𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄

SEARCHING

NOTES: Takes place prior to the events in "Secret" and four months after "Blanket".

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September 1977

"Hey, have you seen Diana?"

Richard let out a snort. "Boy, the only thing I've seen tonight is the bottom of my glass."

Michael and Richard flanked the edge of the crowded dance floor, drinks in hand. Richard, a self-proclaimed "alcohol enthusiast", was on his sixth, hefty glass of rum and coke of the night, swaying from side to side to the beat of "Love Rollercoaster".

Michael stood to his left, his eyes darting from one end of the room to the other. He had decided to err on the side of caution, opting for water, ginger ale, or sparkling white grape juice.

He took a sip of his drink, gazing at Richard over the rim of his glass. He wished he could be as brave as him. Between heckling the bartender and flirting with one of the extras, Richard didn't seem at all concerned about making a good first impression. Instead of breaking the ice, he'd shattered it and stomped it to pieces.

"Maybe she went to the bathroom?" Michael had considered that 20 minutes ago, hoping to see her pass through the line of tables from across the room.

Richard shrugged. "Probably. You know how women are. They'll spend all day in the bathroom if you let 'em."

Michael nodded, pressing his thumb against the bottom of his glass. As Richard took a swig of his drink (and then another, and another after that), he shifted from foot to foot.

He couldn't help it. It had been days since he'd seen her, and the last time they'd spoken was nearly a week ago before she left for New York.

Well, technically, he had seen her, but waving at each other from across the room only to be dragged off in different directions didn't count. He'd caught glimpses of her from time to time, talking to their new castmates, walking from the bar, dancing in the center of the crowded dance floor, but had always ended up missing her by the time he ran in her direction.

Richard let out a hearty sigh, his glass near empty. He eyed Michael for a moment, taking in his fidgety stance and tapping finger.

"You know, now that I think about it, I think I saw her heading out into the hallway. Don't know for sure though. This Captain Morgan's got my sense of time fucked up. Wouldn't hurt to start there, though."

Richard raised his drink to his mouth and took one, last swig. Michael stood there, contemplating, wondering if he'd be going on another wild goose chase or if Diana even wanted to be found.

There was an exasperated grunt. Richard had finished his drink and had dramatically lowered it to his side, giving Michael a glum look.

"Well, go on, then!" He swatted at Michael, gave him a playful shove. "If I have to hear you tap your foot one more damn time, I'm gonna scream!"

Michael's cheeks tightened. As hard as he tried to hold it back, his lips curved into a bashful smile. He apologized (Richard only swatted at him, again) and stepped away, making his way toward the hallway.

Aside from the sound of music, it was long, silent, and empty. He looked from corner to corner, door to door, then looked down at his feet.

He probably should just wait. Maybe she was in the bathroom? Or maybe she left early?

He frowned. He started walking down the hallway, listening closely as the music faded behind him. His glass was still full of sparkling white grape juice, so he drank, blindly turning the corner. His walking came to a gradual pause.