I do not own Ratched.

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

Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale

Snip, Snip, Just a Bit


He hadn't kissed her there on the porch of her parents' home, that was true.

It was also true he had thought about kissing her.

Had wanted to kiss her.

Very much so.

And that he had denied himself.

Not because of her parents.

"Welllll there, Mr. Finnigan, pawing at my baby girl, I see . . ."

Or even the thought of Grace herself, not exactly.

"Well . . . good evening, Huck."

But because of him.

Him.

And his . . . condition.

Not the scars covering the left side of his face.

His ear. His neck.

Not even his blind eye.

But his mouth.

It wasn't exactly kissable.

Or eatable.

Wasn't exactly conducive and comfortable to kissing or eating with is what he means.

Everything works alright, everything still in its place.

He's still got his lips, his gums, his teeth, his tongue.

He's seen guys in the army hospital . . .

". . . fitted over your face, Mr. Gray, paint it up to look like a real one . . ."

. . . with much worse.

All he's got . . .

". . . healing tissues, Mr. Finnigan . . ."

. . . is a skinny little flap of tissue stretching from his upper lip to his lower lip on the left side.

". . . way it healed, I suppose . . ."

It doesn't hurt, doesn't bleed or get infected.

Not anymore.

It's just . . . there.

Keeps his mouth from opening wide.

He has to be careful when he chews, so food doesn't drool out around it, milk spill out of it.

It took some practice in the beginning . . .

". . . sorry . . ."

. . . but he finally got it.

". . . napkin here . . ."

And now it's simply a part of who he is, what his face is now.

Except . . .

"Good evening, Huck."

. . . he really thinks he'd like to get rid of it.

"Good evening, . . ."

Just in case he ever wants to take the chance to kiss her . . .

". . . Grace."

. . . good night.


"Simple enough, I believe."

He thinks on it. Mulls over it.

And, then quickly enough, he goes to a local physician.

"Not sure why they didn't bother to do it in the military hospital."

An older gentleman with white hair.

"I can do it right here with local anesthetic."

In a modest little clinic on the main street corner.

"Should heal up within a week so long as you keep it clean."

And he doesn't even . . .

"Yeah. That'd be real swell, Doctor Moss. I'd like that alot."

. . . pause to think about it.

"Thank you."

Not anymore.

"No problem, Son."

And . . .

"When can I write you in?"

. . . that's that.


He gets it done on a Friday morning, takes the day off from work.

Doesn't tell Grace. Doesn't want to worry her or have her think him vain.

Wonders if he hopes she will or will not even notice the change.

Decides he's pretending not to think about it right now.

The doctor numbs his mouth, neatly clips the unwanted flesh off from his upper, then lower lip.

Burns the clipped ends to stem the bleeding.

Rubs them with healing salve.

The whole process takes ten minutes.

And that . . .

"Careful eating for a few days. The spots'll be tender."

"Thank you, Doctor Moss."

"You are most welcome, Mr. Finnigan. Thank you for your service to our country."

"Yes, sir."

. . . is that.


"Huck, would you like some mashed potatoes?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Graham."

Quiet eating sounds here at the kitchen table.

Huck, stoically accepting the moderate discomfort of his surgeried mouth, the short lived pain he has chosen over the continued disfigurement with which he has struggled under the weight of for almost six years now.

"Still seeing that young woman, Huck? The one with the pie?"

"Yes, Mrs. Graham."

"Good. She's a nice girl. You should marry her."

"I don't . . . we just . . . Thank you, Mrs. Graham."


"Morning, Huck."

"Good morning, Harry."

"All's good in the world?"

"I sure hope so."


"Good morning, Huck."

"Good morning, Nurse Davis. How are things this morning?"

"Fine, fine. Peter . . . you know there's something different about you today, if you don't mind my saying. I can't quite put my finger on it . . . "

"Ahem, what did you say about Peter?"

"Oh, uh, well, he got back into the barn last night but Martha said to just let him be. Said you'd insisted."

"Yes. I did. Thank you, Nurse Davis."


"Good morning, William Holden."

"Good morning, Mrs. Kee. And it's Huck, remember?"

"Of course. You're such a handsome young man, William Holden. You know, at least on your right side."

"Thank you, Mrs. Kee. And it's Huck, remember?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Wells. How are you today?"

"I'd be better if they'd let me out of here! I've got a cello performance this afternoon with the Boston Symphony and I need time to practice!"

"Maybe we could have a cello brought to you, Mrs. Wells. How does that sound?"

"Well, it sounds positively ridiculous! I need my cello, not some random hunk of wood!"

Well, that didn't work. Back to the old drawing board.


"Hello, Huck."

"Hello, Grace. Beautiful day."

"Yes. It is. I've saved you a seat."

"Thank you."


Another small step for Huck. :)

Thanks to DinahRay and Conbird for previously reviewing!