Belong - an adopted by Hamilton fanfic [Hamilton]

53. To: let go

Lin's POV
It was 7 in the morning, and I'd just gotten off the phone with the police. For the fourteenth time this last 24 hours. Two of which had been in person.
Vanessa gave me a wondering, tired look. We hadn't slept a second.
She didn't look too hopeful, as she saw my disappointed face.
"They're looking through the security footage. Nothing this far", I mumbled, sitting down.
"Are they still asking about publicising an amber alert?", she asked, leaning onto my shoulder.
"Yeah. But, it may help, Vanessa-"
She sighed.
"No. It's Rue we're talking about", cutting me off and closing her eyes. "When we find her - it'll only make things worse", she said, defending her recurring statement.
"If, if we find her", I mumbled, giving my phone another glance as it was charging on the table in front of me.
"Shut up. We'll find her", she snapped back at me and my pessimistic self, walking off to call Carson once again. The calls seemed to never end. Carson, Mum and Dad, Jon, the police.
I'd eventually told Jon to tell the rest of the cast, as I'd bluntly said that I wouldn't make it into work today.
But, I wasn't giving up.
Never.
I'll never let go of her, ever again.
I was just being realistic as the constant hope slowly but surely began to drip off.

At ten o'clock, my phone vigorously began to ring, awaking me from our own investigation, that'd been going on since I got home.
Looking through her texts, emails or whatever platform that may have threatened her.
The phone had been found in the café, placed on a tray.
She never left things behind. Either, someone was forcing her or she'd been so stressed that she initially forgot.
I took up my phone, deep into her following on twitter.
"Hello?", I said, my tiredness making my voice raspy and my mind confused of the number I'd called so many times in the past hour.
"Yes, is this Lin Manuel Miranda?", the formal person said, making me shake my head into a state of somehow being able to comprehend information from them.
"Yes, it is - sorry that it took a while to pick up", I yawned, but then realising who I was speaking to. "Any news?", I hoped, asking for a good response.
Vanessa looked up at me from her laptop, hearing my hopeful self.
"We've found the vehicle Ruth was transported with. We need your approval of sending a force to the housing where Ruth is thought to be, as the owner has a criminal record regarding Ruth and could potentially be threatening-"

Slowly through the sentence I realised what it meant.

I began to shake, once again.

My eyes lit up, stuttering the next part.
"Y-yes. Do whatever you can, ju-just get her home"
"Of course, Mr Miranda. We'll do our best", she said, and hung up.
I looked at Vanessa. Relieved. Panicking.
"Maybe. Maybe, V. She might come home", I let out, biting my lip as the tears came rolling down our faces.
She'd been eavesdropping, and I'd been talking.
No explanation needed. She'd heard it all.

Maybe.

Please, tell me it's more than a maybe.
I want her beside me. I want to see my daughter's face light up at one of my joke, I wanted to see her play with Seb-
I wanted her here, seeing her growing up.
Giggling, talking, ticking.
I wanted someone to flick the lights, maybe once or twice. Rhythmically tapping the next thing.
I wanted to see us all move around in this house, in harmony, like a harmony.
I wanted her to smile, to argue with her, to make her happy,
See her go to school, to help her with her homework, to assure her that everything was going to be alright.
To be okay.
Just fine.
I wanted my daughter right here. Right next to me. Or in her room, in the kitchen, in front of the TV. Just here.
That would be enough.
And it's almost like praying, as me and Vanessa seemed to think the same things.

Rue's POV
He was in there. The journalist. Looking at me from afar, as I'd lay on the floor, comulating routines onto each other, being unable to do them.
He was staring right at me, holding a now very visible gun.
I'd been blacked out through the night, feeling more and more sore the more I passed out and woke up.
Once or twice I'd heard him, felt him, shoving me into the corner, then the next time I woke up, I was under him, and now - he sat across the room and across the universe.
The blood had dried and the open cuts from scratching itched.
"You've made it quite a habit of yours, y'know, ruining others? First that old foster family of yours, then me...", he mumbled, walking towards me. Right now, I wasn't quite aware of what was real and what wasn't.
"It's just a matter of time before you'll ruin your current foster family", I started breathing more heavily at that one, my defense mechanism starting to show as I forced myself to blink 4 times.
"I mean, your dad and I - we used to joke about you ruining his life, y'know", he laughed, starting to point the gun towards my head. "Then he died. And it's your fault. And when I, I finally found you - you decide to ruin mine? What do you say about that? Isn't it about time for me to ruin yours?!", his voice going from low and creepily comforting, to shouting - louder and louder, as I stopped breathing, when he pressed his hand on my throat. Maybe it was better to kill myself, than let someone else do it.
That someone being one who knew my biological dad. Who told me he was dead. And it was my fault.
Why aren't you tapping? Can't you tap? You ruinous, weak, freak. TAP!