I do not own Ratched.
I do not own my angel boy Huck. But I love him.
Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale
Grace Miller Has An Opinion
He hasn't been ignoring her.
Huck, to Grace.
He returned the clean pie dish the week before.
Placed right in the driver's seat of her red pickup truck.
Note from his gracious landlady included.
Dear Miss Miller,
Thank you for the delicious apple pie.
-Mrs. George Graham
Has seen her along the halls of the . . .
"Hello, Huck!"
. . . hospital.
"Hello, . . ."
And spoken formally.
". . . Nurse Miller."
And without slowing.
And then, well, he just sort of . . .
"Have a nice day."
. . . made himself busy.
It wasn't hard.
"Nurse Williams, why does Mrs. Packer receive a daily morning dose of 1,000 milligrams Thorazine?"
"Thorazine calms unruly behavior and agitation in the patients."
"Is a 1,000 milligrams a day a lot?"
"Honey, it would knock out a horse."
"Mrs. Packer weighs eighty-nine pounds."
There was so much to do and learn.
And still . . .
"Hello, Huck!"
. . . she has managed . . .
"Hello, Nurse Miller."
. . . to find him.
He supposes he wasn't that hard to find.
He is still on hospital grounds.
Outside in a little outdoor eating area.
Mint green metal Art Deco chairs set at mint green metal Art Deco tables.
Overlooking an abandoned shuffle board court, tennis court, and various other leftovers from the facility's rest spa days.
He likes it here, in the sun.
"How's your shoulder?"
Just soaking up the warmth, the clean air, eating his lunch.
"Much better. Thank you."
Or was.
Bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich.
Apple.
"How, uh, how are you?"
Her smile is friendly as she stands a few feet from him.
"I'm fine. Thank you."
Hesitates for a long moment.
And then sits herself down at a table across the room.
Huck realizes too late, he should have invited her to sit with him, that would have been common courtesy.
"Good. I'm . . . glad."
Except he was adamantly trying not to think about it.
And now she's at her own table and he's at his.
And he can't think of a single thing to really say. . .
"Nice weather today."
. . . to make polite conversation.
"Yes."
And so they simply sit.
Awkwardly picking at their food. Pretending not to be awkwardly picking at their food.
Finally, Huck neatly folds his wax paper and places it in his paper bag.
Folds that down as well.
And takes himself back into . . .
"Well, have a good day."
. . . the building.
Legs feeling awkward as they move, entire body rigid.
Much as he felt walking away from Mildred after she rejected his affections in the hallway.
I'm not ready to go through that again.
And he decides . . .
And I'm not putting Grace through it at all.
. . . it really is for the better.
She really is very kind; I don't want to hurt her with it.
And that . . .
I'm still a man underneath this Halloween Mask. I'm still me.
It's just too much for anyone else to see.
. . . is that.
Except it isn't.
Days follow one another in regular succession.
Duties. Responsibilities.
And, at some point, lunch.
It has almost become a routine for them.
Grace arriving not long after he has seated himself.
Awkward small talk.
Separate tables.
"Hello, Huck."
"Hello, Nurse Miller."
Stifled conversation.
"Nice weather today."
"Yes."
And then him returning to the building.
It's happened several times.
And he's rising . . .
"Well, . . ."
. . . to leave again now.
". . . have a good day."
When she . . .
"Huck, why have you been avoiding me?"
. . . stops him cold.
"I can't think of a thing I might have said or done to offend you."
And his heart . . .
"Oh, Grace, . . ."
. . . cracks in his chest.
". . . no. You haven't done anything wrong."
And he turns back.
She is no femme fatale, weepy-eyed and tragic, lace monogrammed hankerchief blotting the corner of her eye.
Only simply sitting, ankles crossed, hands in lap, expression direct and open.
And looking . . .
"Then sit down with me."
One hand welcomingly patting the space in front of the chair across from her.
"Here, at this table. We still have a few minutes left on break. I'd like to catch up with you. As in actually talk."
. . . straight at him.
And Huck . . .
"I . . . I can't."
. . . plummets his gaze to the smoothly poured concrete at his feet.
And hears her voice speak again.
"Is there someone else? Do you have a sweetheart?"
And the ridiculousness of this statement causes a slightly bitter-tinged huff of a laugh to escape him.
"No, no, not in the least."
And it's true.
He's let Mildred go, physically and emotionally.
She was not interested in men.
Told him so.
Told him he would find a woman who loved him in the way that he deserved.
And that had been that.
No ill feelings, only humiliation and a little more than the lingering of the blues on his part.
And then . . .
Time to move on.
Head Nurse.
A purpose.
Alright. That's a good place to start.
. . . everything else that had happened . . .
Where did Miss Wells get that gun?
. . . after that.
So there is no one else.
There's only Huck.
A man with half a face who is determined to try to make the best of his life.
Whatever . . .
"No."
. . . that may be be.
"There is no one else."
And that's okay.
"Then . . ."
But Grace . . .
". . . what is it?"
. . . decides to press the matter.
"Not to be so bold but . . . I can tell you're . . . interested in me."
Does this face not hide anything?
And he dares to look her in her two perfectly working eyes.
"I just . . . I just . . ."
With his one good one.
"You're a . . . beautiful person, Grace. Kind and smart."
And speaks.
"You deserve a man who you can be proud to be seen with."
She furrows her forehead at him.
"Someone you can . . . step out with. Beyond the walls of this hospital."
Crinkles her eyes.
"Someone . . . better than me."
And he keeps talking.
"You deserve everything, Grace."
Until he's finished.
"I just don't know if I'm the one to give it to you."
And she . . .
"You think you're not a man a woman can be proud to be seen with?"
. . . starts.
"Because of your face?"
And her voice though still peaceable and polite, . . .
"You think I would be embarrassed to be seen with you?"
. . . is sharper than he's ever heard it.
"A man who has survived what you survived with his mind and soul still intact?"
He doesn't speak; he can't.
"You think your face scares me? Repulses me?"
But she sure can.
"Let me tell you what repulses me, Huck Finnigan."
And does, rising slowly from her perch.
"Men who treat women like puppets repulse me."
Blue-green-green-blue eyes flashing as she forgets to be timid and demure.
"Men with sneaky hands and leering smiles and unbuckled belts at the end of the date repulse me."
Or perhaps simply casts it aside.
"Men who act like everyone around them are beholden to them because they sit on a high throne of entitlement repulse me."
To take Huck Finnigan down a notch.
"Your face is nothing compared to that."
Or perhaps, raise him up.
"In fact, your face only serves as a reminder that you suffered something unimaginable and came out the other side with more gentleness and kindness and consideration than almost anyone else I've ever known."
Either way, he's listening.
"Besides," she concludes, ire easing with a whisper of a smile as she eases back down into her chair.
"I'm only asking you to sit down with me for five minutes. Not propose marriage."
And he almost smiles with her, almost.
Despite the fact that his heart is swelling so much in his chest it's almost painful.
"Okay."
As he sits himself down into a chair across from her.
And she . . .
"Hello, Huck."
"Hello, Grace."
. . . smiles.
Thanks to DinahRay for reviewing before. Hope you enjoyed this.
Frankly, there's really more to Huck's caginess than he's letting on.
And we'll get there.
