Notes: This story was prompted by glynnbearboo and prolethean's Cophine throught the ages prompt, LGBT Pride month in the U.S., and the documentary Screaming Queens: The Riot at Compton's Cafeteria. It was beta'd by my cat, who insists on lying on anything I write.
More chapters to come. Please comment if you are moved to do so and let me know what you think.

San Francisco, Summer, 1966.

J'ai vu tous les films et j'ai tous les disques/D'Amérique
Mais ça ne suffit pas il faut que je voie/L'Amérique

Et comme ce sera trop grand pour mes yeux/L'Amérique
J'irai avec toi découvrir à deux/L'Amérique

- France Gaul, "L'Amérique," 1965

This was not the first picket line Delphine Cormier had seen. Since moving to San Francisco from Paris, it seemed as though she stumbled upon or heard about a protest, political gathering, performance or "happening" every other day. In some ways, it was very exciting. It gave her a taste of the city she had been hoping to belong in, a vicarious energy when she had felt so alone and the hours trapped inside had been so long. But this one was a problem, because it was the nurses who were striking, and they were in front of her hospital.

She stood, unsure, not knowing what to do. She knew the nurses had been unhappy. Some of them had actually felt comfortable enough around her after the past months to let their feelings show, to mutter things under their breath without thinking she'd report them to her superiors. Delphine liked to think it was because she tried to be nice to them, respectful, but it was just as likely it had been because she was the only female doctor in the department. Perhaps they had seen her chafe at being belittled and condescended to, as well, although she usually tried to stay cool in such moments. Of course, there were those who were not so welcoming, condemning their own gender by assuming no female could be equivalent to the male doctors, the little gods of the hospital. But Delphine kept her eyes open to their moods, too. She was smart and knew how to keep on her toes. One had to be, as a woman in a new position, in a new country, who wanted to do her best, working with the best in her field.

But now, she was at a loss. They have been treated unfairly, they have a right to better, she thought, but surely we must run the hospital. We must care for the patients. How are we to aid them if we have no assistance — if we can't even get in? The way Delphine had been raised, there were two things you didn't question: a doctor's duty to treat, heal and protect those in need, and the right of human beings to be treated fairly, even those at the lowest rungs of society — especially them. This was one reason she had come to this city, which seemed to revel in a sort of freedom of mores of class she had found stifling in Paris. So, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, chewing on her bottom lip. To cross the picket line or not to cross? What to do?

One of the nurses she knew, worked with and who had even chatted and laughed with her a bit, Julia was her name, caught Delphine's eye and held it. She was across the street, but Delphine could see her lips compress into a line from there, and a subtle shake of her head. Delphine took a step back almost without knowing, nodded, and turned around.

She walked towards the nearest telephone booth she knew of, oblivious to the early sunshine, rehearsing what to say to Dr. Leekie when she reached him. What would he expect her to do? She could already feel the humiliation that Leekie was so capable of doling out with a mere twist of his voice or words. Of course, however, when she reached the telephone booth on the corner, someone was using it.

She was a small girl, no, a small woman, with a youthful face, long, dark hair piled loosely at the back of her head, and plastic glasses. She was pacing, as much as one could at a phone booth, one ear to the handpiece and the other to her forehead. Delphine took her in with a glance: loose, brightly patterned cotton shirt, dungarees, sandals, multiple bracelets and a large leather shoulder bag, embossed and painted with leaves and flowers, stuffed with sheaves of many-coloured papers that were trying to spill out.

Is this one of, what they call, a hippie? Delphine thought. She remembered one of the residents she had met recently at the hospital, as a young man was wheeled into the emergency room.

"Another longhair," the resident had said, contempt in his eyes. "These hippies are a problem. So many drug overdoses, so many…" he glanced sideways at Delphine appraisingly, "venereal diseases. They fill up the clinic and they're everywhere. Dropped out of school, don't want to get jobs — it's like they think the city owes them something. Of course, we have to treat them," he shrugged, "but I try to avoid it. Who wants to get dirty, or head lice? And don't think some of them aren't draft dodgers," he finished, leaning toward her for emphasis. Delphine said nothing, but I don't mind people not wanting to fight in war, she thought.

The woman in the phone booth appeared sober and clean, just a little loose around the edges. She could be older than the average hippie, too, though it was hard to tell. Delphine realized she had approached to within hearing range, and the woman was talking.

"Yeah, I get that," she was saying, "I just wish we could get a more diverse participation."

Delphine watched, not meaning to eavesdrop, but somehow compelled. The woman paced as far as the phone cord would allow. She seemed to give off an intense energy of her own, a version of the excitement of the city distilled into human form.

"Surprised? Well, I guess I shouldn't be. I mean, I know what's been going down in Washington, but it just seems like they could…" The young woman gesticulated with her free hand as if she could convey her meaning to the person on the other end of the line if she moved emphatically enough. She stopped pacing and sighed, crossed her arm under her opposite elbow. "Yeah, I know, big words, little steps. We've just gotta keep pushing it."

As if just sensing her presence, the woman raised her eyes to look at Delphine. With a raise of her eyebrows, she conveyed an apology, holding up one finger.

"Okay, I'll try at Berkeley. And listen, if the ladies of the D.O.B. call, tell them I'll get back to them this week. I think they're still annoyed with me after our last conversation." She let out a short bark of a laugh. "I've got to go now. There's someone waiting for the phone." Her eyes ran down Delphine's frame, taking in the white material peeking out from under her coat. Delphine suddenly felt the compulsion to blush, although she was doing nothing wrong.

"Someone in a doctor's coat," the shorter woman continued, a small smile playing around her lips, "could be important." She laughed again, briefly, said "goodbye," and hung up.

"Sorry about that," she offered Delphine, slipping out of the phone booth, but before she could take more than a step, the payphone rang.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry about… that, too," she apologized, raising an index finger again and backing up to the phone. "One minute," she said, picking up the receiver again.

Delphine sighed, slightly blowing her cheeks out. She shaded her eyes from the sun with one hand and looked around at the surrounding corners. Nope, no other phone booths there. Should she move on? How far should she go? She expected Dr. Leekie was very displeased that she wasn't in, yet.

"Listen, I know you like them, but Jefferson Airplane were really tight at the last show at the Fillmore…" the shorter woman was saying into the phone now, again gesticulating. "Well, yeah, if you think more kids would show up that way. I mean, they've changed. Yeah, I love that blues vocals thing… I can try, but I can't promise anything. No shit, last time I saw Janis she was really sloppy…"

Delphine found herself watching the woman on the phone with interest. Despite the unnecessary profanity, her conversation did sound intriguing, assurément. Oh, but maybe I should mind my business, Delphine chastised herself, and quickly looked away.

"Well, maybe, alright, then," the woman acknowledged into the phone. Then, after a pause, "I did not! You know I don't go for that kind of… situation." She glanced quickly up at Delphine again, her expression amused, and then flustered, a bit guarded.

"Look, you just finish copyediting the letters and I'll handle the leafleting, okay? And don't go look at that wig, again. It's all wrong for your coloring." A quick grin parted her lips, her tongue poking between decidedly carnivorous-looking teeth. Delphine caught herself watching, again.

"Okay. Later, man," the woman finished, hanging up again. She gave a smiling nod to Delphine as she moved away from the phone booth, her arm spreading to offer her place.

"Sorry, again," she offered, and stepped away. Delphine paused a moment, strangely a little thrown off, then dipped her head and picked up the receiver. She felt the woman moving away behind her, but only so far. Glancing behind herself, she could see the woman leaning against the wall surrounding the park, scribbling furiously in a notebook. Delphine cleared her throat as the line rang.

She was glad she had change in her purse, because getting through to Dr. Leekie took a few minutes. No doubt the phones were as overloaded as he was with the current mess. Eventually, his secretary put her through, and he started right in as though already in the middle of a conversation.

"Yes, Delphine, I expect you're calling about the nurses," his voice came through in a rush, clearly irritated. Oh, no, Delphine thought.

"Dr. Leekie, I am sorry, " Delphine began. "It's just I didn't know what to do with the picket. Is there a particular area I should report to? I know you will be needing…"

"Normally I would tell you to cross through and get your fanny in here, but the press are lurking and this is a madhouse," her boss interrupted. "The board are twiddling their thumbs and meanwhile we're on hold with attending staff and orderlies to manage the patients we have – no new ones."

"No new ones? Not even emergencies?" Delphine questioned, her eyes widening. What would happen to people in distress, in accidents? Where will they go?

"I can't get into this with you right now, Dr. Cormier," Leekie responded, even more brusquely. "Suffice it to say I've got my more experienced staff on board, and I can't use you now. Just think of it as, I don't know, a holiday, a day off, for now. I'll have someone call you in the evening."

He abruptly hung up. Delphine held the phone to her ear another moment, distressed. More experienced. I've been dismissed, she thought. Her throat went dry. She tried to reassure herself. Surely they will need me back tomorrow, she reasoned. It's just like he said, a day off, a complication. I hope. She replaced the receiver in the cradle, paused a moment.

"Excuse me, um, Miss… Doctor Miss…" She heard from behind her. A hand touched her arm. It was the dark-haired woman who'd been on the phone, she realized, coming back to her surroundings. She turned around.

"Ah, yes, the phone," Delphine said. "I suppose you, ah, need to use it, again."

The shorter woman tilted her head, looking at Delphine for a moment. Her tongue probed her teeth again.

"Uh, yes," she answered, after a beat, "but are you alright? It's just, uh, it's just you look pretty freaked out, upset."

"Oh, uh, yes," Delphine blinked, embarrassed, her hand self-conciously smoothing a stray, blonde lock of hair. "It's just… well, there's a striking at the hospital, and suddenly I find I don't have any work do, today." She gathered herself. "But surely you're not interested…"

"Sure I am," the —hippie? student? — interjected. "Hey, hey, don't get all upset. Hey, so you have the day off. Why don't we, why don't I take you for a coffee at a local place? They actually make omelettes. The owners are French," she explained, her hands flailing again. She grinned, looking a bit abashed. "I mean, I deduced… from the accent…"

Delphine blinked at the other woman. There was something compelling about her, something… happy. "You… deduced," she deadpanned, fighting a slight smile she felt forming around her lips.

"Uh… not French? Mais non? Still a good omelette is a… a thing of beauty," the woman finished, fingers twisting, her grin a bit nervous. Delphine cracked, let her lips curl upward.

"Yes, French, and, well, I suppose I am a bit hungry," she allowed, finding herself charmed and amused, where she had just been distraught. "You will vouch for this café, Miss…?"

"Niehaus. Cosima Niehaus," the shorter woman provided, smiling back. "Pleased to meet you…" she trailed off, her eyes curious, extending her hand.

"Dr. Delphine Cormier. You may call me Delphine." She took the brunette woman's hand. "Enchantée."

"Ooh, enchantée," Cosima answered, giving her hand a squeeze before letting go. "Perhaps we can get some… café au lait," she bantered back, and Delphine had to chuckle.

"Mais oui, Miss Cosima Neihaus," she nodded, turning to the street. "If you will lead."

Suddenly, the payphone began to ring again. They looked at each other. Cosima crouched slightly in a fight-or-flight position.

"Uh-oh, they're after me," she joked, backing away. "We'd better take off." She started down the street.

Delphine found herself jogging to catch up with her, giggling. The other woman caught her arm and guided her as they crossed the street, weaving through morning traffic. Delphine felt her heart lighten. Suddenly, she wasn't so worried anymore.