[T]hen I did the simplest thing in the world. I leaned down... and kissed him. And the world cracked open. ~Agnes de Mille

The first time doesn't count.

She kisses to kill and doesn't stay and linger. She laughs at him as he collapses to the floor. She smiles at his pain, is satisfied with it. Gorged herself on her victory, and ground him into dust under her heel.

But the second time? Oh, that definitely, definitely counts.

He's lying there still, too still, and there's a look almost like peace on his face. Like he had seen something happy before he'd gone, or done something that he'd always wanted to do but never dared before. She doesn't understand, because all he'd done was whisper in her ear. All she'd done was laugh at him.

Why had he whispered tender sweet into her ear like that? She craves to hear his breath tickling her skin again. And that doesn't make any sense. She hates the Doctor. She hates hates hates him.

(but he'd whispered in her ear—

She demands her mother to tell her. "Who's River Song?" Because she thinks she now knows. That whisper fighting its way into her heart: such a brave little soldier.

And Amelia Pond turns and says show me River Song.

It's really the simplest thing in the world, looking in a mirror. Looking glass houses all make sense when you know how to look for them. Melody's always been far, far too good with looking glass houses.

Of course she will be her. Of course. Of course.)

Melody is River. He'd talked about River like she was something special, and she looks at him, lying there sleeping so quiet, too still. The Doctor was never still, always running.

Her mind empties, and all she can think is: He asked for River Song to help him.

Somewhere behind her, Melody's mother is asking her a question, but that's not important. The whisper was the Doctor's secret. (He's entrusted her with his hearts; she almost realizes too late.)

It really is too easy, pulling the countless lives that-will-might-never-be to the fore. They clamor forward, all eager, because this is the Doctor. And she knows, in that instant, why the smart funny nice sarcastic ginger insane funny happy ones are all so eager to give themselves up for him.

Because he is himself. Simply. Precisely. And that is really all that matters.

"Just tell me," she whispers. "Is he worth it?"

Yes, they all, all whisper. Unanimous.

"Yes!" Amelia says. "Yes, he is!"

Mother, I wasn't asking you.

The regeneration spills gold from her, and she steps forward, and kneels down next to him. He looks young, like one of the young men in Leadworth, and she knows that if he had asked her out for coffee—had asked her out for anything, really—she would have said yes.

In a heartbeat she would have said yes.

In a heartbeat.

She slides her hands cool along his jaw, and her thumbs

brush

gently along his cheeks. So soft, and cool. Like music. The golden light spills over his eyes and mouth and hair and mouth and nose and mouth. He breathes, where it had all been so still before, and he looks at her.

"River. No. What are you doing?"

Closer, closer still, swimming in his eyes, looking at her looking at him. Coming closer. Her life pouring into his. And it's bliss, like a galaxy exploding.

"Hello sweetie."

And she kisses him because she wants to.

(tbc)

Thank you, everybody, for your kind reviews. It's a bright spot in my day, like black-eyed susans in a flowerbed. ~madis