Disclaimer: I do not own Bones
Vincent Nigel-Murray seemed to have been made of facts. The small tidbits of information he dropped at seemingly random moments were his shield, a way to hide himself from the world. This shield however, did not protect him from the bullet that ripped into his chest. He felt Booth's hands on him and saw Dr. Brennan's face. Both were frightened and worried, looking at him with such concern. He'd died there, on the floor of the lab that he loved so much. He'd died frightened, not wanting this injury to be the reason his internship had been revoked. He'd died worried Dr. Brennan would find fault with him and send him away. He'd died frightened because he was dying. He knew, from the look on Booth's face and from the soft sad tears Dr. Brennan was shedding that he was going to die. He was scared. And that is how he died. He had not been alone, he had not been in pain, but yet, he was frightened. Seemingly meaningless things, insignificant things people barely left a thought on came to mind and his short life flashed before his eyes. Had he made it a good life? Would his friends think of him? Would they smile and laugh at the fond memories or hide their pain with bitter resentment for his follies? In the end, he was alone. Alone is his mind, alone dying, alone and afraid.
And that was when Vincent Nigel-Murray Nigel Murray's life left him, his face frozen in a frightened state, eyes open wide, mouth slightly ajar, single tear left unshed on his eye and wound pulsing blood from the jagged hole in his chest. He didn't get to hear Brennan's last words to him, reassuring him he didn't have to leave and that he'd been her undoubted favorite.