I do not own Ratched.

I do not own my angel boy Huck. But I love him.

Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale

What Matters

She's subtly led him to the empty kitchen.

With all of its overwhelmingly abrasive decor.

Subtly she has done this.

It wouldn't do for a female nurse to be seen bossing her better.

Better, what a joke.

He could never be so good as her. So patient and kind and forgiving and everything Grace.

Grace.

As she is now.

Uniformed and red-lipped.

And quiet.

And strong.

She motions him to sit down. And he does.

She turns to the refrigerator. Opens it.

Removes an ice-cold Coca-Cola.

Pops the top.

And places it on the table before him.

"Drink."

He doesn't want it, he's going to be sick, his stomach is churning.

But Grace has requested.

"It'll help."

And so he tries.

Lifting the glass bottle to his lips with his scarred left hand.

Only realizing he's shaking when the bottle rattles against his teeth as he manages a sip.

Shaking and he can't quell it.

Sugared carbonation on his tongue as he sets the bottle back down on the table.

It rattles unsteadily against the table as he does so.

And then is still as he puts his hands down in his lap.

"Talk to me, Huck," Grace murmurs.

She has set herself down, while he was attempting to drink.

And now she is waiting, Grace is.

And she'll have to wait a little longer.

Because it's just too much for him to let out just now.

He concentrates on the table.

Because he can't bear the sight of her lovely face.

Those blue-green-green-blue eyes would do him in for sure.

And eventually, Huck Finnigan speaks.

Mutters actually.

"She could get it right once, you know. I swear she does it on purpose."

Grace doesn't say anything.

No reprimand, no judgement.

His emotions are making it hard for him to breathe, he's trying to contain them.

And he raises a shaking hand to the bridge of his nose.

Pinches it. Sighs out a breath.

"Mr. Harrison died last night."

Tries to calm himself.

"Yes. They told me just a few minutes ago when I got here. I was coming to find you just now, actually."

Huck's voice threatens to crack.

"We were making progress. He was making progress."

While Grace's stays calm.

"Yes. We were. He was."

And suddenly he's irrationally infuriated by the evenness of her tone.

She doesn't understand. She can't.

And so he doesn't speak, not for a moment. He doesn't want to talk rudely to her, doesn't want to snap.

Especially when none of this is her fault and he knows it.

But Grace won't let him be.

"Huck, please talk to me."

And he doesn't want to.

But he must.

Because she asked.

"He's dead, Grace. He was getting better and now he's dead. There was no point to any of this. There was no point in all of our efforts. It was all in vain."

And he hears her, rather than sees her, blow air out of her nose in a hint of derision.

"No point? No point? Oh, Huck . . ."

And she reaches out a hand, stretches it across the table to him, palm up and out.

Silently requesting him to reach back, take it.

And he's afraid if he takes her hand, feels her warm, human contact, he just might crack apart.

But it's Grace, Grace.

And so he must does as she requests.

And her hand is warm, her touch is needed.

And the tears do threaten to come whether he wants them to or not.

"Huck," she almost whispers. "It meant everything. Every single thing."

He doesn't answer. He can't. She hasn't finished her thought and his heart is so broken there's nothing he can say anyway.

"When Mrs. Inger came here and talked to him, she was absolving him of the sins he didn't even know he hadn't committed. She was setting him free. You could see it. Just a little."

She pauses and he waits.

"He may not have been willing to admit it to himself. And definitely not yet to us. But it was there. And it did matter. It mattered everything."

She squeezes his hand, almost to the point of pain.

"Please don't lose hope, Huck."

And he squeezes back, almost the same strength.

Not quite, but just about.

"Mrs Kee may never get better. She may never get your name right. We don't know."

He feels her, hears her, take a deep breath and let it out.

"And maybe that's not what she's here for."

This does not make sense to him.

So he waits.

"Maybe she's just here to be cared for gently. To be accepted. Because her family can't. Or won't. Maybe we are just here to care. Not heal."

She pauses again.

"I don't know."

"But I do know you can't lose hope. There are good people here. Smart people and you're one of them. And that's fine. That's good."

She squeezes his hand again, forcing him to look up.

Into those beautiful eyes.

That he sees are filled with tears.

"But, Huck, you are the heart of this place, the goodness. The light. And you're brave enough and strong enough to let that light out. Even when it hurts you and you get nothing back in return."

She smiles through her own tears.

"That's why you're here. And you can't lose that. Please don't lose that."

And he just can't say . . .

You are my light.

You, Grace.

"Thank you, Grace."

. . . anything more.

"You're welcome, Huck."

For the moment.

"Good afternoon, William Holden. Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. Mrs. Kee. I think I might be. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Whuppin' the pants off Harriet at pinochle here. Care to play?"

"Sure, Mrs. Kee. That sounds swell."

So hopefully Grace has left Huck (and us) something we can deal with here.Thanks for reading. :)