A/N – This is an entirely self-indulgent fulfilment of my headcanon that these three were BFFs back in the day and nothing you say will change my mind ;)
"Bloody idiot," Harry said, throwing open the door to his hotel room so violently that it took a small chunk of plaster out of the wall.
"Complete moron," Connie agreed, following him closely and throwing her handbag onto the nearest bed.
Malcolm stopped to close the door and flick the lock, shutting them away from the rest of the world. He hung his suit jacket on the back of the door and pulled off his tie, by which time Harry had opened the mini-bar and begun to pull out the tiny bottles.
"A total and utter liability," Connie was still muttering darkly, kicking off her shoes and settling back on the bed.
"Gin," Harry replied shortly, handing her a very hastily mixed gin and tonic. Without saying another thing he threw Malcolm a bottle of whisky and opened one for himself. There was a beat of silence as they all drank the first of what Malcolm imagined would be many.
"Bloody idiot," Harry repeated.
"Agreed," Malcolm murmured.
"A complete waste of time," Harry growled, "And now we're stuck here with no hope of escape."
"Oh, don't be so melodramatic," Connie said, "The drinks are on Six, aren't they? It could be worse."
This little hotel jaunt, the culmination of a month long operation, was a joint venture with Six that they had only allowed to happen because Jools Sivitar had insisted they run it together. Six was in charge and they'd insisted on dragging the three of them out to the middle of nowhere, leaving Lucas and the kids to run things from the Grid. They needed Harry and Connie to act the part, to go to the conference that the Slovak drugs baron was gracing, and they needed Malcolm because no one at Six was quite as good as Malcolm.
And, of course, Six had screwed up. The Slovak had got wind and slipped away and now they were stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the mini-bar for entertainment.
"I'm sorry, Malcolm," Harry said suddenly, "You shouldn't have had to deal with that."
"It's alright," Malcolm rolled up his shirt sleeves precisely and sat next to Connie, who shifted over for him, "I wouldn't have been in this job for very long if I hadn't got used to people like Jools Sivitar."
When the operation went belly up, Jools had marched into the office that had been appropriated for Malcolm and let rip, blaming him for everything that had gone wrong. Malcolm, to his shame, had frozen, so angry he couldn't speak, and that's when Harry had come to the rescue, telling Jools exactly what he thought of the botch job Six had made of a month's worth of work.
"Come on boys," Connie said, "Let's go and get something to eat before we drink more than is good for us."
She grabbed Malcolm's tie from where he had dropped it and threw it at him, "Ties and jackets in the restaurant."
As it turned out, dinner had been a good idea, especially since Jools seemed to have cleared out of the hotel almost as soon as he realised his mistake. Malcolm privately did not think Harry would have made it through another encounter. They shared a bottle of wine, one that was precisely mid-range, and charged the whole thing to Six.
Back in Harry's room, the bar was raided with renewed enthusiasm. Connie disappeared off to her room and came back in her pyjamas, clutching a handful of bottles from her own fridge.
"Keeping you up are we?" Harry smirked, the tell-tale slur that was the only sign of drunkenness he ever showed just beginning to creep into his voice.
"Might as well be comfortable," she said, pushing Malcolm over and re-claiming her spot on the bed, "Question Time."
Harry laid back on the other bed, stretched to his full height. Malcolm flicked on the television and settled back, Connie's warm weight comfortable against his arm. She pressed another whisky into his hand and the three of them spent a happy hour heckling the television and the special guest, the shadow home secretary.
This was not the first time the three of them had done this, holed up after an operation and drank until the day was forgotten. It was never Malcolm who instigated it but then the other two knew that they would never have to ask if he was interested. He would have followed Harry anywhere, they both knew that, and Connie was a force of nature who dragged you along before you even knew you were caught.
Halfway through the show, the closeness of the heat in the room and the warmth in his belly from the alcohol combined, and Malcolm felt lightheaded. He leaned forwards, dislodging Connie from her place at his side, and pulled his shirt off over his head. Connie grumbled and turning to berate him, was struck with laughter instead.
"Well I never, Malcolm Wynn-Jones. I had you down as a sensible vest man."
"I'm full of surprises," he said wryly, running hand fondly over the t-shirt he wore. It was from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy original radio recording and it was soft with age and worn at the collar. It was one of his very favourites.
"What about you, Harry?" Connie barely turned her head to look at him, exhaustion just beginning to creep in, "You're a vest man, aren't you?"
Without saying a word, Harry tugged his own shirt over his head to reveal a Led Zeppelin t-shirt in much the same state as Malcolm's.
"Well," Connie said, moving back to her place at Malcolm's side and burrowing into him, her head resting on his shoulder, "I shall never be able to look at either of you in the same way again. Pretending to be all clean cut English gentlemen when really you're hiding this."
"We could say the same of you, seeing you in your pyjamas," Harry smirked.
"These are perfectly reasonable pyjamas," Connie said, "They tell you nothing more about me than you already knew."
"I didn't know you had a liking for apple green and lace," Malcolm said mildly, catching Harry's eye and grinning.
Connie punched his shoulder.
"And now you know I have a mean right hook," she said, "What of it?"
Harry started to laugh, that infectious laugh of his that they heard all too rarely, and then Connie started and Malcolm couldn't help but join in. To anyone listening, they probably sounded mad. Perhaps they all were, a little bit. It was a thought Malcolm had often entertained before.
Soon after that, Harry fell asleep, exhaustion and alcohol combining to make something of a sedative. Connie, her hands steadier than Malcolm's, loosened Harry's belt and eased the covers over him. She picked up his travel alarm clock and set it for the morning, looking down at Harry as she did so.
"He looks peaceful when he sleeps, don't you think?"
Malcolm thought that Harry would look peaceful here, in a room with people whom he actually trusted enough to fall asleep around.
They crept as quietly as they could from Harry's room and then Malcolm insisted on walking Connie to hers.
"You are in a much worse state than me," Connie said, shaking her head at his request, "You're even quieter than usual. You know that means you're pissed. Come on."
Malcolm's room was only a floor up but they took the lift, much safer than the stairs. It was only when he took four attempts to fit his key card into the lock that Malcolm began to agree perhaps he had drunk rather a lot.
He collapsed on his bed and watched from under half-closed eyelids as she searched his fridge and came up with a bottle of water and a packet of paracetamol.
"Drink," she ordered.
He took the bottle obediently and drank the whole thing, swallowing two tablets at the same time.
"You didn't make Harry do this."
"You know as well as I do that Harry sleeping is a noteworthy event," she said, "I'd rather deal with his hangover anyway. You get sarcastic and I can't stand that when I am feeling delicate too. Harry is just useless for most of the day."
"He is useless, isn't he?"
"Now go to sleep," Connie ordered, not unkindly, reaching for his alarm clock to set that too, "You don't sleep enough either. Don't think I haven't noticed."
He barely heard her. His eyes were already half closed.
When he went down for breakfast the next morning, the two of them were already there. Harry was nursing his head with a fried breakfast, Connie with black coffee. Malcolm's usual hangover cure, dry toast and a big mug of tea, was already waiting for him. He sat down and picked up the mug, taking a very grateful mouthful. Harry spared him a glance and a nod before he turned back to his bacon. Connie just smiled and topped up his tea from the pot that sat on the table.