AN: Just cross-posting things from my blog and ao3 account! Title is from the song Gone, Gone, Gone.

Disclaimer: I'm the proud owner of a signed Brandon Sanderson book. That's it.

Title: hope dangling by a string

Words: 635

Summary: Harry is slightly incapacitated, and Murphy helps.


Murphy wondered if this was what Atlas felt like.

Then again and knowing her life, Atlas would be real and would probably have homicidal tendencies toward tall wizards who couldn't keep their mouths shut. If that was true, then she was feeling empathetic for the Titan. Instead of having the world on her shoulders for all of eternity, she was trying to bring a wayward wizard to her home that had the attention span of kindergartner.

It was close enough.

"Weeeee…" sang Harry. He swung their entangled hands back and forth, clearly lost in his alcohol-fuzzy world. Thankfully, he had enough sense left in him to keep holding her hand until they got back to her place.

The couch was going to have to suffer, but at least Murphy was going to get some joy out of it in the morning. Hangover!Harry was an amusing facet of his personality that she loved needling. Something about the added amount of crankiness and dramatics amused her dearly.

"Muuuurphy," he said, stretching the word out in a way that was reminiscent of her nephews when they whinged. He tugged on her hand. "Kaaaaaarrrrriiieee…"

Murphy swore. This was the fifth time that he wanted to stop and something like staring at the moon, or wanting to follow imaginary pixies that could be seen only under the influence. "What now?" she asked tiredly.

Harry stopped walking. He swayed on his feet, causing him to clutch her hand tighter. He blinked rapidly, as if he was suddenly seeing her being backdropped in a bright light, and his mouth widened. Nothing came out. Instead he continued his impression of a goldfish.

Murphy was surprised. Mac's newest brand of ale had turned him into a chatterbox. Just a few minutes ago he was rambling about how proud he was about Molly's progression as his apprentice (and he was near tears, too).

She raised an eyebrow. "Got anything to report?"

"Woah," said Harry. He was staring at her with an astonished expression on his narrow face. "You…woah…" He reached out, his fingers tracing the space in the air near her head.

She was worried. So far he was good about not doing magic. The last thing SI, Harry, and that Gandalf Council of his needed were reports of a drunk wizard running around Chicago. He already caused enough property damage when sober.

"Harry, hey, look at me." Murphy caught his free hand (it sent a slight jolt down her spine when they made contact) and gave them both a squeeze to get his attention back on her. "Are you doing magic right–"

"I shee you," he interrupted, their eyes nearly meeting. "I shee you, I shee you, I shee you." His gaze steadied, and Murphy was momentarily struck by the color of his eyes. He always avoided making eye-contact, and now she understood why. It was scarily intimate with him, just seeing the naked expression of awe plastered on his face, other emotions flashing in his eyes that she could almost see reflected–

Murphy looked away to break the sudden connection. Her mouth felt dry and that breath she was holding wasn't helping. "And what about me?" she asked in a whisper.

It was probably the best that she couldn't see his expression, because his words caused more of a jolt than the touch of his hands did. His fingers flexed, and she could have sworn that he was caressing her thumb when speaking.

"So boo-tiful," he mumbled. "All light. You glow. Just wanna keep lookin'." He let go of one of her hands, her breath stopping when he brushed a tendril of her hair out of her face, and allowed her gaze to rest on his cheek. "You're goin' to blind me one day."