I do not own Ratched.

I do not own Huck. But I miss him and it's summer for me so I brought him back.

Huck Finnigan: Dreams and Nightmares; The Best Life Lived

No Real Surprise To Anyone But The Pope


He doesn't try to keep them apart.

They really do keep themselves apart well enough without them.

Jillian sits and draws.

Peter stands and watches.

Sits and watches.

Watches.

But at a distance of some feet, usually.

Huck's never even seen them touch in any way.

Or speak.

Other than Jillian's general air broken pattern.

"-see dark light white brown no blank sky ground-"

Still, it causes him unease.

Things could happen.

Have happened before.

Usually between some of the more free-spirited nurses and orderlies.

Traveling doctors.

Never to Huck, no.

He was never that type of guy to start.

And then with his Halloween mask.

And now, . . .

"-diddlin' her pooter-"

As long as I live, I don't think I'll ever forget Betsy Bucket saying that.

. . . his Grace.

So he knows it happens.

But it would be something more of a problem . . .

"How's our little Ariel, Huck?"

"She's fine, Director Bucket. And her name is Jillian Terrance. And she actually does talk-"

"Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud, Finnigan. I know her name."

. . . if it happened to them.


"Would anyone like to start the session today? The floor is open to any conversation at all."

It's a small group.

Charlotte Wells is having a bad day, has been taken to her room to rest.

Dolores Fishman, the lady with the mind of a child.

Peter is there, having been gently coerced in just to sit and be amongst others.

Jillian Terrance too.

With her notepad.

And charcoal.

Flanked by . . .

"Oh, sit by me, dear."

. . . Mrs. Kee.

"This is my good friend, Florence. Now she and I came here near the same time and I think we . . ."

And Florence Strauss.

And Nurse Roberts, definitely not a Grace Miller, sits near Huck.

And they try to add some . . .

"Yeah, I got sumin' ta say."

"Go ahead, Mr. Gregory."

. . . human interaction . . .

"We're listening."

. . . to the day.


And then, at the end of the day, Huck Finnigan goes home.

"How was your day, Grace?"

And spends the evening . . .

"It was fine. Misty brought me a dead mouse."

. . . with his Grace.

"Oh."

And their unborn baby.


"We can't find her! We've looked everywhere!"

Huck's head is slow from sleep.

Peter is in the barn with the horse. You know that.

And why are you calling Peter a her?

"Nurse Colin, Peter is-"

"Not Peter! Jillian Terrance!"

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.


They've found Jillian Terrance.

Oh no.

Huck has.

And she's perfectly safe, unharmed.

And it's better than any number of other nightmares he could have imagined.

But it's also worse . . .

Oh no.

. . . than anything else in an entirely different way.

There's going to be so much trouble.

For the sixteen year old, possibly brain damaged, girl is peaceful, at ease.

Sound asleep in the dim space, in the hay.

Curled against the side . . .

What am I going to tell Bucket?

. . . of the nestled white Arabian.

That Arabian whose soft equine exhalations regulate her breathing, keep warm her.

What am I going to tell anybody?

The fifteen year old indian boy curled up next to her.

And the horse blanket . . .

They seem to both be dressed.

So I guess that's something.

. . . covering both of them.


"They what?"

"They were in the barn. Sleeping."

"Sleeping?! Just sleeping?!"

"Yes. As far as I could tell."

"Boys and girls don't just 'sleep' together, Huck! Don't be stupid!"

Grace and I did. That one time. When I needed her.

Huck grits his teeth, keeps his tone even.

Collected.

"Answer me!"

You didn't ask a question.

"There is no evidence they did anything but sleep, Director Bucket."

And Betsy Bucket's whip thin, red-lipped face . . .

"Well, we certainly can't find out from the two of them, now can we, Head Nurse Finnigan!"

. . . is not a pretty picture.


They come and they take her away two days later, Jillian Terrance's parents.

Betsy Bucket pours it on thick, does not impart the knowledge of the barn incident to them.

". . . much progress . . ."

Only the knowledge . . .

". . . animal therapy, really . . ."

. . . of just how well the girl is doing.

". . . well, with state cuts coming down along the pipeline, . . ."

And how it is in her best interests . . .

". . . comfort, warmth and safety . . ."

. . . to return to . . .

". . . her family."

She conjoles.

"Don't you think?"

They listen.

"Well . . ."

Acquiesce.

". . . I suppose so."

But it is Huck himself . . .

"Please don't take away her drawings."

. . . who walks them out.

"No. Of course not. Thank you, Mr. Finnigan."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Terrance."

Carrying her bag like a valet.

"Goodbye, Miss Terrance."

And then watching them . . .

Please don't take away her drawings.

. . . drive away.


"Hey, Chief."

Huck finds him in his room at the window.

His room, where, under Director Bucket's direct orders, he's been forcibly sequestered.

"You okay?"

Forehead pressed to the glass.

"Peter?"

Watching in direction Jillian Terrance and her family drove away.

"Peter, can you hear me?"

Standing silent.

"Listen, Peter, I'm sorry. I know you liked her. She was . . . nice."

Not acknowledging him in any way.

And Huck Finnigan . . .

"Do you want to go see the horse, Peter?"

. . . is very concerned for his silent young . . .

"Peter?"

. . . charge.


"Oh Huck. I'm so sorry."

And he can't do anything but shake his head.

"He's just so . . . sad."

Stare blankly with his one good eye at the nicely maintained backyard in which they are gently swinging.

"I know it was the right thing to send her home. I've been trying to do it for weeks now."

Grace on his right, within his working vision, swinging.

"She didn't need to stay."

Her and her Misty.

"And things were about to get very complicated very quickly."

Once a tiny little kitten.

"So I'm glad she went. Maybe she'll get better, be accepted there."

Now a grown mama cat.

"But Peter . . . he's just . . . so sad."

Having trouble fitting on the lap on her mistress.

"And he wasn't doing well to begin with."

A soon-to-be mama herself.

"I just don't know, Grace. I just don't know what to do."

Who doesn't have any answers.

"I know, Huck. I'm sorry."

No matter how much he wishes she did.


Sorry, guys.

But honestly.

Anyway.

Thanks to DinahRay for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! :D

More to come.