Mission Accessible

Fiona's on a mission to make a change at Degrassi for Adam's sake. Sequel to Blood Brothers. (I decided to start on a series of one-shots under the title Blood Brothers since there seemed to be a lot of interest in the first one. Thanks for all your great reviews! They really motivate me.)

I'm just about to shut my locker door when who but the most beautiful girl on earth should bound up to me and slam it shut with a smooth swoop of one long, tender arm.

"I have a present for you!" Fiona cries excitedly.

"You do?" I ask quietly. Inside my heart is bursting that she is paying me this special attention, but my brain has locked me down in protective mode: I glance around warily to make sure no one is on a mission to hassle Fiona – my girl...? – for giving The Freak the time of day.

Fortunately, no one seems to be paying attention. Good. The more they're in their own little worlds the more chance I'll have to pursue the new me – the one who will be the greatest, awesomest, bestest person for none other than Fiona Coyne.

Certain of our safety now, I'm able to relax. "What is it?" I ask with a little grin on my face.

Obviously my smile's modesty doesn't fool Fiona. "Aha!" she practically shouts. "You want it! You're excited! You're hanging on the edge of your seat!"

"Flying by the seat of my pants?" I add questioningly.

"Hmm, yep, that sounds about right," she agrees. "But I'm not going to tell you what it is yet!"

"What?" I wheedle. "Okay, fine. But I get to play twenty questions with you to figure out what it is. And I always win at twenty questions."

"Okay, prove it," challenges Fiona, grabbing my wrist and walking down the hall with me in tow. I feel for a moment that I have to run to catch up with her – the little boy chasing anxiously after his baby-sitter – but then she slows. "Sorry!" she states more seriously. "I was rushing a bit, wasn't I? I'm just so excited! I'm about to burst!"

"Well burst then, girl," I say to her. "Save me the bother of slaughtering you at twenty questions."

"Nah, I wouldn't want to ruin the satisfaction for you. Go ahead! Begin."

And this time, hand-in-hand, we weave slowly down the hall as I start shooting my questions.

"Is it...something related to school?"

"Nope! Not even a little bit."

"Is it...something to use outdoors?"

"Outdoors or in," she replies, a big smile on her face. "Outdoors and in!"

"Hmm. Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"No, you think I could sneak something bigger than a breadbox past security?"

"So it's something you'd need to hide from the security people. Wow. That sounds intense."

"Phrase it as a question," Fiona commands.

I laugh. "I'll just presume the intensity from your unfortunate table-talking. Next question: Is it something you made?"

Fiona rolls her eyes. "Yes! How did you guess? You're starting on question six, by the way. Only fifteen more, including this one."

"I'll have it in ten," I bet.

"We'll see. What's your next question?"

I stop short, realizing Fiona is about to head into the girls' washroom. She's still holding my hand. "Um, Fi," I say, nodding to the picture on the door. "You don't see me wearing a skirt, do you?"

"Oh, come on," she whines. "You can come in."

Darn it, darn it, darn it! I was hoping she was just about to drag me in there by mistake. But she was doing it on purpose! Forget darn it; F*CK! I knew my "situation" would get in the way of perfection. Now I'm going to have to have an argument with her about why I can't go in the girls' washroom, and she'll be hurt, and I'll be pissed, and –

"No, Fiona, I can't," I say gravely, retrieving my hand from hers and standing my ground. "I'm a guy. I go in the guy's washroom."

"I'm sorry, Adam," she immediately apologizes, her cheeks reddening. "I wasn't trying to pressure you into doing something you don't want to do, something that doesn't...mesh with your identity. I just want...I mean, I just wish I could have the pleasure of your company in there."

"Fiona," I say, smiling with a wave of relief at her understanding, "I would love to hold your hand while you pee. Believe me, I would. But you're right, I can't compromise my identity to do it."

"Well, I guess I could sneak into the guys' washroom," she suggests slyly.

I chuckle. "Sounds hot," I admit. "But I wouldn't want you to get in trouble..." I point at one of the video cameras peeking at us from the ceiling. "What with the crack-down and all, I'm not sure Simpson would appreciate anyone – well, anyone except me, that is – challenging their gender identity."

Fiona bites her lip. "It seems kind of stupid that there's not a washroom anyone can go into," she sighs. "Malls have family washrooms, for instance, and swimming pools have family changerooms. It doesn't matter what you are when you go in those."

"Well, you ought to be well-intentioned to go in there," I suggest, then explain: "I'm guessing that the 'families' that go in those wouldn't want any old creepy individual coming in."

She gives a small smile, obviously still deep in thought, too serious to take in the joke. Then she proves me wrong. "No, no, you're right. Even the word 'family' suggests a particular identity, i.e. you're supposed to have a kid. We don't have a kid, so that wouldn't work."

People are beginning to peer curiously at us as they trickle in and out of the girls' washroom. It's frankly making me nervous. "I have an idea," I say, hoping to move our philosophical discussion elsewhere. "I do have a key to the handicapped washroom. There's no reason we couldn't go in there together."

"The 'handicapped' washroom?" Fiona explodes, half-laughing. "That's an even worse label!"

"I know," I agree readily. "I never use it. I always use the guys' washroom. But Simpson gave me the key to use it 'for my own safety' or whatever." I grimace, remembering a couple of episodes taking place in the guys' washroom that had left me invariably unhappy.

"Not even mentioning how the segregating of so-called 'handicapped' people must make them feel, I really think there should be a gender-neutral washroom in this hole," Fiona says determinedly. "In fact, I'm going to Simpson right now and demanding one be instituted."

"I don't think that's necessary..." I mumble, feeling embarrassed that she's making such a big deal out of this, but at the same time proud that she's making such a big deal about me.

"Pish tosh!" she cries, hurrying toward the office even as the bell rings.

"But didn't you have to pee?" I call after her half-heartedly. I sigh, and trail slowly after her, unable to contain a giggle as I do.

When I arrive at the office, Fiona has already burst into Simpson's. I try to blend into the background as I peek my nose around the doorframe to observe their conversation.

"I think you know that cavorting between the sexes is the last thing I want right now," Simpson is saying.

"You're right, Mr. Simpson," she confesses bravely. "I do want to be able to go into a washroom with my...special friend." She spins her head around and tosses me a wink. How did she know I was here? Sometimes that girl is like magic to me...

"But," she continues loudly, "this is about something more than just what I want. This is about upholding a principle."

"I get the feeling you're not going to say 'upholding a Principal Simpson'?" he inquires meekly.

Fiona barrels on, not even acknowledging his joking comment. "Aren't we beyond the age of segregation of the sexes? In fact, aren't we beyond the age of having a gender identity flung at you left, right, and centre from the moment you're conceived? There are plenty of people who don't feel they fit into 'skirt' or 'pants,' as suggested by those demeaning stick figures on the washroom doors."

I know Fiona fits very, very well into both skirts and pants...

"Not only that, but what is with calling the 'handicapped' washroom 'handicapped'? And why do you need a key to get in?" Fiona demands. "What if I want some privacy? What if I feel like peeing standing up?"

Simpson starts at these words, which downright make me want to laugh out loud. I cover my mouth with my hands and keep watching.

"Well strangely enough," he replies, "you won't get any privacy if you're peeing upright in a urinal, which has no locking stall around it. And you're also not at a private country club school anymore, Miss Coyne. You're at an under-funded public school. We can't just wave a wand and make one student's wishes come true."

"But you can spend a tidy little sum on the equally as privacy-invading video cameras, metal detectors, and security guards."

Simpson sighs, evidently not willing to go down that road where he would have to question his decisions about upping Degrassi's security alert to "Code Red." "I think I'm getting your point," he concedes. "Would it satisfy you if we re-name the handicapped washroom? Something that fits both special needs students and students who are questioning their gender identity?"

"I think 'Gender-Accessible' would be acceptable," Fiona suggests, sending me a thumbs-up behind her back.

"Fine. 'Gender-Accessible' it is. I'll order the sign today." He's just turning back to his work in an effort to dismiss her when he suddenly adds, "But I'm not abolishing the key. Students will have to apply to me as they have had to in the past if they wish to use the Gender-Accessible-Acceptable-Whatever washroom. I don't want kids going in there and smoking up..."

And he's still muttering under his breath when Fiona backs out the door and grabs my hand in victory. We dissolve into giggles as we run out into the hallway together.

"I did it!" she cries. "I can't believe I did it!"

Suddenly I'm seeing this project of Fiona's in a different light. I know she did it for me on some level – and in terms of that it's better than any other gift she could give me – but the sparkle in her eyes tells me there's more to it. "You did awesome, Fi," I say, giving her back a little caress. "But why was this so important to you? I'm not asking to judge, I'm just curious."

"You can tell there was more to it, can't you," she says, screwing up her lips and nodding. "Well, I do care about it. I've been thinking so much about the boundaries we put up in our lives, ever since we talked yesterday. And you know what? Maybe I don't just want to be a 'skirt' either. And I definitely want to spend as much time with you as possible – even the time when I have to go to the washroom." She smiles coyly. "So I ran with it. But it was also important to me to remind myself that I have the power to affect change in a positive way. My last meeting with Simpson was...less than impressive." I look at her questioningly. "Tell you later," she says, shaking her head. "But anyway, I don't want to sit on my ass and just passively accept the things I don't like about the world. Especially," she continues, "when there's one thing I really really do like about the world."

I blush and look away, thinking, wondering, hoping that she's talking about me. That's when I notice the police officer headed our way. No hall pass, no excuse; we're going to get busted.

Fiona's seen him, too, and she's already running off toward her classroom. I turn to flee as well, and see out of the corner of my eye as I do, that indeed she was talking about me. She's pointing straight at me and grinning madly. "It's you," she mouths.

See if I can get to class before I melt!