After several determined weeks of research and a hideously expensive shopping trip, Wesley took a trip into the bowels of Wolfram and Hart, threading through dark doors and bright hallways. He was beginning to think he should have brought a cord, or breadcrumbs, to mark the path back, when he found what he had been looking for.
"Hello, Wesley," Lilah said. She was sitting on a couch with her arms spread to either side of her. She eyed the gift bag he was carrying. "You do know it's a few months until Christmas?"
"As if Wolfram and Hart celebrated Christmas," he said. "No; did you think I would forget your birthday?"
Lilah's smile was lopsided and more than a little intrigued. "How very thoughtful of you, Wesley. You do know I'm not getting any older?"
He held the gift bag out to her.
She rose and took it from him. With careful hands she unwrapped the tissue paper, revealing a silk scarf in subtle, smoky shade of gray, threaded through with gold. "It's beautiful," she said. "You realize that you can't stay much longer. This place is for the dead."
"No," he said, "but I wanted you to have something of me."
"Oh, Wes," she said. She was smiling again. "We'll never be done with each other." But she put the scarf on.