I do not own Ratched.

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

Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale

All in All


"Have you asked that girl with the pie to marry you yet, Huck?"

"No, Mrs. Graham."

"Well, why not?"

"Well . . . because . . . we . . . we're . . . we've only been courting a few months, Mrs. Graham."

"You've met her parents, haven't you?"

"Yes. Several times."

"And they like you fine?"

"Yes. I think so."

"She's met your mother."

"Yes."

And my ex-wife. It was quite a trip.

"And your mother liked her?"

"Yes. Very much, in fact."

"And you like her?"

I love her.

"Yes."

"A little more than that, I think. Every time you think of her, the good side of your face gets all soft and sappy, like men get when they are in love with a good woman."

And it is to this he has no reply.

"Just like you're doing now."

"Mrs. Graham-"

And Mrs. George Graham . . .

"So why haven't you asked her to marry you, Huck?"

. . . requires none to move right on with her thought steamroller . . .

"Is it because of your face? Because I know she doesn't care about that. I've seen the way she looks at you when you don't see. She doesn't care about your face and you shouldn't either."

. . . as far as she . . .

"No one has any right to tell another person what they can and can't do with themselves. And that includes you. You live your life however you please, that's what I say."

. . . cares to take it.

"And I say you ask that girl to marry you and you make yourself a good husband to her because that's what she deserves."

Which is a pretty far piece.

"And she'll make herself a good wife to you. Which is what you deserve."

Even for her.

"Thank you, Mrs. Graham."


"Good morning, Huck!"

"Good morning, Grace."

"How are you?"

"I'm well. Can't complain. How are you?"

"I'm doing well. Even better now that I've seen you."

"Thank you."

Why didn't I say that? I was thinking it.

"Um, Grace, can I ask you a question?"

"Fire away."

"Would you, um, would . . . you like to go out on a date Friday night?"

"It would be my pleasure."


Of course he doesn't ask her.

He can't ask her.

Not yet. Definitely not here at the hospital.

Not yet at all.

They've only been courting a handful of months.

Huck doesn't have anything to offer her.

Only himself.

And he doesn't want to rush her into things too soon.

I know she says she loves me.

And I know I love her.

But . . . I don't want her to give her life away just for me.


"Hello, Miss Dannon. Time for your medication."

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't waste perfectly good medication on me, Mr. Finnigan."

"It's not a waste, Miss Dannon. I really think it will help you feel better."

"Dead people can't feel better, Mr. Finnigan."

"You're not dead, Miss Dannon."

"You really should save it for the living people here."

"You are living, Miss Dannon."

"Oh, that would be wonderful, wouldn't it? I sure wish I could be."


"Okay, what's going on with the nutcase in the solarium?"

"She's not a nutcase, Nurse Bucket."

"She thinks she's dead."

"Yes. But that doesn't make her a nutcase. She's mentally ill."

"Eh, potato, tomato."

That's . . . not . . . actually, that works perfectly.

"So, what's wrong with her?"

"She thinks she's dead."

"Yeah, we've been over that. But why?"

"I don't know."

"Well, that's not helpful at all."

No, it's not.


"Hey, Chief, how are you?"

. . .

"Having a good day?"

. . .

"Peter, can you hear me?"

. . .

"Peter?"

. . .

Sigh.


"Good afternoon, William Holden."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Kee."

"There's a young lady in the solarium that says she's dead, William Holden."

"Yes, Mrs. Kee."

"Is she dead? Is she a ghost?"

"No, Mrs. Kee. She's not dead and she's not a ghost."

"Oh good. That's a relief. I was afraid I might be losing my marbles."

"No, Mrs. Kee, you're doing fine. And it's Huck, remember?"

"Of course, William Holden."

Sigh.


". . . understand why you have this terrible fear of animals in you."

The night air is cooling through the open windows, carrying with it the rapid-fire giant silver screen antics.

"What is it?"

Of the comedically brilliant duo of Bud Abbott . . .

"When I was a little baby I was scared by my piggy bank."

. . . and Lou Costello.

"Wanna hear something worse?"

All the stress and pressures of the day, of the week, . . .

"What?"

. . . melt away from Huck Finnigan.

"I was fifteen years ago before I ate my first animal cracker."

He feels content.

". . . draw a map, can I go home?"

Peaceful.

"What do you need to go home for?"

Happy.

"I forgot something."

Loved.

"What?"

His girl's strawberry blond head on his shoulder.

"I forgot . . ."

And her body warm . . .

". . . to stay there."

. . . against his.

Sigh.


"Thank you for coming out with me tonight, Grace."

I wish I didn't have to say goodnight.

"It was my pleasure, Huck."

I wish I could hold you in my arms all night long.

"I love you, Grace."

I'd keep you safe and watch you sleep.

"I love you too, Huck."

Maybe someday . . .

"Goodnight, Grace."

. . . if I'm lucky, . . .

"Goodnight, Huck."

. . . I will.


Hello, we're back!

Sorry we've been gone so long. Life gets ya sometimes.

Anyway, thanks to DinahRay for reviewing sooo long ago and thanks to Conbird for encouraging me to get back to this story.

And the movie is "Africa Screams", circa 1949.

See you again soon! :)