Work Text:
1.
When Khalida Red received the job of being Steve Rogers, freaking Captain America’s PR manager, she allowed herself several minutes of shameless fangirling before pulling herself together. She had started her PR company herself, working out of her apartment and eating ramen every night, but had quickly built up a reputation for ruthlessness, intelligence, a good head in a crisis, and quick responses to media firestorms.. She was going to be the best PR manager Steve Rogers could ask for.
The first press conference out of ice was supposed to be a puff piece; the reporters, and their questions, had been carefully vetted by Khalida. Nothing difficult, nothing controversial. So of course, one of them went off script.
It was near the end of the conference, and the reporter who asked it was bright faced and bushy tailed, obviously itching to make a name for himself, and afterwards Khalida would kick herself for not seeing it beforehand, and for letting him into the room.
“Captain.” Rogers nodded at the reporter. God, the man was polite to a fault. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so charming. And Khalida was very happy about how charming it was. It was so much easier working with clients who were genuinely nice people.
“Captain, how do you feel about America’s use of drone strikes to take out terrorist targets, and what is your response to accusations that the military is simply murdering innocent civilians?” Khalida froze. Well, fuck, there went her career. Hopefully Rogers wouldn’t know what the reporter was talking about… but no, he was leaning forward towards the mike, looking all sincere, and shit, shit, shit…
“Well sir,” Rogers cleared his throat and Khalida began mentally writing her apologetic letter of resignation to SHIELD, “to be quite frank, I find the government’s lack of transparency in this matter highly alarming, along with the fact that they seem unable or unwilling to provide concrete answers to who is actually being killed in these strikes. There seems to be a lack of accountability that goes against the principles that I fought to preserve.” Rogers leaned back, leaving the reporters in stunned silence, and Khalida sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Allah that Rogers had the sense to work his military history into that little speech. That little bit of patriotism would probably save her job.
Khalida walked out onto the stage from the sidelines to stand beside Rogers, the click of her heels obnoxiously loud in the room full of reporters who had clearly not yet recovered from the abrupt shift in topic. Leaning forward so the mic would pick up her voice, she concluded the conference, and thanked all of the reporters for coming, before placing a hand on Roger’s back and firmly steering him off stage, just in time for the reporters to recover and begin spluttering out follow-up questions.
She took a moment to center herself and take several deep breaths before turning to Rogers, giving him her best glare, though he was giving her such strong puppy dog eyes that it was difficult to maintain.
“Mr. Rogers. We spoke at length about what topics were appropriate for this interview.” The puppy dog eyes increased. How did anyone refuse this man anything?
“I’m very sorry ma’am, but he asked and I couldn’t just ignore the question.” Wow. Khalida didn’t know why they’d ever bothered trying to figure out the serum that made Rogers a superhuman; they should have just focused on copying those eyes, they were a goddamn menace.
“Regardless, showing such a blatant disregard for the military when you are Captain America, face of America and national icon is unacceptable. You need to follow my directions for how to present yourself, Mr. Rogers. It is very important that you are not seen at odds with the American government. The fact that you brought up your own military service at the end is the only thing that is going to stop this from being a complete disaster.” She rallied up her best glare, enjoying the way he did manage to look at least a little bit ashamed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to start on damage control.” She turned and walked away, ignoring the growing feeling in the pit of her stomach that warned her being Captain America’s PR manager wasn’t going to be as straightforward as she had thought. It was going to be fine, she promised herself.
(It wasn’t.)
The history books, Khalida quickly learned, had left one important fact out about Captain America, bastion of patriotism: Captain America was also Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers was, fundamentally, a little shit.
2.
“Steve.” Khalida’s voice was full of menace as she approached where the Captain was eating his lunch in the SHIELD cafeteria. She was pleased to see him flinch slightly at the sound of her voice, whether because he knew what she was going to talk to him about, or because he was a bit intimidated by her. She hoped it was the latter, but suspected it was the former.
“Ms. Red,” he greeted, as she slid onto the bench across from him.
“Khalida. Steve. Please.”
“Of course, sorry ma’am.” She sighed at the little smirk that accompanied his words, knowing he was just going to ignore her request to use her first name, as usual. She schooled her face back into a glare.
“Steve,” and there was that guilty little flinch again, “have you heard of a social media site called Twitter?”
“No?” he replied, the projected uncertainty in his voice passing straight by plausibility. He was such a bad liar.
“Really. Thats interesting. Because there seems to be a verified account on Twitter for Steve Rogers, username @CaptainAmerica.” Rogers raised his eyebrows comically high in feigned surprise.
“I don’t know how thats possible. I’ve never even heard of Twitter.”
“Really,” Khalida replied, voice as dry as dust as she pulled out her phone. “Well, let me read you some of the recent tweets, shall I?” Rogers visibly swallowed.
“The extent to which government is able to be bought by corporations in contradiction to the interests of the American people is inexcusable.”
“People (read: women) shouldn't have to fear prosecution as they defend themselves from their would-be-murderers.”
“At least 1/3 of all femicides in the USA are committed by the women's partner.”
Khalida glanced up to see Steve shift slightly in his seat, before looking back down at her phone.
“10% of white American adults believe most whites are racist. 38% believe most blacks are racist.”
"There are a minimum of 100 million women missing from the world population as a result of gendercide."
"’When a man says no in this culture, it’s the end of the discussion. When a woman says no, it’s the beginning of a negotiation.’ - de Becker”
Khalida paused, looking up.
“Really Steve? Really?” He had the grace to look slightly ashamed, and moved to speak, but she continued before she had the chance. “And thats not even getting into the @ replies. In response to one user making a homophobic comment, you said ‘America stands for equality for all, not just for some. God loves everyone, but the church should not be part of this discussion’.” Khalida finally put her phone down, meeting Steve’s eyes. “That person didn’t even mention you. As far as I can tell, about half your @ replies are to people who didn’t @ you first, so you intentionally seek them out. Of course, you don’t know what Twitter is, so you wouldn’t know what I’m talking about, would you?” Steve cleared his though.
“Ma’am, I was just…” Khalida raised her eyebrows, and Steve obviously changed track. “I didn’t think that this was something that I needed to talk to you about.” Khalida pursed her lips.
“Don’t play dumb Steve. It doesn’t suit you.” Steve sighed.
“Sorry ma’am. I knew I should have run this past you first, but I just wanted to talk to people directly for once, instead of reporters.”
“Your replies to the kids are adorable Steve, I give you that, and you’re really great with your fans, but you have to know that you can’t make such politically charged statements without running them past me.”
“I don’t want to be censored.” Khalida sighed.
“And I don’t want to censor you Steve. But I also don’t want to spend all my time dealing with the feedback from your twitter account,” she quirked her lips, “after all, I still have to deal with what you say in real life.” Steve nodded, considering.
“Perhaps we could reach a compromise?” Khalida nodded, pulling a notebook out of her purse, and preparing to create an agreement with Steve for how to manage his Twitter account from then on. Actually, she thought to herself, best cover all the social media while they were at it. She glanced back up before beginning to write, though, and wryly added,
“I really enjoyed that video you retweeted of the bunny herding the sheep.”
Steve’s grin was blinding.
(The Captain never really got into Facebook, but his Instagram was beautiful, and reminded Khalida that he was an artist before he was a soldier. He also added her on Snapchat, as did the rest of the Avengers, to her absolute delight. Clint’s, in particular, were hilarious).
3.
No one was allowed to mention the incident with the Asgardian mead to Khalida. No one.
(Steve maintained it was Clint’s fault.)
(Khalida’s face went so stony every time it was mentioned, that even Tony stopped mentioning it around her.)
4.
To be fair to Steve, Khalida knew that he hadn’t planned for it to happen. He was just out getting groceries (despite her, and SHIELD’s, constant reminders that he could really have someone else do that for him, really, just let them know what he needed, did he like getting harassed by fans in the cereal aisle?). But, regardless of Steve’s intentions, it did happen. As things so often seemed to happen to Steve. Honestly, Khalida was beginning to feel sorry for everyone who knew him when he was still a tiny scrappy Brooklyn boy.
Khalida was hanging out in her flat with a cup of tea, reading, television on silent in front of her, when she saw it. Steve had just gotten back from a mission, and had assured her he didn’t have any plans for the next couple of days other than healing from the gunshot wound in his shoulder (his casual mention of that was yet another reminder of how weird her life had become) and hanging around his flat. So, it was a bit of a nasty shock when she glanced up to see Steve, standing in front of a large crowd, shouting and holding signs, looking sincere and concerned. There was a long moment in which she tried to remember when he did this interview, before realizing, with a surge of panic, that this was a live interview. Cursing loudly, she scrambled for her phone with one hand, while hammering at the remote with the other, frantically turning up the volume.
“–brought you here today?” The reporter finished asking.
“Well ma’am, to be honest I was just passing by when I saw all this, and I had to stop and find out what was going on.” Khalida was frantically searching the background for clues as to what actually was going on, when she caught site of one of the protesters signs, which featured a large blown up picture of an ultrasound with the caption ‘Pray to End Abortion’ and she felt her stomach sink. Pulling her purse toward her, she grabbed her notebook and pen, preparing plan for whatever Steve was going to come out with this time.
“And what do you think, as Captain America, of the protests here today.” Lord, Steve had brought out the puppy dog eyes. Khalida began making notes.
“Well ma’am, I believe that every woman has the right to her body, and to make her own decisions regarding her body.”
“So you don’t think abortion is wrong? Aren’t you a Catholic?”
“Ma’am, I am a Catholic, but I was also raised by a nurse, a single mother, during the Clutch Plague, and I don’t see any sin in a woman taking control of her future.”
“And thats why you choose escort women through the protest line today?” Khalida groaned loudly, scribbling frantically. Of fucking course he had.
Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do but stand and watch as the human PR disaster that was Steve Rogers made her life more difficult.
5.
The living room of Stark’s Tower was full of superheroes and SHIELD agents, but the kitchen just off of it was relatively empty, with only two occupants.
Khalida stood looking at the computer screen with her mouth open. Clint, who was holding the laptop, was alternating between looking at the screen and looking at Khalida’s face, grinning in complete glee. On the screen, a YouTube video was playing, showing Steve Rogers sitting in a cafe with a young woman, discussing the importance of safe sex, including personal anecdotes of soldiers that he had known during the war who had contracted STIs. Very, very gross and explicit anecdotes.
Then he started talking about unwanted pregnancies, poverty, and the dangers of abstinence only sex education.
Allah preserve her, this man was going to kill her.
On screen, Steve was grinning his most cheerful smile as he rolled a condom onto a banana that the young woman had handed him.
“We talked about this.” She said faintly. “Why would he do this to me? Does he hate me?” Clint laughed.
“Cap asked me not to show this to you. He said it was an impromptu interview and he’d bring it up with you ‘in his own time’.”
“That little shit.” Khalida turned and stalked out towards the living room, shouting as she went “STEVEN GRANT ROGERS.” Clint ran behind her, frantically unlocking his phone to the camera. “A CONDOM ONTO A BANANA. REALLY?”
Clint grinned as he got the camera on and filming. This, this was going on YouTube.
+1
Khalida was standing next to Rogers outside of Stark Tower as he answered the questions of the reporters camped out there. Their car was waiting at the curb to take them to SHIELD, but Khalida had learned it was better to just let Rogers answer a couple of questions while she was there, as her presence seemed to remind him to tone it down a bit, rather than letting him out on his own. However, glancing at her watch and meeting the eyes of the driver, who was becoming visibly impatient, she decided it was time to wind this impromptu interview down. Rogers was just finishing answering a question on which of his teammates was the most difficult to work with (I would never badmouth a coworker ma’am, the Avengers are a great team, but I will tell you that the practical jokes certain members play have gotten out of hand in the past) so she raised her voice above the swell of new questions.
“Only one more question please. The Captain is required elsewhere.”
“Duty calls.” Rogers remarked with a wry grin, nodding at a young reporter in front, who beamed, obviously pleased that she got the privilege of the final question.
“Captain, what do you think of your PR manager wearing a symbol of oppression enforced by the most violent religion in the world?” Khalida felt her spine stiffen, and carefully schooled her expression to her best blank, fuck-you face, staring straight ahead as the reporter’s eyes flicked from her to Rogers, obviously waiting for a reaction.
“Well ma’am,” Rogers spoke, voice carefully neutral, “for starters, I think your classification of Islam as a violent religion, never mind the most violent religion in the world shows both an alarming lack of knowledge of the tenants of Islam, and blatant islamophobia.” Khalida watched the reporter shrink a bit under the force of Roger’s Captain-America-is-disappointed-in-you face, but she bravely bounced back.
“But the hijab is a symbol of male oppression of women. And haven’t you claimed in the past to be a feminist?”
“I am,” Rogers replied firmly, “but I also recognize that as a white man, in America, it is no more my place to police what women wear than it would be if I were a Muslim man in the Middle East. Would you like it if an Arab man, an extremist, told you that you couldn’t wear that skirt,” Rogers nodded towards the reporter’s outfit, “because it went against his beliefs?”
“Well no,” the reporter began, sounding taken aback, but Rogers talked over her.
“Then why do you think it is acceptable for you to tell Ms. Red what she can or cannot wear, simply because it is not in line with Western conventions?”
“I-”
“I’m very sorry, we have to go.” Khalida moved forward with Rogers, letting his bulk push past the group of reporters, following him into the back of the car, the door clicking shut on the flashes from the cameras that had followed them to the car.
“Islam is a very sensitive subject in America.” She stated, voice neutral.
“I know.”
“I’ve asked you to stay away from it in the past.”
“My apologies ma’am.” She felt a smile creep across her face, keeping her eyes straight forward.
“Don’t do it again.” She didn’t have to look to hear the answering smile in Rogers’ voice.
“Yes ma’am.”