The familiar theme music blasted through the room, as the director shouted "Roll!" Suddenly, an announcer’s voice came pouring out of the speakers.

"The plaintiff: Osric "Oz" Johnson. He claims that the defendant chained him up and broke him. He is seeking retribution in both monetary and physical ways." Oz came walking down the aisle, crossing over to the prosecution side of the courtroom. His eyes were cold, his usual bowling shirt and cords replaced with a stern navy blue suit.

"The defendant: Willow Rosenberg. She pleads that the chains were due to necessity, and the mental breaking was a moment of absent lust." Willow glanced nervously around the court room, walking slowly to her seat. She shied away from the bright lights, paying little to no attention to where she was walking. Once she reached the hard bench, she turned towards Oz. He glared at her, his face a mask of anger.

Willow winced, brushing her red hair absently from her eyes. To her shock, a clump of it came out in her hand. Gasping, she touched her locks. Strands of the titian hair came loose in her fingers, fluttering slowly to the floor. Willow began to hyperventilate, looking pleadingly at Oz, her heart racing with fear. He spared no glance at her, instead concentrating on the wood paneling of the courtroom.

Willow stood, trying to cry out in terror, but her lips refused to open. She began to stumble across the courtroom, groping at her hair, tears trickling down her cheeks. And the announcer continued:

"Welcome to the People’s Court!"

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"OZ!"

The tiny red head sat up in her covers, her eyes wide. She stared at the digital clock on her nightstand: 2:41 am.

"Whoa…" she muttered under her breath. Her hands flew unconsciously to her hair, verifying it’s presence. As the reality began to seep in, and the fear of the dream began to slide away, she sighed in relief.

"Just a dream, that’s all, really…"

She moved to the side of her bed, brushing the sheets aside as she placed her feet on the carpet. Walking slowly over to the bathroom, she shook her head, trying to knock all sleepy mayhem from her mind. As she entered the peach tiled room, flipping the switch, the sight of her hollow eyes frightened her.

"Call him, Will…" she said to herself, running the water, splashing it over her face. As rivulets of water streamed down her soft skin, she pondered the source of these nightmares.

Oz.

The boy she loved; the man she hurt. For Xander, someone she felt only animalistic lust for.

As she pictured the guitarist in her mind, his sweet smile, his pained eyes, she felt warm tears add their salt to the cool liquid on her cheeks.

He didn’t deserve to be hurt.

Somehow she would make things right.