A Better Resurrection 
by gchick
jtt1013@yahoo.com

Summary: Today held no such luck for him; he 
was acutely aware of who he was and what he 
walked away from.

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He stood under the pounding spray of water 
until his skin was stained a bright red. He 
did this everyday since he left and he hoped 
he would find one motel shower that was hot 
enough to blister is skin; to cause him pain 
or any emotion, and not just a temporary red 
mark on his skin.

Three months.  One week.  Four days. One 
hour and nine minutes.  That was how he 
preferred to measure his time now.  He no 
longer broke his day into standard time 
increments.  His time could not be measured 
on the best Swiss movements; his time only 
clicked away in his head.

He turned the shower off and wrapped an over 
washed and abrasive motel shower around his 
waist.  Three months.  One week.  Four days. 
One hour and twenty-one minutes.  He took 
his hand and listened to the streamed mirror 
squeak as he cleared a path across it.  Some 
days he would just stare back at the 
reflection in the mirror and if he was 
lucky, he would not recognize the reflection 
he saw.  Today held no such luck for him; he 
was acutely aware of who he was and what he 
walked away from.

Sometimes he wished he had made the choice 
out of free will.  If he had, then his many 
days of utter sadness and agonizing regret 
could be blamed on him.  He had always been 
good at self-flagellation anyway and it 
would have given him a chance to perfect the 
art.  His leaving had not been his choice.  
Scully demanded he leave; said the threat 
was too real and he had to go.  But she 
wasn't to blame either.  They both had known 
of the quite possible possibility, she was 
merely the mouthpiece for the information.  
She had always been the logical one and if 
she had not been in that case, Mulder was 
sure his world would have imploded.

He began to spread the heavy white foam over 
his week unshaven face and then decided 
against it.  He picked up a washcloth and 
scrapped the shaving cream off his face.  "I 
wonder if Scully would like me with a 
beard?"  He immediately cringed at the faux 
pax.  He would not think about those things 
he wanted most to think about.  If did let 
himself travel down the road of memory or 
what ifs, he was sure he would take the gun 
out of his ankle holster and end it.  He had, 
at one point, convinced himself it would 
have been easier for Scully and William to 
live with his death then his separation.  In 
the end he stopped, not because he was 
afraid to do it, but because he could not die 
without them.  He would rather never see or 
hear from them again then be dead and 
buried.  He wasn't sure what the difference 
was ultimately, but it was enough for him to 
not try and end it again.

He methodically brushed his teeth and 
recalled- One week.  Six days. Sixteen hours 
and forty-five minutes in his head.  He had 
driven back to D.C. with the crazy notion to 
finish the game and go back to Scully and 
William, or at the least take them with him.  
He sat in his car.  He had parked it across 
the street from her apartment and he was 
able to see the front window.  As he went to 
pull the lever to open the car door, he saw 
a silhouetted figure walk behind the 
curtained window.  It was Scully, and he 
could tell he was carrying William.  She was 
likely trying to get him to sleep so she 
could dwell on her existence alone.  As he 
watched her move back and forth in front of 
the window, he realized why he had to leave.  
If he had even the smallest bit of faith in 
seeing them again, he had to leave for 
however long, now.  And so he did.  Three 
months.  One week.  Four days. One hour and 
thirty-nine minutes.

He dressed and pulled out the worn atlas 
from his duffle bag.  He was making his trek 
slowly.  He wanted to keep enough distance 
between himself and Scully to keep her safe, 
but he wanted to make sure he could get to 
them quickly if he needed.  He was 
zigzagging over the states.  He had no place 
in mind and he just drove.  He drove and 
hoped he would be able to just stop the car 
and get out.  

He highlighted his path from 
yesterday on the map and laughed when he saw 
what town he was near-Georgetown, Ohio.  As 
he looked closer, he saw that less than 50 
miles away across the border was Alexandria, 
Kentucky.  

He finished getting his things together and 
as he opened the motel door, he placed his 
sunglasses on so he could face the day.  



Author notes:

I've been reading fanfic for awhile now, and 
finally thought I'd try my hand at it.  I 
had hoped to make this a bit happier, but it 
just wouldn't happen.  But who knows, with 
some encouragement, maybe I'll write a sequel.  ;)
I came across this poem by a fabulous Brit 
poet and thought its title would fit the 
mood.


Christina Rossetti (1830-1894) 

A Better Resurrection 

I have no wit, no words, no tears; 
My heart within me like a stone 
Is numb'd too much for hopes or fears; 
Look right, look left, I dwell alone; 
lift mine eyes, but dimm'd with grief 
No everlasting hills I see; 
My life is in the falling leaf: 
O Jesus, quicken me. 
 
My life is like a faded leaf, 
My harvest dwindled to a husk: 
Truly my life is void and brief 
And tedious in the barren dusk; 
My life is like a frozen thing, 
No bud nor greenness can I see: 
Yet rise it shall--the sap of Spring; 
O Jesus, rise in me. 
 
My life is like a broken bowl, 
A broken bowl that cannot hold 
One drop of water for my soul 
Or cordial in the searching cold; 
Cast in the fire the perish'd thing; 
Melt and remould it, till it be 
A royal cup for Him, my King: 
O Jesus, drink of me.