Lesser Of Two Evils

By: Thought

Disclaimer: tra. La. La. La.

A/N: I'm having writer's block, and it's going to last indefinitely. I'm sorry that the chapters are so far apart, but I hope you can forgive me. XD

Chapter Six

The truck smelled of cigar smoke and oil, and the cloth on the seats was torn in more places than could be counted. It jerked randomly whenever Logan pushed too hard on the gas, and made an ungodly screeching sound with the depression of the break pedal. Traffic was awful, even at three in the morning, and Logan kept up a constant stream of cursing as he wove through the other vehicles on the streets. From the passenger seat, Creed was giving directions. After hearing the full explanation of the backbone of the Mutant resistance, Logan had decided he may as well check them out, and find out if there was anything he could do to help them, or, alternately, if there was anything they could do to help him. Sure, working odd jobs and selling the occasional passport got him enough money to get by on, but he didn't want to continue doing the same sort of thing for the rest of his life.

"Turn left at tha next intersection," Sabertooth told him shortly. Logan spun the wheel to avoid a teenaged boy on a motorcycle, and nodded to acknowledge Creed's words. He still hadn't figured out why the other feral was helping him, but for now, he would take any help he could get. Taking the left, he found himself on an impressively well-kept street, overflowing with office complexes and apartment buildings. He whistled between his teeth. "Nice," he commented.

"Too nice if ya ask me," Sabertooth responded. "The whole country's gone ta Hell in a hand basket, and yet these people still get every little luxury they could possibly want jus' because they happen to be the ones in power."

"Life ain't fair," Logan snorted. "This is jus' another example of that. Now, where am I headed?"

"Frost International, fourth on yer right."

Logan pulled up in front of the large office building, and killed the engine. Jumping out of the truck, he slammed his door and headed towards the front doors. Two guards were posted outside the doors, both cradling rifles to their chests. Logan glared at them, but neither one gave an inch.

"What's your business here?" asked the man coldly.

"We're here ta talk to Miss Frost," Creed answered from beside Logan.

"Oh. Of course you are. I'll just let you in, then," the woman sneered.

Logan growled low in his throat. "Look, we're here ta talk to Frost, and we're bloody well gonna talk to her!"

"She's not here," said the man, his face remaining blank. "Why don't you come back in the morning?"

"Or better yet," said the woman in disgust, "Don't come back at all. God only knows what you want with Miss Frost, and I'm not willing to find out. So bugger off before I call the police."

Logan glared at her, but Creed just muttered something unintelligible at the woman, and turned to head back to the truck.

"Go on," the woman made a shooing movement with her hand. "Go away, go away."

"Maybe make an appointment with Miss Frost," suggested the man.

Logan drew in a breath, and spit at the woman's feet before spinning and stalking off.

Jumping back in the truck, he stared at Creed. "Well, that was productive," he commented.

"There's a lot of people I know are linked to the Resistance, relax. We'll find 'em..."

"So, why tha hell are you helping me, anyway, Creed?" asked Logan.

"Simple. I know one of there people, and she owes me big time. I want her to pay up.""

Logan shrugged. "Good enough for me," he said, and started up the motor.

"I think we should try McCoy next," said Creed. "Scientist. Lives over by the university. Brilliant man. Some Resistance ties. Mutant."

"I've heard of him," Logan said, pulling back into traffic. "He's a Mutant?"

"Big, blue and furry. As mutated as you please, but he hides it with one of them fancy image inducer things."

"Well, he'd have the money ta do that," Logan said, disinterested. "And he's Resistance?"

"Ya got a hearin' problem, Wolverine? I jus' said he had some Resistance ties!" Creed looked frustrated.

Logan didn't respond. He spun the car out on to a main road, and sped through a red light, ignoring the honking of other drivers.

"And what makes you so sure we'll have any more luck than we did at Frost's?" asked Logan finally.

"Because he lives alone. No guards, nothing like that. He's a peaceful man, which is exactly why he's not actually Resistance. From what I've heard, he just helps them out with medical shit, that sorta thing."

"And you know where he lives?" asked Logan.

"...The general area," Creed shrugged. The light of a street light through Logan's unimpressed glare into full detail.

They finished the drive to the University area in silence. Luckily, there were only two apartment complexes to choose from. When they scanned over the list at the first, the closest thing they found to an 'H McCoy' was a 'T McCarran'. Moving on to the next building, they were relieved to find McCoy's name on the list. Punching the button beside the name, Logan said, as politely as he could, "Doctor McCoy? My friend and I would like to speak to you about something in one of your papers we just read. We don't understand it, and would like your help." Creed gave him a disbelieving smirk. Logan returned with a one-fingered salute.

"May I ask who you may be?" came a gentle, cultured voice from the small speaker.

"My name is John Bekish, my friend is Carle Rafique. We're students at the University, and very interested in your work." Sabertooth snorted, and tried to hold back his laughter.

"Very well, please come up. As you can see, I am in apartment 242."

"Thanks," Logan said as the doors hummed open. They walked in, past the sleeping desk manager, and into the elevator. It carried them smoothly and silently to the second floor, and they worked their way down the hall to apartment 242. Knocking on the door, Logan snatched a disgusted glance around at the thick red carpet, the oak paneled walls, and the shiny brass numbers on all the doors.

A tall, well-dressed man with brown hair opened the door. He smiled at them, though Logan could sense a hint of underlying suspicion in the way he moved to let them in. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bekish, Mr. Rafique."

"Uh, yeah, Pleasure to meet you too, Doctor," Logan got out. McCoy gave him a decidedly distrustful look, but offered them chairs nonetheless.

"Now," he said, settling into a large armchair, "Exactly which paper was it that you two were having trouble with?"

"Well, that's actually not really why..." Logan began, but he was cut off by the buzz of the intercom. McCoy rose quickly, and walked over to it. Logan could clearly hear the woman's voice on the other end. It was accented, Puerto Rican maybe?

"Hank! You're home! Listen, we need help! The police are after us, let us in, please!"

"Of course, Cecilia, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, but Kurt and Emma aren't!"

"Kurt? Who..."

"No time, Hank! Just open the damned door!"

He pushed down the button quickly, and turned back to Logan and Creed. "I'm afraid this isn't the best time, gentleman, I'm sorry. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow?"

"Look, we're not students. We're Mutants, and we want to know the location of Resistance HQ, or at least talk to someone from the core group," Creed snapped.

McCoy looked taken-a-back. "Uh..." Just then the door flew open, and four people staggered in. A tall, blond man with wings supported a tall blond woman dressed in white. Behind them, another woman was helping some sort of blue creature along, though he looked like he was holding her up as much as she was him. Hank moved forward quickly to assist the blond woman, guiding her to a sofa, where she collapsed. It was only then that Logan saw the blood staining her blond hair.

"Cecilia! My dear, what happened?" asked Hank.

"The police set up a check stop right by HQ, and the four of us were driving back. They stopped us, and caught a look at Kurt, here," she gestured to the blue-skinned man. "They asked for all of our names, and we had to give them to them... They realized that Kurt was an unregistered Mutant, and I guess they'd seen telepaths at work before, 'cause one of them smashed in the back window of my car and hit Emma in the head with his coffee cup before she could do anything. We tried to get away, but they managed to hit me in the arm with a lucky shot, and the glass from the window really cut up Kurt bad. They saw us going in to the apartment complex, I think, so they'll have a phone tap on everybody, and the whole place will be surrounded. And there's no way we can get out with Kurt and Emma both pretty much out of it."

Hank stared at the group in front of him. "You mean that we're stranded here...?" he asked finally.

"Well, there's no way to contact Resistance, and the police aren't going to allow anybody out without a full check, so, yeah, I'd say we're stuck."

Review Responses:

Aceswild: Yes, I did take a long time to update, sorry! Hope you like this chapter, too. As for Carol's death, she was wearing a suppresser color, which blocks Mutant's powers, but forgot about it, and went to fly away, and, well, splat, if you know what I mean?

Healer: This takes place in a universe where X2 didn't happen. I think I forgot to mention that, sorry!!! And as for X-Phoenix, you can go bother Mia about that now, 'cause she's writing chapter ten!!!!

ManniElf18: XD, a fic with out Kurt? The horror! Glad you like the story, and as for the thing about the way he talks, I know he does it sometimes, but to be honest, it bothers the hell out of me, so I only do it once in a while when I'm writing. But good job for noticing!

Crystal113: Well, you'll see, won't you? Hehehe... Thanks for all your reviews! XD