I do not own Ratched.
I do not own my angel boy Huck. But I love him.
Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale
Hooray, Almost The Day
His mother has come up for the wedding, all the way up from Sacramento.
"Why, Huck, what a delightful little coast town. Is it always this nice?"
It has been the past year.
Beulah Olive Thatcher Finnigan.
She's boarding with Mrs. Graham.
And the two women . . .
". . . Huck?"
. . . seem to be vastly enjoying themselves.
"I'll tell you, Beulah, I thought he'd never propose. I thought he'd grow old before he let himself find happiness."
And Huck wonders if these two women . . .
"I can hear you, you know."
. . . were born sisters.
"Well, of course, you can, son. We're saying it right out loud. Now put that milk up before it spoils."
"Yes, ma'am."
Two weeks and Huck doesn't ever think he's seen his mother smile so much, laugh so much.
Even though . . .
". . . turn in and read for a bit."
"Goodnight, Beulah."
"Goodnight."
. . . Huck sees her light on into the night as she wraps herself in the comfort of her books.
And Huck himself . . .
Grace.
. . . more and more . . .
Grace.
. . . tosses and turns.
Grace Finnigan.
And is restless . . .
Grace is going to be my wife.
. . . in his sleep.
Their house is ready, it just needs them in it.
They've got basic furniture.
A kitchen table, chairs.
Sofas, end tables, a pair of armchairs.
An armoire from some great aunt or other.
A double bedframe and brand-new mattress.
Other such-like as they need.
One of the extra bedroomy will be Grace's sewing room. The other, ostensibly, Huck's office.
Though what he would do in it he hasn't the foggiest.
Rugs, welcome mats, towels, linens.
Pillows, blanket, quilts, doilies.
Dishware, flatware, glassware, cookware.
China and teapots and coffeepots and tableside lamps.
Any and all starting accoutrements for their new home have been placed and accounted for.
It seems, to an astounded Huck Finnigan, that their cup runneth over and over and over again.
Some they have bought, some has been gifted to them by Grace's relatives.
A great many handmade, previously gathered things Grace has brought in a large cedar hope chest with a hinged lid.
It weighed more than Huck cared to admit.
But once unpacked of its wedded bliss essentials, it is near empty . . .
". . . great grandmother's. I have always loved the smell of cedar."
. . . and very much lighter.
All is in good shape and all of it . . .
". . . Kee, what is this?"
. . . has brought a feeling of warmth and home and family . . .
"It's a quilt, William Holden. You'd be amazed at how many scraps I had to collect for the double wedding rings, but there it is."
. . . to the home in which Huck and Grace . . .
"It's beautiful, Mrs. Kee. Thank you so much. When did you have time to make this?"
. . . will start their life together . . .
"I don't always play pinochle, William Holden."
. . . in.
Grace's sister and mother have agreed to look after the house whilst the happy couple traipse off on their week long honeymoon.
Run the taps, release the heater, open the windows to let the light and fresh air in.
Sweep the walk, sort what little mail there may be.
Hire a man to keep up the lawn.
And Huck feels as though . . .
"Thank you, Mrs. Miller, Mrs. Jones. I can't say thank you enough."
"Of course, Huck."
. . . they're being showered with love and kindness and acceptance.
"We're family now."
"That's what families do."
And all because of . . .
"Well, thank you. I'll return the favor somehow."
"Oh, well, that's also what families do, isn't it, Susannah?"
"It certainly is, Mama."
. . . Grace.
"And Huck?"
"Yes, Mrs. Jones?"
"It's 'Susannah' now."
And maybe just a little bit . . .
"Yes, ma'am."
. . . him.
It's Grace's last day of work at St. Lucia.
She's going to be using the upcoming week to rest, prepare herself for her new life.
As a married woman.
The keeper of a home all her own.
She will have much to prepare for, much to put away from her.
It will be a transition in her life that, no matter how much she prepared for, she will never truly understand until she is into it.
And yet she must try.
And so today is her last day of work.
And she's asked Huck to stay and walk her out.
". . . course. Anything you want, Grace."
She's said goodbye to . . .
". . . you, Mrs. Kee."
"I'll miss you too, Nurse Miller. Just hold on there to that good young man next to you and don't worry too much about that other fella."
"Yes, ma'am."
. . . those she wishes.
Miss Dannon.
". . . alive, Miss Dannon. Your spirit is within you and it is so gentle and kind."
"Thank you, dear. That's nice of you to say."
Peter.
". . . believe in you, Peter."
". . ."
"Please remember you are something, alright? You matter."
". . ."
And of course, the nurses she has spent time . . .
Look at them still pretending they're not trying to peek at my Johnson to see if it's scarred.
Good grief.
. . . with.
And of course, her boss.
". . . you so much, Director Bucket."
With her harsh, drawn face softening into an almost weepy . . .
"Oh, call me Betsy, please."
. . . exterior.
Grace chuckles.
"I honestly don't think I can."
And Betsy Bucket . . .
"Oh you sweet, precious girl, oh, you dear thing . . ."
. . . flaps her hands as she sniffles . . .
". . . just know you are always welcome here."
. . . and brings forth a sappy, doting smile.
"Would you like to come to the ceremony?"
Uh, Grace-
"Oh, of course, dear girl, I'd be honored . ."
And she swipes at her eyes and Grace turns away.
And Director Bucket looks then to Huck, sniffles drying up quicker than a blink and her like for him blistering into steely eyed . . .
"Huck Finnigan, don't you dare hurt that girl, don't you dare even ever make her frown!"
. . . promise.
And Huck realizes . . .
Grace-
. . . he may meet his untimely end if he ever . . .
Help-
. . . lets his sweetheart down.
And he nods awkwardly.
Goes after his bride-to-be.
And does catch up with her.
Grace walking straight and tall and poised.
Though he notices . . .
"Are you alright?"
. . . her beautiful blue-green-green-blue eyes are overbright as well.
She nods, touching at the corners of her eyes lightly.
"Yes. It will be odd not to come in and try to do some good here every day."
And Huck frowns.
"You don't have to do this, Grace. I want you to be happy. I want you to do what you want."
And she smiles, so gentle and sweet.
"I know that. Thank you, Huck. And I am. I am doing exactly what I want."
And so he . . .
"Okay. If you're sure."
"I am."
. . . decides to let it be.
The week moves slowly at work.
It is not that he worked hand-in-hand with Grace throughout the day.
". . . Greene? You said something about there not being as many men here as women?"
"Yes, well, I think there's more women here because men don't think they can admit they have problems, you see."
"Oh?"
It's that he misses . . .
"Yes. They're taught not to feel and not to have problems. So they don't. Until they kill themselves."
"Now hang on a minute, Patricia. That's not fair. I have just as many damn feelings as any damn woman in this place."
"I know, Mr. Fletcher. Frankly, I think it's the only reason you're still alive."
. . . the soothing quality . . .
"And is that a good thing?"
"Not with your attitude right now. But usually, yes."
. . . she lends . . .
"Now tell those penguins circling your head to be still, they're giving me a headache."
. . . to the environment.
So he supposes the evenings on her parents' porch . . .
"Hello, Huck! How was your day?"
. . . with Misty and Grace . . .
"Hello, Grace. It's better now."
. . . will have to do.
"Tell me all about it."
Until the wedding anyway.
Thanks to DinahRay and IHeartSPN for so graciously reviewing before.
Next weekend, the wedding!
