I figured there was truth in the rumours, but I’m so sad to hear it’s been pretty much confirmed that Murray Gold will no longer be composing for Doctor Who. In my opinion, he has written some of the best scores out there. I have thoroughly enjoyed everything he has written for Doctor Who, and I can only hope that the Series 9 and 10 soundtracks will eventually be released so we can continue to appreciate and love his amazing music.
Thank you, Murray Gold, for contributing such such an instrumental (no pun intended) element to 10 series of this show.
He let her sleep, disappearing at dawn for a run,
then sneaking quietly about the apartment, showering, eating, dressing, leaving
again, this time with a note stating he’d be back by noon or before or after,
depending on sun angles and Sno-Cone sale prices.
She found said note around 8:45am and promptly
returned to bed, amused by how amused she was in her present situation. She’d
never woken up in his bed, alone, with his note stating where he was and she’s
sure as hell never crawled back into his bed to stretch luxuriously, surrounded
by Mulderness and wrinkled sheets. Head nested perfectly in the pillow, she
studied his ceiling, then his walls, the windows, curtains, blinds, dresser,
mirror, shelves, shoes and map.
She was also naked.
That was possibly the best part.
She was naked and warm and cozy and had absolutely nowhere
to go and nothing to do.
It’s decadent to make everything from scratch today, he
knows, but she deserves the extra mile today. Every day, really, but especially
She finds him at the kitchen counter, working diligently to
get everything prepared. He tries and fails to swallow the chuckle at her
sleep-crazy hair, the drowsiness tugging at her features.
Even the little line of dried saliva trailing from the
corner of her mouth down the slash of her jaw. Evidence of how hard she’d slept
Good, she’d needed it. Between the precinct, Lily being
sick, and juggling his signing and half-tour schedule, Kate’s been going
full-tilt these last few weeks; the rest had been sorely needed.
“Rick, what’s all this?” Kate asks, though it’s
garbled around a yawn. “What are you making?”
He grins, pouring her a coffee in lieu of answering at
first. Once she’s a few sips in, and her eyes have lost some of their
dreaminess, he brushes his lips over her forehead.
His wife hums, slumping into his affection, her lashes
kissing the tops of her cheeks once again. Rick slips his arms around her
waist, brushing his palm along the line of her spine, hoping the touch infuses
her with everything he hasn’t yet told her this morning. His love, his
appreciation, his desire.
There’ll be time to communicate all of those, but he would
rather she know now; he would rather she carry it with her throughout their
“This is just one part. Prepare to be blown away on
your birthday, Kate.”