This story is rated NC-17; minors please read elsewhere.

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully do not belong to me.  They are 
used here lovingly and with no remuneration.

"Every Evil" exists in the shoefic universe, following "All 
the Way Home" and "Head Over Heels."  It is not necessary to 
read those stories to understand this one.

FOR EVERY EVIL
For every evil under the sun
There is a remedy or there is none.
If there be one, seek till you find it;
If there be none, never mind it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

   EVERY EVIL

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Faster, faster -- he was a locomotive pounding down the 
track, steam rising off his steely muscles.  Mulder puffed 
out hot breath and gripped the bed rails with both hands.  
Beneath him, she wailed, a warning whistle that they were 
coming.

Faster, faster.

Dingy motel walls blurred and quaked around him.  The bedside 
table rattled, bumping the glowing travel alarm along its 
surface.  Twelve-oh-six a.m.. 

"More... please..."  Her nails scored his back; her legs 
locked around his hips.

Mulder gritted his teeth and tried to give it to her.  He 
would fill them up so far neither would ever feel empty 
again.

"Fox..."

"Yeah," he breathed.  "Yeah."

Faster, faster.  So close.

The phone rang, sound tearing through the tiny room.  "Shit," 
Mulder said.  Huffing, heaving on top of her, he groped for 
the receiver.  It clattered off the hook, slipping through 
his sweaty palm.  Mulder cursed again.

"Mulder," he said when he had righted it.

Adam Grenier's gruff voice came through on the other end.  
"Pittsfield's been spotted at a gas station on Route One, 
about fifteen miles from here.  No sign of the girl."

"Where exactly?" Mulder asked as he rolled out of bed.  
Already he was half-dressed again.

"Mobil station outside of South Beach.  I'm en route."

"I'll be there in ten."  Mulder tugged his pants closed.

Grenier grunted.  "Bring my wife with you," he said, and hung 
up the phone.

"Fuck," Mulder said, as he slammed the receiver back down.  

On the other side of the bed, Amelia Russell was nearly 
dressed again.  She was tugging long hair out from her 
turtleneck sweater.  "Pittsfield?" she asked.

"They've spotted him at a gas station near here."

"With Lily?"

"No word yet."  Mulder holstered his gun.  "Adam is on his 
way there right now."

Amelia didn't even blink.  "We should take separate cars," 
she said, heading for the door.

"Wait," Mulder called.  She turned.  Mulder could not even 
look at her as he said the words.  "He knows," he said. 

Amelia knew instantly what he meant.  She gave a half-shrug.  
"He's always known."

The door closed behind her with a slam, swallowing Mulder's 
latest epithet.  His heart still thundered in his chest, 
adrenaline racing; now a locomotive hurtling into darkness.

Lights out and he left.

~*~*~*~*~*

Updates came over the walkie-talkie as he drove:  Pittsfield 
had left the station driving a blue Chevy Caprice. No sign of 
the little girl in the pink jacket. 

Mulder could see Amelia's taillights swerving around the 
curves ahead.  Route one along the Oregon coast was a swift 
quarter mile drop to the rocky shoals below.  Only the moon 
shone the way.

"He's pulling over!" Grenier's voice crackled through the 
line.  "He's headed into the park."

South Beach Park was still several miles ahead.  Mulder 
pushed harder on the accelerator.  His car fishtailed but 
managed to hang onto the road.  Night enveloped like a cape, 
rendering Mulder's high beams into weak patches of light.

"Footbail!" hollered Grenier.  "He's left the vehicle, and 
he's got the girl with him.  Repeat: HE'S GOT THE GIRL!"

Mulder's pulse skittered.  "She's alive," he said to the 
empty car.  He pictured Pittsfield dragging the tiny blonde 
girl into the woods like something out of a Grimms Brothers' 
fairy tale.

Around one last sharp curve and Mulder came upon the scene: 
six abandoned law enforcement vehicles, doors open, lights 
spinning.  Amelia was already headed into the dense woods.

Mulder screeched his car to halt behind hers, grabbed his 
flashlight and walkie-talkie, and joined the chase.  The tall 
trees swallowed him immediately.  He heard nothing but the 
crunch of leaves beneath his feet and the sound of his own 
breathing.

He could run a thousand directions and never catch the 
kidnapper.

Mulder took cautious steps deeper into the woods, swishing 
his flashlight to and fro for any signs that someone had 
passed recently.  "Why here?" he murmured to himself.  "Why 
bring her here?"

The walkie-talkie gave a burst of static.  Grenier's voice 
came quieter this time:  "Anything?"

"Nothing," Mulder replied.

"It's too god damn dark," Grenier said.  

Mulder continued on, stalking a phantom.  Every so often he 
caught sight of another flashlight beam in the distance, but 
there was no sign of Pittsfield.

He had walked into the trees and disappeared.

Mulder cast his beam up into the pines on the off chance that 
Pittsfield had a makeshift tree house hidden someplace.  He 
found no sign of one.

"Where the hell did you take her?" Mulder muttered to the 
darkness.  Wind whipped in reply, shaking the trees around 
him.  

The roar of the ocean grew clearer.  Mulder was running out 
of woods.  He picked up speed, jogging now; his beam bounced 
with the effort and sent dizzying light across the waving 
branches.

Dark; it was pitch dark.  Mulder halted, breathing hard.  He 
flashed his beam around in a circle.  So fucking hard to see 
anything.  The ocean crashed only yards away.  

A few steps more and Mulder would drop straight into the sea.

He lowered the beam in defeat, but something crossed its path 
that made him jolt upright again.  A flash of pink.

Mulder aimed the beam in the direction he'd seen it, but saw 
nothing.  He advanced.  Further and further, gaining speed 
again.  

He heard a high yelp and frantic rustling.  A man's shadow 
darted between two trees.

"I see him!" Mulder yelled.  "I see him!"

Through the thicket he saw more flashes of pink.  

"He's got the girl!"

In blind pursuit, Mulder stumbled over uneven ground.  
Branches clawed his face but he kept running.  

Faster, faster.

"Halt, FBI!" he hollered into the bracing wind.

Pittsfield did not slow down.

Mulder's ankle gave a half-twist, nearly felling him, but he 
caught himself on a low branch and kept going.  His walkie-
talkie slipped free.

"Stop!" Mulder tried again.  He could hear them thrashing up 
again, just out of sight.  He scrambled to keep pace.

*I've got you now, you sonofabitch.  There's no where to go 
but down.*

"Gary Pittsfield!" Mulder screamed.  "You are under arrest.  
Stop now!"

Panting, lungs on fire, Mulder emerged from the trees to the 
cliff's edge.  Grasses whipped at his knees.  He looked 
wildly for Pittsfield or the girl but could see neither.

A few moments later, other agents began appearing from the 
forest.  Amelia caught up with Mulder first.  "What 
happened?" she asked breathlessly.

"I chased him this way and he vanished again."

"Sure it was him?"

"I'm sure," Mulder said, angry with himself.  He limped a few 
feet back towards the tree line.  "Maybe he doubled back 
somehow."

"He had Lily?"

"Yes, damn it.  I saw her coat."

Amelia helped him search until Grenier showed up two minutes 
later.  A chopper materialized overhead.  The searchlight 
made Mulder squint painfully as he explained again what had 
happened.

"Spread out!" barked Grenier.  "He's got to be here 
somewhere."

But Mulder walked away from the trees, towards the ocean.  He 
inched up on the steep cliff as the wind blew the smell of 
salt in his face.  It was too dark to see much below, but 
Mulder heard the crash of waves against the rocks.  

The chopper hovered; saw him looking.

The moon-faced beam shifted to the jagged shoreline about a 
quarter mile down.  Mulder pressed a bit closer and felt 
himself swaying.  He peered over the edge.

There on the rocks was a little pink jacket.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sixteen Years Later

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Shit," Mulder said by way of holiday greeting.  He was 
standing on top of his desk attempting to affix a garish red-
and-green tissue paper bell to the ceiling when Scully 
returned too soon from the bathroom.  "You're back awfully 
fast."

She stopped in the doorway and folded her arms across her 
chest.  "Is this what you usually do for amusement when I'm 
in the ladies' room, Mulder?"

The pin stuck him in the thumb and he cursed again. "Yes, and 
I didn't want you to share the fun."

She moved into the room.  "Dare I even ask the purpose of 
this little adventure?  Pencils not getting it done for you 
today?"

"Holiday--fuck!--party," he growled as the bell threatened to 
fall.

Scully's eyebrows rose.  "Well, that does sound more 
appealing than the cheese and wine affair going on upstairs," 
she replied, deadpan.

"Ah ha!" Mulder declared in triumph as the paper bell finally 
stayed put.  He turned and grinned down at Scully.  "Now it's 
a party."

She cast a dubious eye around the rest of the office.  "But 
wherever shall we put the orchestra?"

Mulder jumped down from the desk and dusted off his hands.  
He flipped on the radio and canned Christmas carols began to 
play.  "Satisfied?" he asked.

"I see cups," she answered instead, noting the red plastic 
numbers he had set out.

"Ever the investigator," Mulder said.  He opened his bottom 
desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of single malt scotch.  
"I've got this and I've got peppermint tea on the hot plate 
over there."

"Options," Scully said.  "I'm impressed."

"This is a high-class establishment, Scully."  He waggled the 
bottle at her. "So what'll it be?"

"Tempting, but I am going to have to vote tea," she said, 
heading for the plate.

"Scully--"

"Tests tomorrow morning," she reminded him.

Mulder stared into his cup.  He had not forgotten about her 
medical tests; in fact, the little party was in part to take 
both their minds off them.  Apparently, that was going to 
work as well for Scully as it did for him.

Once a year, whether they liked it or not, both Mulder and 
Scully held their breath while the doctors made sure her 
cancer had not come back.  They spent those weeks in 
suspended animation, waiting until life could move on once 
more.

"More booze for me, then," Mulder said with forced cheer.  He 
poured himself a healthy finger while she busied herself with 
the tea.

"I saved the piece de resistance for last," he told her when 
she returned.  She waited with an expectant eyebrow, blowing 
on her tea, while he fished a red plastic plate from his desk 
drawer and drew off the napkin with a flourish.  "Hand-dipped 
chocolates from Isabelle's."

Scully's face broke into a slow smile.  "Now," she said, 
"it's a party."

He raised his liquor and they clinked glasses.  She joined 
him against the desk, shoulders pressed close together, and 
they drank in silence for a minute.

"So, Scully, do you like my new holiday tie?" Mulder asked 
eventually, and Scully shifted to squint at it over the rim 
of her cup.

"Mulder, it's navy with red circles.  How exactly does that 
say 'season of joy and light' to you?"

"It's Rudolph's nose," he said, feigning hurt.  "You know, 
then one foggy Christmas Eve...?"

"In that atrocity, you had best hope for fog."

"You better be nice to me," he told her.  "Santa's watching."

Scully sighed.  "The only old man watching this place smokes 
Morleys and brings presents nobody wants."

"Yeah," Mulder agreed with a nod.  "I bet his letter to Santa 
has been the same since he was six years old:  Dear Santa, 
Please bring me world domination. Love and kisses, Cuthbert."

Scully choked on her drink.  "Cuthbert?"

Mulder shrugged. "What do you think the 'C' stands for?"

Scully sipped and considered for a minute.  "I like 
'Cornelius," she said at last.

Mulder touched his cup to hers again.  "Here's to Cornelius 
getting it up the ass this holiday season for a change," he 
said.

"I'll drink to that."   

"Booked your plane tickets yet?" he asked.

"No."  She cleared her throat and set aside her drink.  "I, 
uh, I told Mom I was staying here this year."

Mulder's ears warmed, and not from the booze.  She had been 
sharing his bed for four years, but this would mark the first 
time she altered her holiday plans.  Mulder had never 
complained.  He knew Scully spent the holiday season 
wrestling the emotional pull of both live and dead family 
members; usually he did his best to be inconspicuous and took 
what little holiday cheer he could get.

This year, Scully had been more on edge than usual.  He 
chalked it up to the tests she had coming up and did not 
press.

"What did you mom say when you told her?" he asked, following 
up his question with a quick, hard swallow.

"Let's just say I haven't heard the words 'your choice" used 
in quite that tone since they passed Roe V. Wade."

"Ouch."

"She'll get over it," Scully answered mildly.

Mulder's computer beeped, followed by Darth Vader's heavy 
breathing.  "I sense a disturbance in the force," Darth said.

"You've got mail," Scully observed.

"It can wait," Mulder said, hoping he sounded nonchalant.  
Scully was not fooled.  

"Go," she said, snorting and nudging him with her foot.  "I 
can feel you twitching."

Mulder walked around the desk and leaned over the keyboard to 
check the new arrival.  The subject line said, "THE GIFT OF 
LIFE," and the sender was listed as Jesus Christ.

"God's back and he's got email," Mulder told Scully.  "I 
suppose it's fitting that he's sending me spam."

Scully rolled her eyes.

Mulder's arrow hovered over the "delete" key, but at the last 
second, he decided to find out what the Lord Almighty wanted.  
One did not ignore a personal message from God at this time 
of year.

There was no message inside, only a URL: 
www.thesecondcoming.com

"I bet it's porn," Mulder said.

Scully brought her drink around the desk to see.  "Maybe God 
saw your Christmas list," she teased.

"Ha ha," Mulder replied, but he clicked the link to see.  It 
took a moment to load, and when it did, all he saw was a city 
street.  "What the...?"

Scully moved closer.  "That was a car going past," she said.  
"You're looking at some sort of webcam."

"Yeah, but where?"

Cars flickered past on the screen every few seconds, but the 
sidewalks were empty.  It was gray and rainy, much like DC 
that day.  "I don't recognize it," Scully said.  "But the 
shot is pretty nondescript."

"That's a Starbucks back there on the other side," Mulder 
said.  "Surely you must have visited every one on the eastern 
seaboard by now, Scully."

She elbowed him.  "Why would someone send you this?"

"Beats me."  Mulder straightened up and looked at her.  
"Maybe they got me by mistake.  Maybe it's some weird new 
Starbucks advertising campaign.  Maybe..."

"Mulder, look.  It's a man."

He turned his attention back to the screen and saw an 
average-sized man in a denim jacket and black baseball cap 
had stopped in front of the camera.  Scraggly hair reached 
his shoulders, and his coat hung open to reveal an Oregon 
State University sweatshirt.  Despite the rainy day, the man 
wore sunglasses.

"What's he doing?" Mulder asked.  Scully shrugged.

The man obviously knew the camera was there; he looked 
directly at it.  He smiled.  For a long minute, he simply 
stood and stared.  

"You think the boys did this as a joke?" Scully asked.

Just as she asked the question, the man motioned to someone 
off-camera.  A little girl of about seven walked into the 
shot.  The man said something in her ear.  She turned, looked 
right at the camera, and blew a kiss.

The man smiled and led her away.

"Holy shit," Mulder said, his skin starting to crawl.  He 
felt the floor shift beneath him.

"Mulder?

"I never believed he was dead."

"You recognize him?"

Mulder's desk phone rang.  He picked it up with his gaze 
still focused on the monitor.    

"Mulder, you're not going to believe what I am looking at."  
Adam Grenier's voice mirrored Mulder's shock.

"I can guess," Mulder replied.   "Because I am looking at the 
same thing."

"The girl, it was her.  It was Lily!"

"I know.  I saw."  He had not forgotten her face once in 
sixteen years.

"Shit, Mulder.  She'd be a college student by now, not a 
little kid.  What the fuck is going on here?"

"I don't know.  But if Pittsfield is back after sixteen 
years, you can bet there is a reason.  And apparently it's 
personal."

"You bet your ass it's personal!" Grenier returned.

Cars swished by on the monitor but Pittsfield did not return. 
He had vanished as easily as the first time.  "What do you 
want to do?" Mulder asked Grenier.

"He asked for us," Grenier said grimly, "and that's exactly 
what he's going to get."

The webcam turned off; the screen went blank.  Mulder hung up 
the phone and sat in his chair.  Scully perched on the edge 
of the desk and looked concerned.

"Mulder, what's going on?  Who was that man on the camera?"

Mulder thought back to the little girl snatched years ago 
from her front lawn.  He remembered the pink jacket swirling 
in the rough water.

"Mulder?" Scully prompted.

Mulder sighed and leaned back in his chair.  "I'll tell you 
one thing," he said.  "He sure isn't Santa Claus.  I've got 
to go meet Grenier."

"I'll go with you," she said quickly, rising as he did.

"No, Scully.  That's not necessary."

"Mulder--"

"It wasn't your case."

She glared at him.  "I'm your partner."

He hesitated; she had him there.  "This one was bad, Scully.  
And you have those tests..."

"The tests can wait," she said firmly, grabbing her coat.  
"That little girl -- whoever she is -- can't."

Mulder hesitated again, tapping his heel.  He swung the door 
open.  "Let's go then," he said, and followed her out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

End Chapter One.

Thanks: to Amanda for proofing.  Any remaining errors are 
mine alone.

Feedback: always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com