The cemetary was dead. A fluttering autumn breeze eddied the dry leaves around the gravestones, and wisps of cloud limped across the darkness and the waning sliver of a crescent moon. Shadows, solitude and silence. And a Slayer.

Or was it an Alderaanian princess?

"Nothing ever happens on Halloween, says Giles. Except when it has done every Halloween that I've been in the vamp-dusting business," grumbled Buffy Summers as she picked her way across the soft grass, one hand grasping a wooden stake and the other smoothing her double-croissant hairdo. "Better safe than sorry, blah blah Hellmouth, blah blah patrol. He could have mentioned it before I hired my costume."

The freshly lain earth of a new grave in front of her shifted ever so slightly, and then was forced aside as a recently unborn fledgling fought his way from the cradle of dirt. Buffy looked on in vague amusement for a couple of minutes as the vampire twisted and scraped his way amateurishly out of the grave, and then staked him through the heart as soon as his chest was free of the earth.

"That really was too easy. There was me thinking that you vamps had some sort of supernatural strength and agility, and you can't even get up off the ground! I'm missing out on the partying for this - can't you at least make it a bit of a challenge?" She looked down at her pristine gold and red Princess Leia bikini and reconsidered her words. "On second thought, how about I just hand over the stake and let you do it youselves?"

Half past ten. The party was still beckoning.

And then Buffy Summers came up with A Plan: How To Get Rid Of Patrolling Duties In Responsible Yet Quick Manner Which Only Utilises Minimal Force But Possible Large Amounts Of Cash, Thus Allowing Much Time For Partying With Best Friends And Cute Frat Boys Whilst Wearing A Teeny Gold Bikini.

This plan also went by the name of Spike.

She strode between the mossy gravestones and pale memorial bouquets towards Spike's derelict crypt, threw open the door, and dropped Mr Pointy in surprise.

"Slayer?" gasped Spike, momentarily losing his composure as he clambered off a naked body and tripped over one of the many empty beer bottles that littered the chilly stone floor. "Bollocks!" He sat up and Buffy's eyes trailed over the unzipped orange flightsuit that flapped tantalizingly off the vampire's tautly muscled torso.

"I see I'm interrupting something. Good. I have a job for you."

"Not interested. Busy."

Buffy removed a small wad of notes from the waistband of her bikini.

Giles had generously donated emergency funds to the Bribing Spike To Help Us Charity. "You'll get paid."

Spike looked hungrily at the cash and then to the lack of beer in the surrounding bottles. "Well..." His gaze darted back to his playmate, whose modesty was only protected by Spike sitting between it and Buffy, and noticed that a rogueish (or should that be wraithish?) smile had lit up the scarred but handsome face underneath a flop of blond hair.

"If all Earth girls are as beautiful as you, I think I'll be extending my list of contacts," said the naked man.

"Bloody hell! I'm not paying you by the hour to gawk at my part-time archenemy!"

"By the hour, Spike? That's impressive. I would have thought you'd have to pay by the two-minute intervals, or does he charge for your post-coital ciagrette breaks?"

"Put it this way, Slayer, your chit-chat is costing me money, so say your bit and get out. Or just get out."

"Here is fifty dollars. You patrol, you slay, you get the cash."

"Make it sixty and I'll do it."

Buffy nodded curtly and Spike zipped up the flightsuit, grabbing his leather trenchcoat from the floor.

"You're leaving? I travelled a long way for this rendez-vous."

"Some other time," said Spike, standing up.

The naked man looked rather put-out. "The New Republic Starfighter Escort Agency said you specifically requested a holo-star!"

"Duty - and cash - calls. You should understand, considering your profession," retorted Spike and walked out of the crypt.

"Hey! Don't I get my flightsuit back?"

"No!" came the hollered reply.

"Sithspit! Next time they can send holos of me instead." Garik Loran looked at Buffy, who was apparently engrossed with studying the floor. "So, do you have any plans for this evening?"

She met his eyes and tried not to meet any other body parts. "It's Halloween. I'm going to a party."

"A party?" There was that winning smile again. "Can I come?"

"Well, it's a costume party, so technically you should at least be wearing something."

Face snatched Spike's discarded leather trousers and red shirt that had been draped across the out of order television. "I'll go dressed as a, as a..."

"Vampire," finished Buffy. "We'll get you a set of plastic novelty fangs."

"Right!" he said, slipping into the trousers. "What's a vampire?"

Finis

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