I do not own Ratched.
I do not own my angel boy Huck. But I love him.
Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale
Grace and the Walrus, Part 2
He wants to go after her immediately.
Grace.
He wants to hold her, comfort her.
He wants listen to her if she wishes to speak.
He wants to make it better for her.
Everything in him wants to help.
Grace, I'm sorry.
But she has specifically requested . . .
"I just need to be alone for a few minutes."
. . . the exact opposite of this.
And so Huck, mind dark and heart aching . . .
I should have punched him.
. . . lets her go.
And moves on with his day . . .
". . ., Ms. Wells?"
"Better. Do you think I could go outside?"
"I think that's just what the doctor ordered."
"What doctor?"
Not Doctor Hanover, I can tell you that.
. . . as best he can.
She finds him later.
Grace.
Outside on his way back from the barn.
"Hello, Grace."
Grace on the green lawn, Grace under the clear blue sky.
All these things that compliment her outward beauty so perfectly it always takes his breath away.
"How're you feeling?"
Except now when she seems tense and sharp in her edges.
"Did you really save those women patients, Huck? The ones who . . . liked each other? Give them money and take them to the train station?"
And he stares at her, this is not what he had expected to talk about.
And he doesn't mean to stammer, he doesn't.
"How did you know about that?"
Grace on the other hand, who's never seemed more direct.
"Everybody knows everything that goes on around here."
And unconcerned with decorum.
"Well, almost everything."
And she's latched on to him with her unflinching gaze.
"So, did you?"
"Oh thank you, thank you. Thank you for this."
"Yes, we can never repay this kindness. You and Nurse Ratched have saved us."
"No problem. Happy to help."
Their tears, happy now, the way they look to each other, to the train, . . .
"We will never forget you. Or Nurse Ratched."
. . . so full of burgeoning hope and possibility.
"Well, you be careful. Safe travels."
And in that instant, all Huck had wanted . . .
"God bless you, Huck Finnigan."
. . . was to feel that way again.
"Yes, God bless you."
With someone he could call . . .
"Thank you. You're . . . you're very kind."
. . . his sweetheart.
Huck nods.
"Yes."
Grace doesn't let go.
"Why?"
And he says the only thing he can.
"They weren't hurting anyone. They weren't even hurting themselves. It was wrong and cruel to torture them for being different. They just needed to be free."
Grace seems to consider this.
"And you were in love with Nurse Ratched?"
Shit.
"Uh, . . ."
And Huck tries not to flail, this conversation was supposed to be about Grace being okay, not Huck's collusion with women of a certain preference.
". . . well, no, not entirely, uh, I just, uh, . . . I did, uh, care for her. At the time. She wasn't interested."
But somehow that's exactly what it seems to be.
Grace, continues.
"And so you let her go. Just like that. Even though it wasn't in your own best interests."
Huck, right side of his face aflame, responds.
"Yes."
What else was there to do?
"But wanting someone who doesn't want you is never in your best interests to begin with. I'm no saint. She didn't want me."
Grace huffs, practically rolls her eyes.
"Men don't care what women want. They only care about themselves. And that thing between their legs. That's what's really in charge of them."
He's never heard her speak so crassly; it makes him want to stammer and blush.
But he knows she must be in a great deal of upset to speak so.
And so he focuses in on that.
Grace's frustration and pain, what he can to understand it.
"The whole world turns for men. And rolls right over the women and anyone else who gets in their way."
He can think of nothing to say to this.
It's true and it's wrong.
Grace, passing a hand over her face, seems to be trying to regain the self-control and pleasant poise she has previously exhibited so strongly in all the time Huck has known her.
He doesn't want her to feel she must, that's only submitting in a different way to what she is decrying now.
"I think . . . I think I'm going to go home for the day. Is that . . . is that alright?"
This question seems an effort that Huck is all to painfully aware of at this moment.
She has to ask permission from a man to live her life.
"Yes, of course. Whatever you need."
She nods, doesn't quite meet his eyes, starts away.
He does not try to stop her.
It is not his place.
And yet, still, she pauses.
Looks down at her hands, folded and clenched down onto one another.
"I love you, Huck."
It's more he could ask for.
"I love you, Grace."
And then she is gone.
He's pretending to read in his tiny apartment above Mrs. Graham's garage.
". . . Tookish woke up inside him . . ."
It's not going very well.
". . . and he wished to go and see the great mountains and hear . . ."
He keeps reading the same words over and over.
". . . the pine-trees and the waterfalls and explore . . ."
Without any ability to comprehend or retain them.
". . . the caves , and wear a sword instead of a walking stick."
He's about to hurl the usually comforting book out the window and call it a night.
"Huck!"
When Mrs. Graham . . .
"Huck!"
. . . bangs on the handrail with her cane.
"You've got a call!"
Did you check the barn? he automatically asks some anxious St. Lucia staff member. Peter's always in the barn with the horse. I wrote it down.
"Coming, Mrs. Graham."
And he starts to put the book down-
"It's your ladyfriend, the one with the pie. Grace."
He almost falls down the stairs in his hurry. She never calls at night.
"Hello? Grace?"
And he can't keep the shake out of his voice, it's there and it's clear.
"Hello, Huck."
And her voice is soft again, sounding like she'd be gentle to kittens.
"Is everything alright, Grace?"
Even when they're grown up and ready to litter kittens by Christmas.
"Yes."
There's a pause and he doesn't know if she's going to break things off with him or tell him Mrs. Kee went on a pinochle rampage that left three members of St Lucia's in a mess of cards on the floor.
Then she speaks.
"I know I went off in a huff today. I want you to know it wasn't about you."
Grace, always so intuitive.
Though he should feel ashamed.
No different than any other man.
Always thinking it's about . . .
"No. Of course not. I-"
. . . himself.
"I know you probably wanted to hit him. I'm . . . I'm glad you didn't."
That makes one of them.
"I'm sorry I didn't do something, Grace. No one deserves to be treated like that."
She's not wrong.
"No, they don't. It makes one feel . . . unclean."
Especially now.
"Anyway, I didn't call to rehash. I never want to talk about it again, frankly."
It seems to be a direct commandant.
"Whatever you want, Grace. I mean it."
And she sighs audibly over the telephone line.
"You're a good man. I love you. I want you to know that before you go to sleep tonight."
And Huck Finnigan . . .
"I love you too, Grace."
. . . thinks all he wishes to do . . .
"Goodnight. See you tomorrow."
. . . is protect her from everything . . .
"Good night, Grace."
. . . that he can't.
And that's part 2 of that.
Any thoughts?
And I promise we'll start heading directly toward the happy wedding now. I know you feel like they (and we) have waited long enough.
Thanks to DinahRay and IHeartSPN for previously reviewing! And with such enthusiasm! (You all really don't like Governor Walrus Wilburn, do you? ;) )
