Before the Sun Is In the Sky - Lin Manuel Miranda X Reader
Pairing: Lin Manuel Miranda x Reader
Summary: You’re a sleep deprived third-year resident at the hospital and you’ve been assigned to the ER where a disheveled Lin comes in after a kitchen mishap.
Warnings: Blood, needles, cursing. I think that’s it?
Word Count: 3,132 (Yiiiikes.)
A/N: So I haven’t written in a long while, so it’s hella rusty and I’m sorry for this trash. This is my first fic in a long ass time. It was initially gonna be a one shot, but then I started rambling and well, it’s dumb. ANYWAY. Have fun with this garbage. Let me know what y'all think and maybe I’ll write more. Who knows.
SIDE NOTE: Thanks to @ourforgottenboleros for editing and being the sweetest pal ever. GO READ HER STUFF ‘CAUSE BECCA INSPIRED ME TO WRITE AGAIN AND HONESTLY I’M FLUSTERED BC OF HER WORK, SO YEAH.
You were four hours past the end of your shift at Columbia University Hospital and you’d been sleep deprived for a little over two days. It wasn’t like you had a right to kick yourself in the ass for being so exhausted because you intentionally signed up for this. Four years at Tufts, another four at Cornell, you weren’t about to throw it all away just because you were tired. It was part of the job. As a third-year resident, you should be used to it by now – and sure, you were, but you were human and sleep was still precious.
It was almost 4 in the morning and you were making your last round in the pit before calling it a night. The ER was oddly silent in a city that never sleeps, but still, you were beyond grateful for the silent reprieve, no matter how momentary.
“Doctor Y/N, there’s a minor laceration that just got assigned to Room 17,” a nurse called out from behind the station. “He was the last patient out there.”
You groaned to yourself, almost wanting to admit defeat. You didn’t want to go check up on someone that was most likely inebriated to the point where impulse and clumsiness overpowered all logic and balance. The guy probably had some superficial injury that could be patched up with some antibacterial cream and a Spider-Man band aid.
“Thanks, Erica,” you replied as you stifled a yawn that’s been trying to escape for the past six hours. “Stats and everything uploaded to the database?”
Erica nodded and smiled at you sympathetically, knowing full well how much you just wanted to go home, take off everything, and climb into bed for just five hours before it was time to start again.
Room 17, you thought to yourself as your feet subconsciously brought you to the back hallway of the emergency room, tablet in tow. After a brief overview of his stats, medical history, and a description of the wound, you quickly gave the door two knocks before entering the room. Pulling back the privacy curtain, you looked up from your tablet and smiled at a disheveled man with his hand wrapped in a bloody hand towel.
“Hi, I’m Doctor Y/N, Mister… Lin-Manuel.” You smiled as you set down the tablet and approached him.
“You can just call me Lin,” he replied as he tried to wave at you with his cut hand, pain suddenly reminding him of his early morning mistake. “Oh duh, so stupid.”
You bit your cheek to keep the snicker that was quickly rising up and grabbed a pair of latex gloves and put them on.
“Alright, so what happened?” Reaching out for his hand, you gingerly hold it and remove the towel, exposing a three inch long slice on his left hand, starting from a centimeter above the base of his middle finger ending down by the outside curve of his palm. “Ahh, there it is.”
“Apple,” he started. “I was slicing an apple because eating it whole is just weird and it’s so much easier to eat it in slices, so that way I have free range with my hands to–”
You stopped him. “So you were slicing an apple on a cutting board and then this happened… to the inside of your palm?” That made no sense. If anything, he would’ve cut a finger or even the outside of his hand.
Shuffling over to the cabinet on the wall adjacent to the bed, you opened it up and grabbed gauze pads and saline solution.
“No, I was holding it. In my hand.” Lin looked you in the eye and then suddenly couldn’t make eye contact. There was a moment of hesitation and he brought his focus to the pulse oximeter still attached to his index finger. “Stupid, I know, but I wasn’t thinking. I had other things going on in my head and I got hungry, so I figured I’d cut up an apple and get back to writing.”
You made your way back over to him.
“I think a lesson was learned today,” you retorted with a smirk on your face as you began to clean the cut.
He winced and jerked his hand away just a bit. “Yeah, but it’s a setback now.”
You tried to clean the cut, but every time you put an ounce of pressure to the area, he seemed more and more uncomfortable. “Okay, I’m gonna numb this.”
“With a topical cream?” He asked with a raised brow, concern growing on his face.
“I could use a topical anesthetic, but when I stitch this up, you’ll probably feel a little more of the sutures than you’d like…”
You felt bad for him, you really did. His apparent uneasiness with needles on top of very obvious sleep deprivation (his eye bags looked worse than yours, dear Lord) made his big brown eyes grow wider and suddenly, they looked, for lack of a better term, helpless. That split second of fear and anxiety staring right back at you in the form of a puppy dog in a human’s body just sent your heart plummeting.
“Look, it’ll be quick. If anything, it’s a quick pinch here,” you pointed to the base of his finger, then the middle of his palm, and the edge of his hand. “There, and… right there. By the time it’s over, you’ll just feel pressure on it and it’s all done.” You flashed him a reassuring smile and shot him a look of ‘okay, let’s do it?’.
Lin audibly swallowed and nodded shaking. “I just… needles. Not too great with them.”
You headed towards the door and shot him yet another sympathetic grin. “I know, but it’ll help, I promise. I’ll be right back with what I need and we’ll get you stitched up and out of here, okay?”
“Sure, take your time, Doc.” He ran his free hand through his hair and let out a deep breath. “Please. Take your time. I need to mentally prepare for… this.” He gestured around the room and looked up at the ceiling.
You chuckled and shook your head. “You’ll be just fine.”
This was an everyday occurrence. Patients came in and out of the hospital, especially the pit where they were never anticipating to be. Patience and understanding were two traits that were necessary on the road to success as a doctor, so when it came to cases like this, the standard protocol was already second nature to you.
Once you had the required items, you took your tray and brought it back to his room. “Hey there, all set?”
A shaky breath escaped Lin’s lips and he shook his head again, clearly trying his hardest to smile. “Uh, no, but it needs to happen. I just… the blood, the stitches, my hand…”
“I’ll distract you,” you offered as you grabbed the stool and took a seat next to the bed. “Okay, put your hand up here and tell me about what you were working on.” Fingers in place in the new pair of gloves, you took the syringe and popped off the top before beginning to administer the anesthesia.
He gasped audibly, prompting you to stop to give him a few more moments of preparation. “Shit, that’s a big needle.” His eyes widened at the sight of the bevel that was a hairline away from his gaping wound.
It was a short gauge, a whopping 26 millimeters from the tip to the hub, barely a millimeter longer than a typical 25-gauge butterfly. A baby’s pinky finger was longer.
“Shh, shh, don’t look,” you told him calmly in an attempt to reassure him. “Close your eyes, Lin. It’s okay. Breathe in, breathe out.” A comforting smile grew across your face as you coaxed him to relax. “So tell me, what’s that thing you were working on?”
“A musical.” He exhaled a shaky breath as he squeezed his eyes shut, his free hand visibly trembling as he brought it up to further cover his face, as if shielding himself from the entire ordeal would make it all go away. You started to administer the anesthesia one more time, working as lightly as you possibly could. “It’s a fuzzy idea I had one day and it just sort of – ow! Sorry, I – ah! Fuck! Damn it! I’m gonna – oh God, I’m gonna puke…”
“It’s over, it’s over, no more pain.” You gazed into his eyes as a smile tugged on the corners of your lips. “Also, no more sensation because you’ll be numb for a few hours.”
He cautiously opened his eyes and looked back at you, chest rising and falling as if he’d sprinted up six flights of stairs, a slight grin of relief reciprocating your own. “God, that was horrible.”
You couldn’t help but giggle a little. There was something entrancing about his personality, and honestly, him being your (hopefully) last patient almost made it worthwhile.
“You’re fine. I’ll get it all stitched and you can go back home to work on that musical, alright? Tell me all about it.” Suture in hand, you began to close up his wound, stealing glimpses of him every now and then to ensure he was comfortable.
“You know the dude on the ten-dollar bill? Well, he’s got a wild story from start to finish.”
“Alexander Hamilton? That guy?”
He opened up his eyes and looked at you as you met his gaze with a quizzical look. With pursed lips, he nodded as if to say, ‘Yeahhhh, crazy.’
A musical. About some old man on the ten spot. Who in the world would do such a thing? Of course, you weren’t about to burst his bubble, especially since he was slowly but surely calming down. And plus, it was mesmerizing just listening to him ramble on.
You were about a third of the way through and despite your desperation for rest (and a bagel – dear God, you were starving), conversing with this sleep deprived, clumsy playwright-slash-musician somehow made tonight much more entertaining – which was odd because your definition of ‘entertaining’ was scrubbing in on a coronary artery bypass graft. But regardless, something about this man made you want to slow down and take your time instead of rushing him out the door.
“So what’s so special about Mr. Ten Dollar bill?” You pulled the suture through and tied a knot, moving languidly to prolong the moment.
“Everything,” he answered, accidentally moving his wounded hand to further emphasize his reply.
You instinctively grabbed him by the wrist to steady his hand.
“Yikes! Sorry, sorry, I forgot…”
With a laugh, you breathed a sigh of relief, worried some freak accident would’ve occurred had you not been quick on your feet – well, hands. “No no, it’s all good. Keep going.”
“Uh, where was I– Right, so he was just some washed up orphan, tough life, big dreams, some victories, huge mistake…”
Stitch upon stitch, you listened intently, finding yourself upstaging Mona Lisa’s smirk with your own because no matter how monotonous this procedure was, you were actually really into it. The conversation, that was, and you just kind of, sort of, maybe, perhaps didn’t want it to end.
Eventually, he wasn’t as nervous as he was when he first arrived and the conversation went from distraction to legitimate socialization.
Suddenly, his voice trailed off.
“This is probably boring to you. You don’t wanna hear about this. You probably have people talking your ear off every day. I’m sorry.” Lin gave you an apologetic smile. “You must be tired of me already.”
You look up at him and shrug, the faintest smile gracing your face. “I mean, it sounded ridiculous at first, but the more you talked about it, the more I wanted to know.”
“Don’t patronize me, it’s okay.” A grin tugged at his lips. “I’m sure you wanted silence.”
Honestly, he was partially right. You wanted nothing more than to drown out the melodies of the hustling, bustling city you called home. There was not a more arousing thought than silence. (That was sad. You were turned on by silence.)
But that was before this patient swept you up in the excitement of the story of Mr. Ten Bucks. And suddenly, you were okay with hearing him drone on and on.
With a shake of your head, you smiled up at him. “I was actually enjoying the conversation.”
“Well anyway, that’s the gist of it. I’ll spare you of the rest of my commentary.” He shot you a sheepish smile and laughed under his breath. “Weird concept, huh?”
“I dig it!” you replied with an enthusiastic nod. Sure, it sounded absurd, but the way he described it to you made it seem like brilliance was brewing. “I want tickets to the show when it’s done. Front and center. I’m gonna be like, ‘Yeah, I fixed up his hand!’”
A laugh fell from his lips and he met your eyes. “You’re cute, Doc.”
Oh, there you went with the blushing. You felt the heat radiating from your cheeks and you broke away from his gaze, fearing your quickly reddening face would be noticed. Eyes focused on the task still at hand, you continued to close up the wound.
“I lucked out here in the ER.”
You could practically feel his eyes still on you, and the silly grin on his face made your cheeks flame up even more.
“Look!” You gesticulated a mock presentation of his newly stitched up hand and flashed him your pearly whites, trying to change the subject. “Not bad at all, right?”
He brought his hand up closer to his face and examined it with fascination mixed with a twinge of disgust. “How Frankenstein’s monster-esque.”
You reached out for his hand after giving him a few moments to gawk at it and started to wrap it up with the roll of gauze, finishing it up with a knot. Cleaning up your station, you watched Lin’s reaction and couldn’t help but laugh a little. What a relief, you were finally done.
“It’s shouldn’t scar though, so if you were worried about having aesthetically pleasing hands, those stitches won’t hinder you from pursuing a hand modeling career.”
“Thank you,” he said with a sincere smile. “This was a surprisingly positive experience for me.”
“Well, it was my pleasure. And thank you for educating me on America’s history.”
“It was my pleasure educating a beautiful doctor who won’t, in any way, shape, or form, have any use of her new knowledge of America’s boastful founding father.”
Damn him, he was too charming. Those mesmerizing eyes, tousled dark locks, it almost seemed like he was flirting – No, stop it. You’re exhausted. That’s all it was. Exhaustion. Delusion.
A yawn was making its way out of your mouth and you couldn’t help but let it out and stretch along with it.
“Early shift, huh?” He asked, the grin on his face unwavering. “I get that.”
“Actually, I’m on my way out.”
Saying those words lifted the weight off your shoulders, the contours of your body already feeling the warmth of your bed, your head already sensing the softness of your pillow, your mind already imagining the sensation of rest.
His face fell and his cheeks turned a bright shade of red. “Oh God, and here I was, talking your ear off for about an hour and–”
“Don’t even worry about it!” You waved him off and shook your head fervently. “It’s my job. I chose this life. It’s not your fault.”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I would’ve just kept my mouth shut had I known.”
“Please don’t feel bad, I’m totally fine. It’s okay, I promise!” You pulled the gloves off your hand and threw them away before putting a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to assuage his worries. “Let me just slide out of here to write you a prescription and you can go home, okay?”
He nodded wordlessly and watched you walk out of the room.
A quick note on the pad and a grab of a handful of gauze and antibacterial cream later, you made your way back into Room 17.
“I’m ba-ack.” You sang as you swung open the door. “Okay, this is for 800 milligram Ibuprofen for pain if need be, and here are some supplies to keep that cut clean and covered, okay?”
There was a brief moment of quiet between the two of you.
He broke the silence.
“Have you had breakfast yet?”
“No,” you shrugged. “I was gonna tackle that issue after work.”
“Can I take you to breakfast?” He asked without missing a beat, cocking his head slightly to the side, eagerly anticipating your response.
What. That was not something you could do. Doctors were not to affiliate themselves with patients they’re currently treating outside of medical reasons.
Wait a damn minute. He was flirting. And you, stupid you, chalked it all up to merely hallucinating because you were so sleep deprived but –
“Sure,” you replied with a quick nod and a bashful smile plastered on your face, your mind not even comprehending that your mouth decided it was best to jump the gun. “I’d like that.”
And plus, technically, you weren’t even treating him anymore. Your job was done. You patched him up, told him how to care for it, and sent him on his way. His primary care physician was in charge of the follow-up. You were in the clear.
“I’m glad,” he stood up from the bed and grabbed the supplies you gave him and stuffed them in his front pocket. “Should I just… wait in the lobby then?”
“Um, well, the nurse will come in with your discharge papers and he’ll go over what the next few weeks are gonna be like. The game plan for your hand and what not. That should give me enough time to head downstairs to change really quickly and I’ll meet you back up here. Is that okay?”
Lin grinned at you. “Absolutely. I can’t wait.”
And with that, you hurriedly walked towards the elevators and rushed to down to the resident lockers. You frantically stripped yourself of forty-one hours’ worth of stress, sweat, blood, and other bodily fluids and changed into comfy leggings, a black tank top, and a flannel to tie it all together. Messenger bag slung over your shoulder and across your body, you approached the mirror hung behind the door, examining your hair, ensuring you were, at the very least, presentable at this point.
Well, you thought to yourself. This’ll have to do.
You met back up with Lin in Room 17, peeking your head through the door with a faint smile. “Hey, all done?”
“All done,” he replied with a nod. “Ready?”
As I’ll ever be, you thought. “Ready.”