or: the author expresses rage at their shitty government via fanfic
buy me a coffee
1991
“Martha. Are you breathing?” Heather appears in her vision, brown eyes wide as she ties a bow in the front of her flag. “You are breathing, right?”
“I think so.” Heather’s presence is helping though. The pressure eases in her chest and she feels the air filling her lungs as she inhales. August sun beams down on them, painting the street in almost cartoonishly bright hues. She looks at the flag-draped around her body, the rainbow-coloured stripes gleaming proudly.
She can be proud too. She is. No matter how badly her heart is pounding or what any of those assholes on the other side of the street will have to say. She is prouder than she has ever been in her life.
“Hey,” she whispers. Heather looks up, her mouth half-open as she fiddles with another pin on her jacket. Martha has to smile. So much has changed about her; the mask she wore around high school is all but gone, the plastic bravado replaced by a quiet, patient courage and her once-haughty chin dipped down to look her in the eye. Yet, she’s still her Heather, the girl she kissed quietly beneath the bleachers when the building was empty.
God, look at her now. Look at them now. Standing on a street corner, hand in hand and covered in rainbows. Who would have thought it for anyone, let alone a Heather and a Martha?
Martha’s hand creeps into hers. Their palms press together, their fingers intertwine. Two hearts beat in perfect time, and it’s the only sound that matters.
“You know I love you, right?”
“I know.” Heather steps closer. I love you too.”
The kiss is slow, sweet and above all, defiant. They don’t think about it often but every day they get up and continue loving each other a fuck you to every narrow-minded asshole in this country. Including the ones in the White House.
Martha doesn’t know if she wants her love to be angry. But when Heather pulls away and a car door closes, she accepts that right now, they don’t have a huge amount of choice.
Heather slips her arm around her waist as the rest of their party approaches, cardboard signs and even a megaphone in tow. Veronica wastes no time in pulling Martha into a hug, even though they saw each other last night. Her presence is steady; she takes Martha’s pounding heart and slows it down.
As she pulls away, Martha gets a proper look at the sign she made last night, using the same markers they use for college studying. ‘Bi the way-you’re assholes’. Short and to the point. Martha still laughs at it.
“All right, kids listen up,” Claire says. “While this may be the first rodeo for some of you, it is not mine. So we stick together. We keep each other safe. We make our voices heard but we do not do anything stupid or put ourselves in danger. Cops ask you questions, you don’t comment. They try to arrest you, recite your rights.” She looks at each of them in turn, making sure her message sinks in. “This isn’t the time for heroics. This is the time for coming together. We are loud, we are proud, we’re not stupid. Understand?”
“Yeah,” they mumble. Claire nods, a short, sharp breath leaving her mouth. Her eyes darken as she looks down the street, a shadow passing over her face that is worlds away from the easy-going demeanour Martha has known.
Beside her, JD squeezes her hand, a gesture so quick and quiet Martha feels bad for having seen it. Slowly, her shoulders drop and the familiar smile creeps onto her face.
Soon enough, more people gather around them. Some are younger than them, some are Claire’s age, some are even older. Some are white, some black, some brown. Each newcomer shows their allegiance in some way; rainbows painted on cheeks, cardboard signs, flags wrapped around their shoulders. Despite barely knowing them, they all greet each other as if they’re old friends.
A thrill runs up Martha’s spine like an electric current. To think she spent so long feeling alone when this community was here the whole time; gay, straight, bi, trans, allies, whatever. It was here the whole time, just pushed out of reach.
“Okay, looks like we’re ready to get started,” Claire says. “Anyone want a turn on the megaphone?”
Several people shift, about to take the lead. But for the first time, it’s Martha’s voice that comes first.
“I’ll do it.”
Claire grins. She fiddles with the controls and hands it over, leaning in so no-one can hear her whisper, “I was hoping you would.”
Her hand is shaking when she lifts it. The Court building sits down the road, a small speck on the horizon. That’s where they’re marching to. And it begins with this. With her.
She doubts she will be in the history books. If she gets just one moment, thought, she will take this one with pride.
“What do we want?” she asks.
“Equality!” Hundreds of voices reply.
“When do we want it?”
Her voice echoes back at her, and with her entire being, she answers her question with a resounding, unapologetic,
“Now!”
2024
“Martha. You okay?”
She shakes her head. Her white-knuckled grip on the wheel is the only thing stopping her from shaking. Or from marching into the Court building and smashing their Governor’s head into his desk.
“Are you experiencing the same deja-vu that I am?” she asks. Heather scowls at the building before them, brown eyes practically burning. Martha almost feels bad for asking. One look tells her what Heather is thinking. And even then; she was there when the news broke. The spot on the wall is still there from when Heather punched it in rage. The bruise on her hand is still fading.
Very carefully, Martha takes Heather’s hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. A small smile creeps onto her face, her quiet laugh easing the tension in the air.
“I love you, Buttercup,” she says. Heather still blushes at the nickname, just like she did in 1989.
“I love you too.” She presses a kiss to her shoulder, her hand tightening around Martha’s. A moment passes where it’s just them, no injustice, nothing to be angry about. Just two women in love, sharing a moment in their car.
The real world knocks on their door in the form of Veronica, both entirely welcome and arriving far too soon. Martha is barely out of the car before Veronica pulls her into a hug. She all but sags against her, and Martha has to wonder how long it’s been since she slept properly. She did say she was going to bed when they got off the phone last night, but pigs will be flying before Veronica goes to bed when she says she is.
“You okay?” Martha whispers. She nods against her shoulder, releases a shaky breath.
Across the parking lot, JD’s eyes find Martha’s, heavy with stress and guilt. Martha wonders if he has slept as well. It’s not uncommon, he told her, for him to find her at 3am, going over more legal documents to find a loophole for a client. Sometimes he has to carry her back to bed.
Martha gets it. She’s lost countless nights worrying about her students and what comes next. Ever since the school board threatened her job for having a trans flag, sleep has been something of an elusive dream.
They break away as Claire and JD approach. Veronica gives her hand a final squeeze before returning to JD’s side.
Claire gives a small grunt as she takes the megaphone out of her bag. JD’s eyes widen, his hand moving instinctively towards her.
“Claire,” he says quietly. “I’ve got it.” He reaches to take it but she pulls away, placing her hand on his arm. Martha looks down. They all know that JD begged Claire to stay at home and let them handle this. They also knew from the beginning it was a lost cause.
“I’ve been trans longer than some of those fucking assholes have been married. Or alive,” she says, reading Martha’s mind. “If they want me to leave the women’s bathroom, they’ll have to drag me out by my fucking hair. I’m not sitting this out.”
“No-one’s dragging anyone anywhere,” Heather says. She lifts her chin, eyes gleaming. “They are not taking us backwards.”
“Too right,” Veronica agrees. “Claire, start up that megaphone. People are going to hear us freaking scream.”
Newcomers flock over to them, from shy and timid teenagers to grown adults Martha recognises from before. They are armed with signs and posters and flags of all colours and stripes. This scene could be from 1991 and the way her heart is pounding, Martha feels like it is.
If she’s honest, Martha doesn’t know if this will work. After so much fight they’re right back where they started, begging an uncaring government to see them as people. For the past few years, she’s heard the same shit directed at her and Heather now directed at another group, unnatural, perverted, dangerous. Everything they fought for back then balances on a cliff’s edge, and it might take one too-strong wind to tip them over.
But, and this could be her teenage naivete taking over, wind blows in two directions. And even if they can’t change it, they will fucking fight. With teeth bared and fists drawn.
Bloody and brutal yes, and proud. Always, always proud.
(trying to make JD laugh while his mouth is full of water)
Veronica: Hey J. What's the most terrifying word in nuclear physics?
JD: ....
Veronica: 'Oops'
JD: *physically shaking and going red in the face from trying not to laugh*
Martha: Oppenheimer's like 'oops'
JD: *spits out water*
JD: OOPSENHEIMER
Macnamara: *laughing so hard she falls off the chair* OOPSENHEIMER
