I do not own Ratched.
I do not own my angel boy Huck. But I love him.
Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale
Up To The Challenge
Saturday comes and goes with no Grace.
Literally, not figuratively.
Figuratively, grace abounds, he supposes.
He has survived World World II with half his face intact.
He has a place to live, humble as it may be.
He has food . . .
"Huck, I made some pork chops and mashed potatoes for supper."
"Thank you, Mrs. Graham."
. . . to keep him alive.
And he has a good job waiting for him.
Head nurse.
Gifted to him by Mildr-, Nurse Ratched.
And Nurse . . .
"- Finnigan to the position of head nurse."
. . . Bucket.
He didn't know how to do the job when they gave it to him, . . .
I won't let you down.
. . . hadn't even had a chance to really get started yet . . .
"- training?"
"Oh, what's there to train? You just make sure everything's in order and everyone is doing their job. Didn't the army teach you that?'
. . . when he'd been . . .
"-lost her mind. Several of them, I think."
. . . shot by Ms. Wells.
But he would learn, he would figure it out and he would do . . .
I won't let myself down.
. . . his best.
When he got . . .
"-Monday if that's alright. Just to take a look at things and get my head around it."
"That's just fine, Huck. If you think you're ready for it. I don't want you pushing yourself too much too soon."
"I'll be fine, Nurse Bucket. Thank you."
"Alright. See you bright and early Monday morning then."
"Yes, ma'am."
. . . back to it, that was.
And so, figuratively, day by day, grace.
And literally, no Grace.
Huck says to himself he's okay with that, that he's the one who declined the invitation to a picnic.
He hadn't the heart to lie and say there were plans.
There were no plans and no reason for him not to have accepted her offer.
But he'd said no all the same.
So it was all on him if he was alone on a sunny Saturday afternoon instead of picniking with a sweet, kind, young woman with strawberry blonde hair, blue-green-green-blue eyes, and a voice that sounded like she'd be kind to kittens.
And he is.
Alone.
And staring out at . . .
I'm alive. I know I've got the face of a monster but there's nothing I can do about that and I'm alive.
. . . the ocean.
It goes in and out, rolling waves that never stop.
Hypnotic they are.
And he really likes them.
The way he can stare out.
And think of everything . . .
Maybe I should tell Grace about Ruth.
Maybe I should just keep my head down and figure out how to be head nurse.
Maybe I should get headed home before it gets too dark and passersby see my face in the headlights again. The one couple almost wrecked their car.
. . . and nothing.
Huck Finnigan stares at the undulating ocean a long, long time.
And eventually, . . .
I wonder if Mrs. Graham made her Italian tomato sauce spaghetti again.
. . . he puts his back to the ocean . . .
She really is a very nice landlady.
. . . and goes home.
Even if she does pronounce it Eye-talian.
He's a bundle of nerves on Monday morning when he gets off the bus.
I wonder if they'll even listen to me.
And walks up the gravel road . . .
Head nurse. Huck Finnigan. Monster mask.
. . . to the hospital.
He really needn't have . . .
"Hello, William Holden. It's nice to see you."
"Hello, Mrs. Kee. It's Huck, remember?"
"Of course, William Holden."
. . . worried too much.
"Hello, Huck. Welcome back."
"Hello, Frank."
The cavernous rooms of the spa turned psychiatric hospital are the same as they were.
"How are ya then? How's the shoulder?"
"Stronger every day, thanks. No complaints. Have you seen Nurse Bucket?"
As are . . .
"Yeah, she's in Dr. Hanover's old office. Acting like she's running the joint. Like a woman could ever be in charge of an entire hospital. Amiright?"
. . . the individuals within.
"You'd be surprised."
And then he gets away as quickly as possible.
And realizes just where he has gotten himself to.
"Hello, Nurse Bucket."
"Huck! Hello!"
And she comes over and hugs him awkwardly, chatting awkwardly all the while.
Whip-thin, wrinkled face below blunt bangs and bun and hat so earnest and slightly embarrassed.
As if she realizes the spectacle she's making.
And still simply cannot help . . .
'. . . back, our very own war hero, oh-"
. . . herself.
But he's barely aware of her sincerely-felt display.
Because there it is.
The room where it happened.
The room where Ms. Wells . . .
". . . another step."
. . . aimed a revolver at his head . . .
"You think I'm scared?"
. . . and only missed by . . .
"This is nothing compared to when a Nazi scumbag held a Colt 1911 to my temple."
. . . a little.
"Huck? Are you alright?"
And he . . .
There's not even any blood stains left. How do they get it so clean?
. . . flexs his shoulder
"Yes, Nurse Bucket."
And forces his eyes up to . . .
"I'm fine."
. . . his new superior.
There is alot involved in being head nurse.
Scheduling the staff. Maintaining the records.
Directing treatment regiments and therapy sessions according to patient needs.
And Huck Finnigan, bed maker and dining hall monitor extraordinare . . .
"Looking forward to supper, Mr. McNary?"
"I just hope it's not beans again. They give me the wind something awful. Jean Harlow doesn't like me to have the wind when we step out in the evening."
"That's alright, Mr. McNary. We'll just tell her it was me, alright?."
. . . knows he has a daunting obstacle before him.
Logically speaking, he never should have been offered the job in the first place.
He is woefully underqualified and undertrained.
He has next to no medical knowledge other than what the army provided him, enough to drag a dying man off the battlefield.
No training in psychology whatsoever.
He only knows how to treat people . . .
"I'm feeling a little unsteady today, Huck."
"Here, Ms. Dalton. Take my arm if you like. Where shall we go?"
"May we go to the sun porch? I'd so love to sit in the sun."
"It would be my pleasure."
. . . with kindness and respect.
So he is not ready for this job.
Cannot possibly do the job properly at this time.
But he can read.
He can think.
And therefore he knows . . .
I wonder if Dr. Hanover had any books or medical journals I could borrow from Nurse Bucket.
. . . he can learn.
And he has decided . . .
This is Mildred's gift to me. This was all she could give me for who she was. A purpose. I will not waste it.
. . . he will be up to the challenge.
And . . .
"Where are the inactive patient files, Nurse Bell?"
"In the second cabinet."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, Huck. I mean, uh, Head Nurse Finnigan."
. . . that he will not be able to do it . . .
"Huck is fine, Nurse Bell. Thank you."
. . . alone.
Thanks to DinahRay for reviewing before, you're a wonderful support.
BaconBabe, thank you for your review. I understand my storytelling style is a bit unique and can be an adjustment from the norm. It was very gracious of you to give it a try. Thank you. :)
Thanks also to Bobert4242 for adding your support to this little story.
