I do not own Ratched.

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

Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale

Talk Of the Town


Dear Ma,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I have big news and I decided to write it so you could read it.

I've asked Grace to marry me. She said yes. Her parents have given their blessing.

We haven't set an exact date yet but we're planning on next summer.

I suppose my side of the aisle will be a little thin but I'd be honored for you to be there all by your lonesome.

Thank you for your gentle raising of me, Ma. You have always believed in me and loved me even when I was low and struggling.

I hope I make you proud of me.

Love,

Huck


"Good afternoon, Huck. How are you?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Graham. Can't complain. How are you?"

"Oh, my back's paining me some today."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Graham."

"Oh, nothing to be sorry about. That's just the way of it sometimes. How's that girl with the pie?"

And Huck, taciturn as he is, cannot help but smile.

"She's well. I've, uh, I've asked her to marry me."

"Finally! I thought I would grow old before you worked up your courage!"

"Well, I, uh, I wanted her to have a good life."

"She'll have a wonderful life with you, Huck, make no mistake about that."

"Thank you, Mrs. Graham."

And then he's hugged by her too.


There are gigglings, poorly concealed rubbernecking stares.

Whispers behind hands.

And Grace, bold and proud and gentle and warm . . .

"Good morning, Huck!"

. . . somehow still professional and dignified . . .

"Good morning, Grace."

. . . in the middle of it all.

And Huck . . .

"See you at lunch?"

. . . decides to just keep his mind calm.

"Looking forward to it."

And do the best he can.


"Good morning, William Holden."

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

It's lovely in the solarium.

"Yes, of course, don't be silly. You remember that pretty nurse, the one you danced with at the social?"

"Yes, I remember her."

And Mrs. Glenda Josephina Duante Kee . . .

"Well, I saw her wearing a ring on her finger this morning. I've never seen her wearing a ring on her finger before."

. . . is in full secret spy mode.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, I saw it at breakfast this morning when she refilled my coffee cup. Little pearls and diamonds, it's just beautiful."

And Huck smiles, attempting some subtlety.

"It sounds nice, Mrs. Kee."

"I asked her if she was getting married and she got all pink and smiley and said she's engaged to Head Nurse Finnigan. Do you know who that is?"

"That's me, Mrs. Kee. I'm Huck Finnigan. I'm engaged to Nurse Miller."

And the clouds clear.

"Now that sounds wonderful, William Holden! She oughta marry you insteada this other fella. He sounds like someone out of a storybook."

Sort of.

"Mrs. Kee, I am that fellow."

"Well, that happens sometimes, William Holden. You just make an honest woman outta her and don't worry about that other fella. It'll all work itself out in the end."

And Huck decides to concede defeat.

"I promise I'll do my best by her, Mrs. Kee."

"I know you will, William Holden. You're a good boy."

Just this . . .

"Thank you, Mrs. Kee."

. . . once.


"Huck?"

"Yes, Director Bucket?"

(Betsy Bucket has recently rechristened herself 'Director' Bucket as of late, perhaps realizing that a simple 'Nurse' sounds lower in stature and authority than 'Head Nurse' and to Huck's mild amusement, no one has dared to make any mention of it whatsoever and he has privately wondered what would happen if she took it a step further to 'Supreme Leader' Bucket.)

"I'd like to speak to you in my office, please."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be right there."


Same office.

Same red carpet.

Same . . .

"So, you and Nurse Miller're getting hitched, huh?"

. . . Betsy Bucket.

"Oh, uh, yes."

Tone not exactly brusque.

But not anything approaching sappy and sentimental either.

"Did she tell you?"

Dismissive shake of the head.

"No. But you know how word travels around here."

Boy, don't I.

"Yes, ma'am."

And Betsy Bucket regards him with a hawk-like gaze.

"She pregnant?"

And Huck Finnigan . . .

"Wh- no. Of course not."

. . . tries not to blanch.

"Is that what people are saying?"

The older woman seems to feel no such embarrassment.

Even going so far as to shrug her bony shoulders.

"No, not particularly."

Well, thank goodness for that.

And then the Supreme Leader Director blows out a sigh of mild displeasure.

"Alright then, I suppose I'll need to draw up a posting for a new nurse."

Huck finds himself nodding along in agreement before he fully absorbs what has been said.

"Mm, wh-, I'm, uh, sorry, what did you say?"

As the older woman, on the other hand, plows straight on, mumbling almost to herself as she shuffles papers in a massive desk drawer.

"Still, I hate to lose her. She's a good employee, lots of potential and natural ability. Good cape material."

Utterly oblivious to her Head Nurse's complete confusion and bewilderment.

"I hate to see a woman diminish herself all for a man. Serving him, doting on him. As if he can't learn to cook his own damn food or darn his own damn socks."

As he tries to work out.

"Destroy her body like some sow just to crank out some kids she'll raise and he'll take credit for."

Just exactly what he should say or do.

"While he lazes around at work and chases tail half his age . . ."

In this particular situation.

". . . and she works herself to the bone cleaning up after him and a brood of ungrateful children."

Then, she turns to him, lined countenance resigned.

"Still, if she's gonna throw away her life and career on some thankless man, I suppose I prefer it'd be you rather than some other horse's ass."

I think . . .

"Congratulations, Huck."

. . . I need . . .

"Th-thank you, Director Bucket."

. . . to talk to . . .

"Don't mention it."

. . . Grace.


"Well, young man, I hear you are to wed one of our establishment's fair nurses."

"Yes, Ms. Wells, that's-"

"That's Dr. Hanover to you, young man. Watch those manners."

Still, the ebony-skinned multiple personalitied schizophrenic seems to be in relatively jovial spirits.

"Yes."

So Huck chooses to draw in his face and take the path of least resistance.

"Of course."

The day is wearing on, after all.

"As you were saying?"

And Charlotte Wells, moderately mollified, eases her ire.

Stature dignified and magnanimous, for once not strapped in a chair but standing tall and proud and haughty, continues.

"As I was saying, I would be honored to offer my services officiating your upcoming nuptials."

Huck takes a moment to work through this series of grandly spoken words from the Negro woman so heavily medicated no one can quite figure how she still conjures such stage presence and aplomb.

And finally, . . .

"Oh,. . ."

Ms. Wells, . . .

"Uh, . . ."

I have compassion for your illness, I really do.

"Well, . . ."

But I'm not inviting you to my wedding.

"Thank you for the kindness. That's, uh, that's very gracious."

For any reason.

"You speak to your ladyfriend and inform me of the particulars later. Mind you, I've got a very busy social schedule. But I'll be glad to make room for an employee."

At all.


"I heard you and Nurse Miller are getting married."

"Yes, Miss Dannon."

"I'm so happy for the two of you. When I was alive, I always dreamed of getting married."

"You're still alive, Miss Dannon."

"Oh, if I was, oh, I would come to your wedding for sure, Huck. I'd dance and eat cake and tell everyone what kind and wonderful people you and Nurse Miller are."

"It would be an honor, Miss Dannon. Perhaps you'll change your mind."


"Hello, Huck, how's your day been so far?"

Huck swallows his sip of cola. Sets it down.

Wafts a smile.

"Uh, eventful. It seems everyone knows about us being engaged."

And Grace tilts her head to the side.

"Does . . . does that both bother you?"

Huck shakes his head

"No, not at all. I can't tell you how happy I am about it. I can barely sleep at night. It's just . . ."

Grace smiles gently.

"Everyone's got an opinion."

"Yeah."

"Mmm, Mrs. Kee told me she wanted me to choose William Holden and not worry about the other guy."

Huck nods.

"Yeah, she caught me too."

"Which guy are you again?"

"Both, I think."

They share a chuckle.

And Huck grows a little more serious.

"I, uh, I so wanted to talk to you later when we have enough time."

"About what?"

"Well, . . ."


Dear Son,

I am so happy for you and I have always been immeasurably proud.

The world has not always dealt you an easy hand, even before the war. But even after, with everything you went through, you never gave up or turned bitter. I worried you would, I stayed up nights wandering the bookshelves of the library, wrapped in a my shawl, wandering and worrying and praying and wishing I could help you in some way.

But you, my dear Huckleberry, persevered. You are building a fine life for yourself and I am so grateful that Grace is a part of it. She strikes me as a kind, intelligent, lovely, young woman who accepts you for who you are and that is a beautiful thing.

I love you always, my wonderful son.

Your Ma

Beulah Olive Thatcher Finnigan


Well, now that everyone's in on it. ;)

Thanks for reading and thanks to Conbird for so kindly reviewing the previous chapter :D