Bound to Happen (Part 6), Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader
Prompt: The chronicles of being Lin’s assistant to maybe something more.
Author’s Note: I feel like I never made this super clear - but this is not a recreation of The West Wing. It is heavily inspired by it, yes, but they are not White House staffers and it doesn’t follow the exact same story line. Just wanted to clear any confusion! I thought sticking them into an AU was too constricting.
Warnings: As always, a slow burn. Cursing. This chapter is modeled after the Gaza car explosion episode, so be warned.
“I can barely go one night without you here, I don’t know how I’ll go an entire week.” Lin collapsed into his dressing room couch.
“Do you want a West End production of In the Heights or not?” You shot back, gaining a huff from him.
You were leaving the next morning to join a select group in early negotiations to put Lin’s show up in London. They were very early negotiations, which is why you were tagging along.
Lin had insisted months ago - when the trip was a distant thing in the future and he thought you would deserve a vacation. ‘You’ve been with this show as long as I have, just make sure Usnavi’s not white and we’ve got a West End production!’ was his stellar reasoning.
Now that the trip was in twelve hours, he was having second thoughts.
“Just, have fun and tan!” He insisted as places were called.
“It’s London!” You reminded him as his cap was secured snugly on his head.
It was two in the morning when Lin got the call. He grumbled when Tommy flashed across the screen. Probably still adjusting to time zones and didn’t think before dialing, Lin reasoned as he rejected the call and stuffed his face back into the pillows.
He called three more times before Lin finally gave in.
“It is dark as shit out, Tommy.” Lin sneered, arm reaching blindly to flick on his bedside lamp.
“It’s Y/N.” Tommy was crying.
Lin spent the next few hours on the phone with various doctors and anyone who was in the group.
A car accident. Lin sent you to London and you were half-dead from a car accident.
“They’re not really telling us anything. We’re not family and we’re in a different country-”
“It’s okay, Tommy. They told me enough.” Breathed Lin, who, after four hours now, was still curled up on his bed. The only visible change was the sunlight peeking in from the window.
“We’re all heading back to the hotel. We’ll keep you updated.”
Lin hung up before Tommy could start another grieving session, as if there was no hope.
Despite what everyone anticipated, Lin was at the theater that night, pleading with anyone that would listen that he was going on tonight even if he had to scream the lyrics without a mic on.
“Either get me a mic, or get the fuck out of my way-” He was taking it out on a poor stage hand whose name he couldn’t remember when he felt a harsh tug at the collar of his shirt.
“Take it easy, man.” Chris was at his side as Lin’s body shook with sobs. The stage hand scampered away, “Hey-”
Lin was struggling to catch his breath, panting as his lungs worked to catch up with the devastation.
“I sent her there.”
“Don’t start with that shit.”
Lin wanted to snap again because he did send you and it was his fault and instead of being greeted this morning with your coffee and a scolding from Karen, all he received was thirty solemn faces that couldn’t look him in the eyes.
“If there’s somewhere else you’d rather be right now-” Chris offered, giving him permission to do exactly what he had wanted to this morning, “I think we’d all understand.”
“Thanks.” Lin whispered, striding towards the door. By the time he was in the street, he was sprinting back towards his apartment, racking his brain for how long a flight from New York to London was.
Lin expected the booth to be empty - the meeting with the artistic directors of the theater didn’t start for another ten minutes, but he always liked to show up a bit early.
A head start.
To his surprise, the door was open and the lights were on. And there you were.
Humming to yourself, you twirled around the room effortlessly. You were making copies and highlighting important sections of the script and brewing coffee at the same time.
He was in love.
“Uh, hello?” Lin called, standing in the doorway and wondering if he was intruding. You spun and met him with a grin.
“Hi.” He continued to stare, “Oh! I’m Y/N. I’m working on this show by uh-” You glanced down at the script, “Lin-Manuel Miranda. Who are you?”
“Lin-Manuel Miranda.” He smiled lightly, wondering how this multitasking scatterbrained girl was now working on his show.
“Of course I knew that!” You certainly didn’t, “I’m your assistant. Well, technically I’m an intern but I feel like that’s such a high-school job title so-”
“Assistant it is.” Lin agreed, slinging his bag off his shoulder and taking a spot at the table you were currently setting up.
“Glad we’re on the same page.” You nodded as you continued your impromptu dance around the room - checking that the presentation was set up properly, that the pages were in order and the coffee was on the right track, “I like your show, by the way.”
“Remember I said that when you’re looking for an assistant when this thing hits Broadway.”
Lin laughed lightly as he flipped to the first page of your copy of the script. Hastily scribbled in the margins were notes.
Start with talking to the audience to reassure them. This is a show for them even if they know nothing about Washington Heights.
Lin’s first stop was the hospital - where he had to fight doctors to get to you. He still hadn’t showered and was in the same clothes from when he left the theater.
He probably looked like the messiest, most frantic guest they’d ever had in their waiting room, but he crossed an ocean to be there. He was getting into that room.
Finally, he was in contact with a doctor that understood the circumstances and was willing to take the time to explain the situation and treatment plan - a lot of which made Lin queasy.
“Do you want to see her?”
Lin was ushered to a brightly lit hallway. He had never been in an ICU before and it was just as terrifying as he imagined it to be.
“We don’t expect her to come to anytime soon - but you can go in if you’d like.” The doctor offered. She turned the corner and led him to your room. The door was slightly jar, and she pushed it further open.
“You said she’d-”
“-be just fine if everything goes according to plan, yes. A few months of physical therapy for the leg. Frequent check-ups on the lung. Nothing too strenuous.” She confirmed.
You didn’t look like someone that would be just fine. Lin tip-toed into the room. The tubes and machines and beeping was all too overwhelming for his brain to comprehend and suddenly the nausea was catching up to him.
He doubled over at the sight of you, bruised and bandaged and the tears he had been holding in on the plane were spilling here.
The doctor left with a courteous farewell and a reminder that she would be available for questions before closing the door behind her.
It took him twenty minutes to work up the courage to pull the chair up next to your bed. It took another ten for his hand to find yours.
The next two days were spent in that chair. He set up a writing station by your side, the constant click of his notebook the only thing able to drown out the beeping of the machines. He hotel was used for the shower and its continental breakfast and never for sleep.
He has halfway through tearing apart a lyric when he felt your bed shift. He yanked his earbuds out by the chord, slamming his laptop shut and set it on the floor. He sat up, eyes locked on your face as your eyes clenched in pain.
He wasn’t sure he heard it. Maybe his mind was playing tricks and you were still fast asleep with the help of very heavy drugs.
“Lin.” Your hand was moving now, trembling as you reached for something blindly.
Your eyes wavered open, lids heavy as you took in the speckled ceiling.
“Lin.” His hand was in yours again, and he was out of his chair in a second.
“Hey.” His voice was quiet as it wavered.”You’re okay.”
“You’re here.” Your voice cracked from under use, your throat screaming for water.
“Of course I’m here.” He smiled reassuringly, trying to keep your eyes open and on him. He never wanted to see your eyes on anything but him again.
“It’s not your fault.” You mumbled, barely decipherable.
A nurse bustled in with a jug of water and instructions from the doctor. A remote was shoved into your hand for whenever the pain became unbearable. You immediately clicked it three times.
“It only works the first time, I think.” Lin breathed a half-assed laugh, trying to keep the mood light in the presence of the nurse.
“It’s not your fault.” You repeated firmly, hand trying to brush away the nurse as she moved to take blood. “Say it.”
“It’s not my fault.” Lin said, but didn’t believe.
You let the nurse go about her business for the moment, eventually leaving with the promise of food upon her return. You weren’t hungry. Lin’s hands were on your blankets, pulling it up so it would cover your shoulders.
“Is everyone else-”
“They’re all fine.” He promised, pushing a stray hair behind your ear. “They want you to get better.”
“They just want to put me back to work.” You grumbled, voice dipping as you settled back into bed. “I’m irreplaceable.” You smiled, wanting to see it mirrored on Lin’s face - fighting the sleep that threatened to overcome you again.
“Yeah.” He agreed, but you had already dozed off, “Irreplaceable.”