I think I'm dying.
I'm not stupid. I was shot in the chest. It's pretty obvious it's fatal.
I can hear Scully shoot my shooter. Justice. Perhaps not right morally. I find I don't care.
She's holding my head in her lap gently, very gently, and she's putting pressure on the wound.
Hold me tighter Scully, hold me tighter.
Her voice is filled with desperation. She's shouting for help, for me.
I think I'm dying.
I can't breathe properly. Is this it then? Is this how I'm going to die? On the floor of a bar?
In Scully's arms. At least I know that by taking that bullet she didn't have to.
Scully. I try to form her name with my mouth, but it won't take shape.
She's talking to me. She says something funny. I smile, but I don't think she can see it. She's so rarely funny. Around me anyway.
I think I'm dying.
Don't leave me Scully. Don't let the paramedics take me away.
I think I'm in love with you Scully, even though I know you don't return my feelings.
I want to tell you, but I've lost command over my voice, I can't make my lips form the words.
I think I'm dying.
They're putting me onto a stretcher. Breathings so hard, but she's clutching my hand tightly. I want to squeeze back, to reassure her, but my hand won't work.
It's all going black.
I think I'm dying.
My eyes close. I treasure that last glimpse of her.
I think I'm dying.
Scully…
I'm dying…
Mulder: You thinking about Pendrell?
Scully: I realised I didn't even know his first name.
Poor Pendrell!! I always really liked him and was sad when he died. Even though I'm not how you spell his name. Could you tell it was him? I tried to make out it was Mulder dying...