It seemed to him that in that instant, as he looked
at her wide-eyed, as if a halo of fire rested against her hair
- dimming its brightness and casting her face into shadow - and
behind her there appeared, in the same
instant, to be the faintest suggestion of tall wings falling
sharply back into shadow.
It only lasted a second, but as he stared at her, unwilling or
unable - never able, later, to tell which - to avert
his eyes, it seemed to last an eternity. Her eyes were
full of something he could not quite quantify - but he
could identify parts of it. There was pity there, and ...
Fuck.
Jesus, Scully, why didn't you say something?
In that moment of realisation, the enchantment, or whatever it
was, wore off. He found himself back kneeling
on the road, with blood all over him as he tried to staunch the
flow of blood from his partner's chest. He knew
that she had lost far too much blood to live, but somehow his
conscious mind would not process the fact.
Omigodomigodomigod. Scully?
Scully?
Dana Scully died where she fell. The ambulance her frantic
partner had called for did not arrive in time;
Mulder never afterwards forgave himself for putting them in such
a situation.
But he knew that whatever happened, he could never forget his
clear, bright angel.
