I do not own Ratched.
I do not own my angel boy Huck. But I love him.
Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale
Dancing in the Moonlight
There are a lot of things Huck likes about Grace.
He hasn't found anything he doesn't.
He likes the way she moves, the way she talks.
He likes her touch, her hand upon his, upon his face.
The way she laughs.
He likes how intelligent she is, how she never uses it against anyone.
And he very much likes how considerate she is of him.
Without seeming . . .
"Hello, Huck."
. . . to make any effort at all.
She approaches him always from the right.
Where he can see her, hear her.
Where he is not startled, surprised.
But she doesn't seem to mind his left side . . .
"Hello, Grace."
. . . either.
When they are together, she makes him forget he's a man with only half a face.
Instead, he feels simply like a man.
A man in the company of a kind, smart, beautiful woman.
Eating a meal.
Walking along some pathway or another.
Talking.
Or, in this case, . . .
"Stop right here, Huck, if you don't mind. Right here on this overlook?"
. . . dancing.
"Sure."
He does so, without hesitation.
Easing the freshly washed and shined Ford to a stop on the overlook, putting the vehicle into park, turning to her.
The ocean no longer a hauntingly dark pull for him.
But simply, especially with Grace by his side, a mass of endlessly waving salt water.
It's nearing the end of another Friday evening date.
"Is everything alright?"
Diner dinner and a movie.
"Yes. I just love this song."
Something light and fun with Fred and Ginger.
Something that has apparently . . .
"And I wanted to ask you, I mean if you don't mind, . . ."
. . . put her in the mind . . .
". . . will you dance with me, Huck?"
. . . for a little spin in the cool night air.
He smiles, immediately delighted.
"Sure."
And just the slightest bit shy.
"I mean, I'm no Fred but . . . it would be my honor."
He steps out of the car, shuts his door, and crunches over the gravel to her door.
And . . .
"That's alright. I'm no Ginger."
. . . opens hers.
She steps out easily, Grace with her beautiful strawberry blond hair and her pale oval face in the moonlight.
Pleasant figure garbed in a lovely dark blue collared dress spotted with white dots, waisted with a white belt very much unlike the one he wears at St. Lucia.
She's taken the liberty of turning up the music a little and he can hear it easily through the open car windows.
As they face each other, bathed in the headlights.
And Huck . . .
"I'll try not to step on your toes."
"I'll try not to step on yours."
. . . takes her into his arms.
Her weight is as light as feather, his arm around her waist, her hand on his shoulder.
Hand in opposite hand.
And he's just . . .
I really do hope I don't step on her toes.
. . . barely swaying.
Her lovely face turned just up to his.
"Huck?"
And he just can't . . .
"Mmm?"
. . . take his eyes off her.
"This is a big band swing song."
Oh.
And he grins a little self-consciously.
"Sorry, you're . . ."
Just so beautiful and sweet and kind.
". . . right."
And since he really is no Fred, Huck contents himself, and hopefully Grace, with a some simple swing dancing moves.
Not the wild whirling dervish, throwing her above his head, then down under his legs.
I couldn't do that to Grace. I wouldn't even know how.
Just a little . . .
"Oh, look at you, Huck. You can dance."
"Just about."
. . . stepping.
And maybe boldening to a twirl or two.
"Oh, . . ."
Maybe a little faster.
And her face is flush and lit with joy.
She's laughing and her skirt is twirling out so lovely.
And . . .
". . . Huck!"
. . . realizes he's forgotten to keep his mouth shut when he smiles.
That he doesn't have to now that the scar tissue connecting his lips is gone now and won't pull or deform his mouth . . .
"You're wonderful!"
. . . to the world that can see him.
And even though it almost aches because he hasn't smiled so broadly since before The War, . . .
"Don't stop!"
. . . he doesn't even notice it . . .
"We'll have to stop when the car runs out of gas."
. . . in the light of her glow.
"Party pooper!"
And then the song is over and there's another just like it.
And another.
And then when he really is supposed to be concerned for the time and if her parents will worry, . . .
"See, now this . . ."
. . . a more mellow song comes on.
". . . is a slow song."
And Grace, lighter and more beautiful than ever, . . .
"If you don't mind it."
. . . steps closer to him.
And Huck can feel the warmth and fondness pouring off of her in quiet, demure waves.
"No . . . No, I don't mind."
They're back to barely swaying now and that's okay because that's all he can quite manage.
Not having danced so freely for so long.
And having Grace . . .
"You, uh, you look really beautiful tonight, Grace."
. . . so close.
"Thank you, Huck."
And now he has stopped dancing entirely.
He knows there's still music, his right ear can hear it vaguely through the rushing of his blood.
But he can't move anymore, he can't shuffle or sway.
The only thing he can manage to do . . .
"Grace, I hope you don't mind me asking . . . if I'm being too forward but . . ."
. . . is open his mouth . . .
". . . can I kiss you?"
. . . and ask her his question.
And Grace, eyes so pretty it almost takes his breath away even more, . . .
"I thought you'd never ask."
. . . answers.
Her lips are soft.
Welcoming and warm.
He could kiss her forever.
May, if he is lucky, get to spend the rest of his life doing so.
But for now he forces himself to draw back.
Look at her.
Grace, whose eyes are just opening, gaze dreamy and seeking him.
Only to find him.
Focus.
And smile.
A lovely smile.
And . . .
Laugh? That may not be go-
"Oh my, Mr. Finnigan, . . ."
"What?"
She's giggling but it's sweet and he's not anxious or worried or hurt but mystified.
But not . . .
"I seem to have left some lipstick on your mouth."
. . . for long.
Soft thumb brushing against his lower lips, once, twice, again.
And he resists the sudden impulse to . . .
"Perhaps I should consider wearing less, hmmm?"
. . . kiss that as well.
Instead, grasps her hand with his, warm and gladly familiar to his chest . . .
"I don't mind."
Murmurs lows.
And kisses her . . .
"I just don't mind . . ."
. . . again.
". . . at all."
And she kisses him . . .
"Well, I happen to think it looks good on you."
. . . right back.
He does stop kissing her.
"We really should take you on home. You know, . . ."
In due time.
"Before your parents worry."
She seems mildly reluctant.
"Mmm, if it will ease your mind."
Just enough to make Huck feel even warmer in his chest if that's even possible.
"But I've heard stories from my grandmother about my parents so I'm pretty sure I could hold my own in a talk if it came down to it."
He grins at her touch of bravado.
She smirks cheekily at him, just the tiniest bit, and he can't help but grin back in adoration.
"I just don't want to jeopardize them liking me, you know, . . ."
. . . so they don't refuse me your hand one day.
". . . I, uh, I want them to like me."
She nods.
"They do."
Smiles again, secret almost, he thinks.
"I do too."
And he can't think of ever letting her go.
"Thank you. I ike you too, Grace."
And then, before he can find himself lost in her beauty again, Huck escorts her back to the car.
They are on the porch again.
There's a welcome light on.
Illuminating Grace's beautiful face.
And Huck's now lipstick-free one.
Still, he feels dreadfully . . .
"Welllll, Mr. Finnigan, awful late, isn't it? Where you been?"
"Necking. Well, not necking. Kissing. Not a lot. Just a little."
. . . exposed in its bathe.
But Grace . . .
"Thank you for a lovely evening, Huck."
"It was my pleasure, Grace."
. . . doesn't seem concerned . . .
"I . . . I want you to know, . . . you didn't have to fix your lip on my behalf."
. . . in the least.
"It didn't bother me at all. I would have kissed you with it."
And he ducks his head, blushing.
"Thank you, Grace."
Raises her hand he is holding.
Kisses the back of it.
And lowering it, watches in near awe as she closes the small distance behind them.
And presses her lips unabashedly to his.
Grace-
As her free hand warms the cheek he cannot feel.
Then she steps back, eyes seeming to brim.
Through a sweetly dimpled-smile.
As she reaches out to wipe the transferred lipstick once again from his mouth.
"No, . . ."
Even as he gently catches it with his own hand.
". . . leave it."
Now holding both her delicate hands in his.
"I kind of like it."
And she chuckles.
"It's just your shade too."
And he just knows . . .
I love you, Grace.
. . . that he's completely in love with her now.
"Well, good night, Grace."
"Good night, Huck."
And he wears the lipstick all the way home.
And looks with wonder at himself in the mirror.
For quite some time.
Just couldn't cut down this chapter. It was just too enjoyable of a read.Hope you enjoyed too! :)
