I do not own Ratched.
I do not own my angel boy Huck. But I love him.
Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale
Helena Mulnich Is Not Helen of Troy
"Head Nurse Finnigan?"
"Yes, Nurse Palmer?"
"Um, Mrs. Mulnich's son is here to see her."
And now here is another surprise in the continuing saga of The Lady Who Broke Everything In Her House.
Also known as Mrs. Helena Mulnich.
Also, Huck's Dear Darling Lady.
Family visitations aren't the norm of St. Lucia.
No, no, it's too embarrassing, too unpleasant.
Rather quietly tuck them away until someone can fix what's broken in them, make them presentable again to normally balanced society.
It would be better for them if their lives ones were to show, remind them there is life outside these walls.
Perhaps it would help some of them strive to overcome what ails them. Rather than just subsist as they are.
At any rate, . . .
'Oh, well, that's fantastic-"
"And he wants to speak with you as well."
Alright.
. . . it's a hopeful starting point.
"Roger, what a pleasant surprise-"
"Mother, it's time to stop all this silliness and go home."
"Oh, Roger, well, I don't-"
"Your place is at home, Mother. Dad needs you."
"Well-"
"I'll talk to the staff and have your things packed up immediately."
And Huck, standing just out of eyeline . . .
Oh, you will, will you?
. . . feels his scarred hackles raise.
"Good morning, I'm Head Nurse Huck Finnigan."
Boy, that is a mouthful.
Not as much as 'Supreme Leader Betsy Bucket', of course.
Ahem.
"How may I help you?"
The man is in his thirties.
Well-to-do, neatly and self-importantly groomed.
Spitting image of his father.
"Good afternoon, I am Roger Mulnich. Helena Mulnich is my mother."
"Nice to meet y-"
And just as dismissive of the lady of whom Huck has grown quite protective.
"I am here to take her home. Today."
And Huck decides to take the innocent route.
"Oh, I wasn't aware her house had been put back in order. We haven't spoken with Mr. Mulnich-"
And then he is also summarily dismissed.
"Please have her things packed immediately."
And so he discards his pretense just as flatly as this man has discarded the needs and wants of his very own mother.
"Mr. Mulnich, your mother has experienced a traumatic psychotic episode. She needs time to rest and recover."
In preference of ease and comfort.
"It's been over a week. That's enough time. The entire thing was ridiculous to begin with. She had no reason to behave as she did. She should be home where she belongs. My father needs her. And people are starting to ask questions."
And apparent societal well-being.
"Well, I apologize for your trouble, Mr. Mulnich, but your father signed her over into our care and we will release her when we deem her ready."
The man steps forward, entitled glower and threat hand in hand with his calm, even tone.
"Are you presuming to keep her here as a prisoner, sir?"
Huck holds his ground.
"No. We are looking after her medical and mental wellbeing."
And the man draws himself up even more so.
"I demand to speak to the person in charge of this facility."
Clearly prepared to put Huck in his lowly place.
"Nurse."
And Huck . . .
"Alright."
. . . takes more than a little pleasure . . .
"I'll see if she is available."
"She?"
. . . in the man's . . .
"Yes. She. Director Betsy Bucket."
. . . complete and absolute bewilderment.
". . . any right to hold my mother if I want to take her home where she belongs!"
Huck Finnigan stands quietly as Betsy Bucket and Roger Mulnich go multiple rounds of verbal boxing behind the closed doors of the vast office of -
"Director Bucket-"
-the head of St. Lucia-
". . . Rehabilitation Center, Mr. Mulnich. And rest assured, I understand the great import and responsibility of keeping our patients safe from harming themselves. And others."
Betsy Bucket may or may not agree with Huck's assessment of Helena Mulnich's state of mind and clarity and safety in regard to her possible re-entrance into free and open society.
"And it is far more sensible to keep her here until she is deemed throughly fit and well."
But everyone who knows anything about her knows she absolutely does not suffer fools, especially man fools, . . .
"Rather than risk her going home and chucking a piano out a second floor window . . ."
. . . to speak to her in such a commanding, dismissive manner.
". . . down onto her poor husband's unsuspecting head."
Not anymore.
Murder? By piano?
Mrs. Mulnich?
And the junior Mulnich sputters, stammers his disbelief and disgust.
"That is . . . that is just . . . preposterous, Ms. Bucket-"
"Director. And it's not as preposterous as you may think, Mr. Mulnich."
I don't even think Mrs. Mulnich even owns a piano.
"Now, I believe this meeting is concluded, sir."
"Excuse me?"
Betsy Bucket's blood-red smile is shark-like and uncompromising.
And Huck must restrain himself from a his own lopsided, scarred Halloween-mask smile.
"Good day, Mr. Mulnich."
And the defeated Mulnich gathers up his shredded dignity and self-important maleness.
"I trust you can find your own way peacefully without the assistance of our orderlies."
Chop-chop.
As Betsy would say.
And removes himself . . .
Well, "Director".
. . . from their facility.
And then all the restrained smiles and snarky inner thoughts . . .
"We do want to see improvement in our guests, . . ."
. . . are dried up and gone.
". . . do we not, Huck?!"
For Betsy Bucket has now unleashed her rage onto him, her next target.
White hot.
"Yes, Director Bucket."
And seething.
"So, why, may I ask, . . ."
It is his penance to endure the clipped words, the harsh tone.
". . . did you insist on keeping a wanted person from her family that was willing to take her?! Do you know what kind of rumors might spread about our facility 'locking away' perfectly healthy citizens, disallowing them the comfort of their own loved ones and families-"
The piercing gaze.
"They weren't a comfort, Director Bucket. They didn't care about her wellbeing."
And stand exactly where he needs to be.
"They only wanted her to get back to exactly what she had been doing for the past thirty-five years."
Right between Mrs. Helena Mulnich.
"An unbearable existence that drove her to destroy everything in her house."
And a family that seems to not care as they should.
"Just because it serves their purposes, their needs."
And so he stands his ground once more.
"And that is not looking after the best interests of the patient we have accepted into our care."
In the face of Betsy Bucket's . . .
"Which is what we are here for, Director Bucket."
. . . searing ire.
"Isn't it?"
Grace takes all this in silently over dinner that night.
Panfried chicken. Fingerling herb potatoes. Green peas.
Rolls.
Tea.
And a riveting story, told with quiet, passionate dignity and grace.
And when he is done, her first question is . . .
"So if she was in disagreement with you, why did she defend your stance to the son?"
Huck wafts a fleeting smile.
"She said we must show solidarity as a facility. That we are to present a unified, professional front to the community and that all contentions must be addressed and resolved behind closed doors."
And Grace nods.
"Well, that's something, I suppose."
And Huck nods.
Manages another bite of chicken, though his stomach churns.
And is put in inward rememberance of the first time he tried to eat . . .
"-sorry-"
. . . in front of her only hours after being shot.
And had become . . .
"-sorry-"
. . . uncontrollably ill.
Not exactly a man to fall in love with then.
And she interrupts what would be another righteous disagreement, could she read his mind, . . .
"Well, I think you did the right thing in standing up to that bully. Mrs. Mulnich needs time and rest. It is a sorry state of affairs that her own family cannot understand that. You did well, Huck."
. . . to offer her Grace-ful compassion and encouragement.
And Huck Finnigan . . .
"Thank you, Grace. I appreciate that."
"Of course, Huck."
. . . loves her for it.
Thanks to DinahRay for reviewing the previous chapter! :)
