I've turned the grief to medicine

the echoes of the thunderclaps
reverberation of the dead

Her question is blunt, but it doesn’t mean the answer is that simple. Harper runs a hand roughly over his face, trying to force away the burn of his eyes with the callouses on his fingers. “It’s not that simple Phoebe,” he murmurs, shoulders sloped with defeat and a sudden exhaustion he can’t explain. “For you it was hours, for me - for us - it was a year. I haven’t even had more than a few minutes to even come to terms with you being back.” And for once Harper doesn’t want to have to deal with it. He’s sick of always being the one with the answers, the decisions to make. At least with his heart.

“It’s not about what I did or didn’t sign up for. I grieved you; I had to move on for Jude’s sake.” Jude, always Jude, who slows and becomes sleepy-eyes and complacent the moment Phoebe begins to sing. Recognizing the song as the one always used to cart him off to sleep. Harper reaches a hand forward - but it’s only to lay on Jude’s back above Phoebe’s, rubbing gently. The babe gives a small yawn, forehead nodding against Phoebe’s collarbone as her voice and gentle rocking eases him into the beginnings of a nap.

provides the tempo for the song
describing how all things went wrong