Beauty and the Beast
Scott knew that was how the students thought of them. Even he thought of them that way, sometimes, when he would catch their reflections side by side: Jean, more lovely than any theatrical Beauty, and himself, brown fur covering a body that was humanoid, but no longer human.
He made the comparison to Jean, once. He'd been watching her get ready for bed; she'd been relaxed enough that she was humming and letting her mutation transform the sound into an ethereal glow that wrapped around her like a halo, light dancing around her brush as she ran it through her hair.
"Does it ever bother you?"
"Hmm?" The glow didn't falter when she stopped humming, and he guessed the ambient sound in the room was enough.
"That your beast doesn't turn into a prince when you kiss him?"
She shot him an exasperated glare. "Don't you know lots of little girls are horribly disappointed by that fairy tale?"
"They are?"
"It's a terrible bait and switch. You fall in love with a beast, and then, poof, you're stuck with a boring old prince." She slid into bed beside him, rubbing her face against his fur. "I expect better of you, Mr. Summers."
He'd laughed, dropped the subject, and never mentioned it again. But he knew he'd upset her, because the relaxed glow had vanished, and hadn't returned for days.
Sometimes, he wondered if Jean was one of those disappointed little girls. And after the battle at the Statue of Liberty, when, for the first time, the wolf vied with the man for control and nearly won, he wondered if she knew her beast was a beast inside as well as out.
