I do not own Ratched.

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

Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale

Betsy Bucket Doesn't Beat Around The Bush


"Hello, Huck."

"Hello, Grace."

Huck Finnigan was happy.

"Beautiful day."

"Yes, it is."

Very, very happy.

He had a roof over his head.

"So when can I see your bachelor pad?"

"Oh, uh, whenever you want to, I suppose."

"Maybe Sunday after dinner at my parents' house. If you'd like to come."

His health.

A decent job.

"Yeah. That sounds real nice."

"We'll set an extra place at the table then."

And, more recently, . . .

"Thank you. Should I bring anything?"

"Yourself."

. . . a sweetheart.

A beautiful sweetheart.

A smart, kind beautiful sweetheart.

A sweetheart he could take out to dinner on Friday nights.

A movie.

Dancing.

Maybe even a picnic . . .

"Beautiful day."

"Yes, it is."

. . . on Saturdays.

And then, to top it all off, they even work together . . .

"Hello, Huck."

"Hello, Grace."

. . . so he gets to see her everyday.

Well, . . .

"I missed you yesterday, Huck."

"Really?"

"Of course. I always want to see you."

"Thank you, Grace. I feel the same."

"You do?"

"Yes. Seeing you is the highlight of my day."

"Oh. Thank you, Huck."

"You're welcome, Grace."

. . . most days.


They don't kiss at work.

"Well, . . ."

Don't show any outward displays of affection.

". . . see you later on then."

Don't hold hands or even touch at all.

"Yes. I look forward to it."

Not at work anyway.

"Have a good day, Huck."

They've discussed it.

"You too, Grace."

Agreed upon it.

"Bye."

And both feel . . .

"Bye."

. . . most comfortable maintaining their professionalism.

Though he's not sure how much his face . . .

I love you, Grace.

. . . reveals.


Because people . . .

"Huck, I'd like to speak with you in my office, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Nurse Bucket."

. . . have eyes to see and ears to hear.

"I'll be right . . ."

And Huck can't argue his smile has been easier.

". . . along . . ."

His step lighter.

". . . in just a moment."

Because life just seems more hopeful than it has . . .

"Excellent, excellent. Well, come then, no time to dawdle."

. . . in a long, long time.


The ever easy-going Finnigan has set down his hospital work and dutifully followed Betsy Bucket to Dr. Hanover's old office.

Sat himself down at attention on the chair she has graciously gestured to across from the massive desk she has proudly set herself behind.

And through absolutely no desire of his own, commenced . . .

"Huck, I wanted to talk with you about something quite, uh, well, personal in nature."

. . . to engaging in the most uncomfortable conversation . . .

"Okay."

. . . he can remember having in quite some time.

"Rumor is, you and Miss Miller have, uh, taken an . . . interest in one another."

Well, I suppose this was to be expected at some point.

"Yes, that's right."

He naturally tries to keep a stoic outward expression . . .

"Mmm-hmm."

. . . though he can feel the start of the smile on his lips and the blush at his nape.

"Is there a problem?"

At just the mere thought . . .

"Has something been said?"

. . . of Grace Miller.

Nurse Bucket shakes her head, unassuming expression a little too false to be truly believed.

"No, no. It's just . . . well . . ."

And she clasps her bony hands together so tight, . . .

"I'd like to make sure the two of you maintain your . . . professionalism while you are on the job here."

. . . Huck wonders if they'll snap in half like dry twigs.

"I know in the past there have been . . . inappropriate interactions between staff, occasionally even between staff and patients . . ."

She fades out for a moment and Huck dares to hope this conversation might be reaching its embarrassing and awkward . . .

"Anyway, I expect a lot from my staff," Betsy Bucket proclaims, drawing herself up with all the station of her self-assigned position.

. . . conclusion.

"And it just wouldn't do for me to hear of . . ."

He would be foolish to hope.

". . . you getting caught . . .

For Betsy Bucket plunges right on.

. . . diddlin' her pooter . . ."

Dear god in heaven,-

". . . in some broom closet on the second floor, . . ."

With her set course of words.

". . . alright?"

As she edges a co-conspiratorial little me-and-you-bud-you-know-what-I-mean smile/wink combo at her Head Nurse . . .

-woman, what is wrong with you?

. . . of St. Lucia Rehabilitation Hospital.

"Sets a, uh, bad example for the rest of the staff."

And it's all he can do to keep from-

"No. No, . . ."

. . . keeling over right then and there . . .

". . . of course not. I would never . . ."

. . . on that damn wine-colored carpet he's already nearly . . .

". . . even consider doing something like that."

. . . bled to death once on.

But Betsy Bucket's . . .

"Oh. Well . . . why not?"

. . . not done with him . . .

"Something wrong with her? Or you?"

. . . yet.

And Huck is all but flabbergasted.

"No. I just . . . I respect her too much to treat her like that."

At her crassness. Her misunderstanding of his intentions, his behavior. His . . .

"Oh, well, . . ."

. . . decency as a human being, . . .

". . . good for you."

. . . for god's sakes.

"On your way then."

I don't see how I can . . .

"Chop chop."

. . . after this.


"Hello, Huck!"

"Oh. Uh. Hello, Grace."

"I'm about to take my lunch outside. Would you like to join me?"

"-pooter-"

"Oh. Uh, um. No. I'm sorry, I, uh, have a lot of paperwork to do today."

Damn you,-

"Oh. Well, alright. Maybe tomorrow?"

Betsy Bucket,-

"Sure. That'd be nice."

I like having lunch with my sweetheart.

"Alright then. See you later."

I like being able to look her . . .

"Sure. That'd be great."

. . . in the face.

"Bye."

"Bye."


Thanks to DinahRay for previously reviewing! Hope this gave you a laugh.