Oz wanted everything to be perfect. It looked perfect, but, you know, sometimes you can't tell.

    The doorbell rang. Willow was there underdressed for the occasion in a loose-fitting burgundy sweater and a blousy flower-print skirt. <Funny how she looks more attractive the less trashy she dresses,> Oz thought. He noted she had her backpack with her, carried at her side.

    "Come in, " he said.

    "Wow, all dressed up," she said. She looked around. "Dinner, candles, music," she continued. < He's taking this pretty seriously, > she thought. "I never realized how sweet you could be, " she complimented him.

    He just paused, then said, "Maybe we should eat, " motioning in the direction of the flimsy tube-steel table. < Not particularly dressy, > he thought, < but it's the thought that counts. >

    They sat.

    "Where'd you get the food?" she asked.

    "Well Von's is pretty big on the prepared food thing nowadays," he replied.

    "I just can't get over how this this is, " she said while taking of abite of the chicken piccata.

    "Well, I wanted it to be special, " he said, pointing out the obvious.

    "Oz, that is just..." She paused, realizing she was going to say 'sweet' again, "...wonderful of you, but it's not like this is big thing."

    "It's not?" he asked, his incredulity showing.

    "Of course not. It's just a game. Harmless fun, " she said.

    "If that's all this is to you, perhaps we should just skip dinner entirely," he said levelly, deliberately putting down his fork. Suddenly, he didn't feel very hungry.

    "Oz, please don't be mad." She smiled, and squeezed his hand gently. "It's going to be fun, really," she said.

    "Why don't you lie down on the couch over there and take off your shirt?" she continued. "Do you have anyplace I can change? I want to look right, but I can't surprise you if you watch."

    "There's a bathroom upstairs," he said. < This is definitely a side of Willow I haven't seen, > he thought. < Underneath that ingenous exterior lies a wild woman! I just hoped, > he paused mid-thought, < that she would be different; y'know, nice. > He sighed mentally as he waited for her to change. < But she _is_ nice! Wonderful, beautiful. Just not as innocent as she seems. > It felt like he had lost something, like _they_ had lost something, <although in truth,> he reminded himself, < it was never really there to begin with. >

    He heard her come down the stairs, but because of the angle of the counch he couldn't see her. < She probably looks incredible, > he thought. Of course, what he saw was the last thing he expected.

    Willow looked down on him dressed in a doctor's white lab coat, a stethoscope resting around her neck. Otherwise, she was still  fully clothed in what she came in wearing. She smiled.

    "You take 'playing doctor' pretty literally, " he said, more than a little confused.

    "Well how else are you supposed to do it?" she replied, eyebrows coming together in a way he could only describe as cute.

    "Well if that's how you like it," he said, and shrugged.

    "So do you want to start now?" she asked.

    "Um, sure," he said.

    "So how are you feeling?" she asked in her best bedside manner.

    "A little confused," he said. 'Cause he was.

    "Hmm, could be several things. A stroke, dementia, pretty much anything involving brain damage or changes in neurotransmitter levels," she pondered.

    "What? Why are you talking like that, WIllow?" Their wonderful evening together was turning into a crazed nightmare.

    "Hmm, speech is clear. I think that probably rules out stroke, but I want to make sure." She held up two fingers in a v.

    The obscence gesture only added to Oz's confusion. "Two," he said.

    "And what year is it?" she asked.

    "1998...unless the Hellmouth has been doing something funky, chronologically speaking. This isn't, like, 2026, and I've been in suspended animation or time traveling or something?" he said.

    "That's an interesting reply," she said. < Hey, he's good at this, > she thought. "What is this Hellmouth you speak of?" she asked, in her best poker face.

    "I think the name pretty much speaks for itself. Gateway to Hell, right here in Sunnydale. You once told me it was right under the library," he said.

    "It sounds like you may be suffering for some sort of hallucinations," she said. "Have you ever taken any mind-altering drugs?"

    "Well, yeah, but only a few times, and not recently." < This is just too wierd to be happening, > thought Oz.

    "Hmm. Tell me more about this, 'Hellmouth,' then," said Willow in her best Important Doctor Voice.

    "Like I said, it's the gate to Hell. Attracts all sorts of wierd stuff. But mostly vampires," he said.

    "Come now," she said in the same voice she had just used, "we both know vampires aren't real."

    "Willow,  WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I've met vampires! Heck I was friendly with one of them." She looked at him as if he were a raving lunatic. "Really! His name was Angel, and he dated your best friend, whos also happened to be the Vampire Slayer and had to send him to Hell to save the world from being sucked into a magical vortex!"

    She gave him her best 'you poor thing' look. "Do you have any idea how preposterous that sounds?" she asked consolately. "I'm afraid you are likely suffering from psychotic delusions."

    "It's true! We go to school together with the Slayer! You're my girlfried, for God's sake, " he protested.

    <Wow, I have never seen him this worked up,> she thought. <He'd make a great actor.>

    "I'm sorry, but we've never met before today," she said. He looked at her apparent confusion. "My name is Dr. Willow Rosenberg. I'm 26 and a first-year resident at Sunnydale General Hospital. You," she said while leafing from a pile of papers that Oz  _swore_  weren't really there, "are the founder of the local internet startup company Dingo, " she continued blithely. "Your employees brought you in here, to the mental ward of Sunnydale General, " she waved at the living room -- it  _was_  a living room, Oz insisted -- "after you began acting strangely at work. Apparently you think you are some sort of rock musician."

    "I AM a rock musician!" Oz cried in protest.

    "No, you are a computer programmer who has deluded himself into thinking he's a rock musician. Who knows vampires and lives on the mouth of Hell, " she corrected him.

    <This is too Twilight Zone,> Oz thought. <It CAN'T be real.>

    "But, but, I really can play! Let me get my axe!" he said.

    "Inasmuch as I would love to hear you play your 'axe,'" she said, saying 'axe' with utter contempt towards its reality, "that still wouldn't explain your extensive knowledge of computers."

    "I think they're cool, that's all," he said.

    "Come now, " she said, "Mr., ah -- Oswald, which is the more rational proposition? That you live like some sort of movie hero, battling the undead while composing rock n' roll, hacking into secret government databases, and, oh, all the while probably getting perfect test scores in Sunnydale High?"

    "Or is it more rational that you are a brilliant, albeit overworked programmer who is desperately seeking an escape from reality?" < He's not the only one who can act, > she thought. < Though I have Giles to thank for showing me the prim-and-proper routine. >

    He appeared to seriously think that over.

    "I guess...I guess you must be right. It would make more sense that way," he said, then paused, considering.

    "No! That's not right!" he insisted. "There is one thing I'm sure is real."

    "I love you, Willow. I know it with all my heart. What we have, it can't be a delusion."

    < Wow, he's really pulling out all the stops! > she thought. < Easy, girl. Compose yourself. >

    "I'm afraid such a doctor-patient relationship would be a clear violation of medical ethics," she deadpanned.

    "NO." He seized her around the arms in desperation. "Our love is real. WE'RE real."

    "Oswald, if you continue in such obviously violent acts, I shall have no choice but to call for the orderlies to restrain you," she said in her sternest voice.

    He let go of her like she was red-hot and poisonous.

    "There, don't worry," she said in her most soothing tones, stroking his hair. "I'll take the best care of you, even if we have to put you in the looney bin for the rest of your life." She couln't help but smile a bit at the sillyness of it. < The 'looney bin?' Oh yeah, good choice of words, > she thought.

    "Well, I guess this is it then," he said, resigned to his fate. He closed his eyes, hoping it was just a bad dream that he could wake up from. < But it isn't, > he thought.

    "Shh, that's right, rest," she said, still stroking his hair. "I'll go get the orderlies, so we can wheel you to your nice new padded cell," she said, somehow managing not to let laughter into her voice. God knew she couldn't keep a straight face anymore. < Thank goodness he closed his eyes, > she thought.

    "You like it here at the Sunnydale ward," she said, backing away from the couch.

    He heard her voice grow more distant as she got up to leave the room. "We have painting, and sculpting, and three Napoleons," he heard her say. "You'll fit in just fine." He heard the door close, and he knew he was alone.

    "Wow, you are INCREDIBLE!" said a very familiar voice.

    "Willow?" he asked hesitantly. "Is that really you?"

    < Please, please, please, > he thought.

    "No it's 'Dr. Willow Rosenberg, M.D.! Of course it's me, silly!" He cracked open an eye. <Looks like my house,> he thought.  She was leaning over him, wearing a big silly grin. A doctor's white lab coat and stethoscope lay on the floor nearby.

    "You had me absolutely convinced that you were crazy!" she enthused.

    "I'm not?" he asked.

    "The way you act, who could tell? You, my friend," she wagged a finger at him, " are Academy material."

    "I'm not having another delusion, am I?" he asked. "This time I'm an actor?"

    "Oh come off it!" she admonished. "That has to be the best game of 'Doctor' I've ever played." He looked at her in that 'I'm-a-confused-mental-patient' sort of way. "You _do_  remember? We agreed that I'd come over here, and I could pretend I was a doctor. Like I used to do with Xander when we were kids."

    Everything suddenly made sense to Oz.

    "Willow, that is _so_ not how you play doctor," Oz said in relief. He sat up.

    "Well, how else are you supposed to do it?" she asked, perplexed.

    "Willow, it's a euphemism," he explained.

    "For what?" she asked innocently.

    "Take a look around and tell me what you think," he said.

    "Well, there's this beautiful candlelit dinner, and you had this really romantic music playing before, and you're all dressed up but with no place to go," she said.

    "Ohhhh no," she said. "You thought this would be our first -- our first -- our first _time_, together, and here I am blithely pretending it's some sort of kid's game." She kissed him in the tenderest way. "I am _so_  sorry. I've ruined everything," she mourned.

    "Well, no --" he began.

    "How could I not? I mean, here we are in the middle of this wonderful dinner, and I start acting like a doctor, while you pretend to be going crazy." She paused. "Wait, if you didn't know we were pretending --"

    "Ohhhh God!" she scrambled away from him and curled up in a small ball on the other side of the couch, eyes squeezed shut and hidden behind her right hand.

    He moved to comfort her.

    "Do not touch me! I am Scum Girl! I am too evil to survive the light of day!" she cried in a voice that would have done justice to a Biblical prophet.

    "Willow, that's ridiculous," he said. She was the sweetest, most beautiful woman he knew.

    "You're right! Pond scum is much too highly evolved to be me! I'm so low on the evolutionary scale I have yet to be recognized my modern science!"

    "I am lower than the prions that infest the bacteria that live in the worms that inhabit the dirt that is trod beneath your shoe!"

    "I am utterly unworthy to be in the same space-time continuum as someone as kind and good as you!"

    "Willow..." he said. He gently touched her shoulder.

    "Unworthy!" she cried.

    He tried again, with identical results.

    Time passed, and Willow peeked out from behind her hand. Oz was nowhere to be seen.

    < Maybe I can sneak out, > she thought. <I know things have to be made right between us, I just can't face him now. >

    Slowly, she got up.

    "You know, you look so cute like that, peeking out from under your hands," said a voice behind her.

    She jumped away like a shocked cat.

    "Oz!"

    "Well, yeah. Who else were you expecting?" he said.

    "It's just that....how can you be so cool when I nearly drove you out of your mind?" she asked. "Come to think of it, why didn't you realize I was pretending? I wasn't exactly using proper medical terminology at the end. Plus, there were logical holes you could drive a truck through."

    "I guess I assumed if you said it, it must be true," he said. "Willow, I love you. I trust you implicitly. I could never stay angry at you."

    "There's got to be more to it than that," she said. "I know if I were in your position, I'd be angry and embarassed. I wouldn't want to see me for weeks. Offensive me, that is. Not offended me."

    "Willow, I was, really, but then I got a good look at myself and a good look at you, and I just could stay angry," he said.

    "Why?" she asked.

    "Anger and violence never solve anything," he said. "My parents -- you know, the people I never talk about? -- were -- are like that." They'd get into these big arguments and it'd either end by them pouncing on each other like rabbits, or my father roughing up my mother. And me, sometimes."

    "But he was possessed, right?" she asked.

    "Willow, this was in Australia, not the Hellmouth," he clarified.

    "On drugs?" He shook his head no.

    "Alcoholic?" Another negative.

    "Well he must have been a real troubled character, like an ex-con," she concluded. "'Cause Australia was settled by convicts and..."

    "Willow, he was a mathematics professor," Oz said.

    "Well I don't get it, then. Why was he so violent?" she asked.

    "Y'know, I never figured that out. Maybe if I stayed, instead of moving in here with my aunt and uncle, I'd know," he said thoughtfully. "What I do know is that I never want to be a part of anything like that again, " he concluded.

    Willow paused to think back on the events of this past evening. Really think. "God, Oz, " she said, "I must've really put you through hell, and I didn't even notice."

    "'Salright. Really." He stood up, and drew her close, and closed his eyes for a while.

    "No, it's not alright!" she insisted. "This is all Xander's fault. I should probably serve him his spleen for doing this," she grumbled.

    "The spleen, huh?" asked Oz, and smiled quietly. "Where exactly is that?" he asked deliberately.

    "Right here," she said absently, tracing an irregular shape on his abdomen.

    "Here?" he asked, tracing a shape on her body.

    "No, that's the wrong side," she said. "Here, let me show you." She took his hand and traced the right spot on herself.

    "Oh," he said.

    "How about this part?" he ran a fingertip softy along the back of her arm.

    "Uhm," she said, starting to see where this was going, "tricep."

    "And this one?" He stroked one side of that same arm, gently, along the bone.

    "Radius," she said, a bit breathless."Oz," she continued, "I'm scared."

    He stopped immediately.

    "I mean, don't get me wrong, I've been looking forward to this for the longest time, it's just that...I'm scared. Not of you, but of what'll happen after...what it'll be like."

    "Do you trust me?" he asked.

    She paused, then said, "Yes."

    "Then don't worry. It's not like I haven't done this before. I know what to bring, what to do."

    "Tha-that's good. Experience is a good thing, " she stammered.

    He gently put a finger to her lips.

    "This won't go any farther than you want it to. You don't even have to undress," he said.

    "I don't?" she asked in a mixture of confusion and relief.

    "No. But whatever happens, don't move until I tell you to. OK?" he replied.

    "OK," she said, heart in throat.

    "So what's this part called?"

    "Oz, that's my forehead. Aren't you going to try something harder?" She _immediately_ regretted her choice of words.

    "Maybe," he said simply.

    "What's this one called?" he asked, stroking her shoulder, then planting a single kiss.

    "Posterior deltoid," she said.

    "And this?" He touched the back of her hand agonizingly softly.

    "Mi-mi-middile phalange," she stammered.

    "And this?" He kissed her on her jaw in front of her ear.

    "Umn...umn..." He was still kissing her. "Temporo-mandibular joint, " she gasped out. "Can I move now?" she asked a bit desperately.

    "No," he said.

    "Tell me this part's name," he said, pointing to the dent between her nose and mouth.

    "Philtrum," she finally forced out.

    He kissed her.

    She moved.

    "Oz?"

    "Yes Willow?"

    "I'm not afraid anymore."