Warning: Apparently because it's Peter Vincent you have to give language warnings. I'm inclined to say that if you've seen the film you'd know what to expect!

Summary: Peter Vincent finds an unwelcome visitor in his home.

Disclaimer: All I own are the DVDs (although Fright Night is on pre-order).

A/N: I have seen numerous Peter Vincent stories featuring someone else, but none with Donna! So I thought I'd rectify that.

Peter's Little Fright in the Night


He was padding about in his black silk dressing gown when he heard the unusual noise. "Ginger? Is that you?" Peter called out into the darkness.

"Oi! Who are you calling ginger, emo boy?" demanded a harsh female voice with a distinctive London accent. "Just because you are the latest part of the British brain drain; or should that be no-brainer drain?" She then clearly cackled at him.

"Come out from where you are hiding," he ordered the voice; and gasped when the woman stepped into the light. He could instantly see why she had objected to the possible name of Ginger; as her hair was a blaze of lovely long gingerness. "Who are you?" he asked breathlessly.

"I'm Donna Noble, Sunshine. And you ain't met anyone like me before." She gave him a very confident smile; a smile that he wanted to wipe from her face.

"Get the fuck out of my home!" he yelled, as anger roared through him at her intrusion. "How did you get in here?"

"Don't start on me! You're the one that left the front door wide open so that anyone could waltz in here," she huffed angrily back. "And you've got a bloody cheek because you invited me!"

"I did? When the fuck did I do that?" he snapped back. "I'd have remembered asking someone like you."

"What do you mean by 'someone like me'? You'd better not be dissing me, mate! Because my hand will find the side of your face quicker than a banker on your life savings," she fumed at him. Bloody cheek! Just because she was obviously not what he was expecting. "You threw a letter at me, inviting me back here… at least I thought you were asking me… and now I'm not so sure." She stood stock still for a few seconds, and took deep breaths, briefly closing her eyes before saying more calmly, "It was the blonde by the side of me, wasn't it? I am such a bloody idiot! Well, thanks for nothing Mr Vincent, and perhaps I'll see you some time in London when you get homesick."

"Wait!" he cried out when she turned to leave. "You don't have to go yet. Have a drink at least. Give me a chance to hear a familiar accent for a while, and catch up on news from there."

She shook her head at him. "That's very kind of you, but you don't have to do that. You're forgiven, and I'm an airhead who can't recognise the bloody obvious."

"You rather like that word 'bloody', don't you?" he asked conversationally.

"And you like the word 'fuck' but I wasn't going to beat you up over it," she said with a shrug. "It takes all sorts to make a world."

'And some of them have killer racks,' he thought as he eyed her up. He held up a glass to entice her. "Go on, Donna; have a drink with me. Just one and I promise not to tell anyone," he offered.

She regarded the glass suspiciously. Why was he even bothering to make the offer? "What aren't you going to tell them? No, don't bother answering that. I already feel lower than a snake's belly," she confessed.

"Then what harm can a glass of something do? We can sit and chat, you can dish the dirt on your friends and then you can be on your way back to blighty," he schmoozed her by placing a glass of something delicious smelling in front of her. "Sit down and relax for ten minutes."

"Oh, alright!" she huffed, and sat herself down opposite him. Cautiously she picked up the glass he had offered and sipped it. The warming tang of Drambuie hit her palate, and she couldn't help the sigh that escaped her lips. She swept her gaze around his home. "Nice place you've got here. Positively screams playboy, what with all the leather and animal bits. Though that might mean you are gay…" She caught his gaze as she almost finished, and spluttered to a halt. "Sorry. Don't mind me. I'm sure I was born with my foot in my mouth. And I'm sure you are a red blooded male who seduces dozens of women."

Peter felt the need to defend himself to this interloper but decided to change the subject instead. "Tell me, Donna. Why are you here in Vegas? You don't look the gambling type."

"Oh I'm not," she eagerly agreed. "I'm looking for the Doctor." Thinking that she had explained all, she took another sip of her drink.

"There are plenty of doctors about here. Are you ill or something?" he cautiously asked, wondering if he'd landed himself with a nutter. That was all he needed that evening. His world seemed to be full of fan girls, stalkers and nutters.

"Not a doctor, you silly bugger! I mean the Doctor. Have you not heard of him?" she asked him with the sweetest smile.

He looked back at her completely puzzled, so she tried to clarify with, "Tall skinny bloke… and he travels in an old fashioned police box."

"Ah!" Peter uttered in understanding. Donna was definitely a nutter who had singled him out for a position in their fantasy world. "I think you've mistaken me for someone who believes in fairies or something equally weird."

"I know you believe in vampires," Donna retorted. "And not many people do that!"

"No I fucking don't!" he instantly denied.

"Yes you do," Donna insisted. "So you can stop denying it as soon as you like." She swept a hand to indicate all the items on careful display. "You wouldn't have all this unless you believed in something supernatural."

How the hell did she know that? "What do you want from me, Donna Noble?" he suddenly demanded, unsettled by her insight.

She stopped midway through enjoying her drink and considered him, as he draped himself expertly in a chair. "I don't want anything from you, Peter Vincent; not now, not ever. Did I say that clearly enough for your hidden microphones? I'm not out to entice you into a sex scandal, so you can get that idea out of your head. I only came in through the door because I thought you had invited me; but I clearly got that wrong, and I am not the Ginger you wanted." She then carefully put her almost empty glass down on the table in front of her, and stood up. "It was nice to meet you, and thank you for the drink," she told him politely. And then she made her way towards the door she came in through.

His curiosity got the better of him. "Donna? How will you know when you have found him?" Peter asked her before she disappeared completely.

She gave him a small smile. "There'll be something up, something that points to alien activity; but most of all there'll be the sound. There's no sound like it when he lands." She then sighed happily. "He made it snow for me. How many men can do that? Oh and… good luck with hiding behind all those tattoos," she said pointing at his neck.

With a wave of her hand she was gone, back out into the ether. Or so it seemed. Peter thoughtfully finished his glass of Drambuie, and then went to refill it. 'Cheeky cow! And aliens indeed,' he thought with amusement, 'how fucking unlikely is that?'