, so I thought I could catch a play at Traverse."

"Spoken poetry at Queen's Hall, did you say? Who's performing?" Alex asked with a sudden spark of interest.

"Erm...someone called John Clarke?"