As Lilah was stopped at a red light on her way to work, a thought popped into her head. What if she were to be hit by a drunk driver, killed instantly? 'What would my epitaph say?' Beloved daughter? No, because her mother had Alzheimer's and could barely recognize her. Beloved co-worker? Definitely not. Wolfram & Hart was a dog-eat-dog company – and she was the Head Bitch. Beloved friend? Not too many of those. There would not be a Beloved (insert family relation) because she had no family. No father, no siblings, no aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, nieces, nephews – not even godparents or a godchild. No children of her own, no husband – hell, the closest thing to that was Wesley, and they both knew that they were using each other in their own ways. She realized then that she had nothing, no one. So what would her epitaph say? Most likely Gone and Forgotten.

She'd done it to herself. She was her own weakness. She sliced deep into a nerve of vulnerability that only she had access to. She couldn't pretend that she didn't care. There would be no point – she couldn't run from herself. And she began to cry.

She didn't notice the light turn green. Though she did notice, was startled, in fact, when someone tapped on her window. She jumped, turning to look through the window. It was pointless to attempt to dry her eyes. She was shocked to see Wesley, and managed to roll the window down.

"You're lucky it was me behind you – anyone else wouldn't have waited and would have rammed right into you. Never thought you had a deathwish."

Lilah sighed. "And you knew it was me, how?"

"I know what your car looks like. Now you should go before both our cars get totaled."

"Fuck the car!" Lilah pushed the door open and began weaving through idle cars to the sidewalk.

Wesley stood, indecisive for a moment, before going after her. "Lilah!" He had to quicken his pace to catch up. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He grabbed her shoulders.

Lilah flinched, squirming away. "It's a little too late to play the caring boyfriend."

"Something is obviously wrong. You wouldn't just do that if something wasn't."

Lilah glared at him. "Do I look like I need therapy?" She held her hand out to halt his speech. "Don't answer that."

Wesley sighed. "Lilah, you're crying. That is something you never do."

"Stop it! Stop pretending that you care! We're using each other, you know that."

Wesley reached into his back pocket, producing his wallet, and pulled out the signed dollar bill. "Then what was the purpose of this?"

Lilah's breathing halted. "How was I supposed to know you took it seriously? You never let me in."

"You've got that backwards."

"No, I don't. We both have walls."

"Fine. Will you just bloody tell me what's wrong?"

Lilah sighed. "Say I die. Today, tomorrow, or next week. What would my epitaph say?"

Wesley contemplated. "It would say, 'Here lie Lilah Morgan, woman with many hidden insecurities'." He sighed. "Lilah, come here." He grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him. "You let your walls down." He wrapped his arms around her in a hug. "I know who you are, now. We'll make this work." He kissed the top of her head.

Lilah relaxed. Even if he were lying, it worked for the moment.