Usual disclaimers, the Doctor and Donna don't belong to me (the tragedy, oh the tragedy...)
Red
It was his favourite time of the day.
Okay, so all of the times of the day were his favourite in one way or another, but this time was his especially special favourite.
As he padded oh-so-softly through the library, he could see Donna asleep on the sofa, a half read book splayed across her stomach, one arm drooped down over the side, her hand lightly grazing the floor.
He tiptoed closer, crouching, then kneeling down on the floor near her head. He let out the softest of sighs as his eyes drank in her form. Every time, his reaction to the vision before him was the same: Glorious. All of it. But particularly her hair. Her beautiful, beautiful red hair.
He's always had a bit of thing for gingers, possibly even bordering on envy, he admitted to himself, but it wasn't just that. With Donna, her hair was the very embodiment of who she was-fiery, vibrant, warm, alive and real. All the things he loved about her. It was soft, so soft, he thought, as he reached out to touch it with feather-light fingers, just like her heart. As he moved even closer so as to brush his face against a few stray locks that splayed over the armrest, he could smell the scent of flowers from her favourite shampoo.
And as he closed his eyes and continued to luxuriate in her smell and feel, he saw the same red in visions of a far away, long-lost homeland, himself standing there, her hand in his, her hair framing a brilliant smile just for him.
Yes, definitely his favourite time of the day.