Sometimes, the bigger problem with being a man out of time is not when things have changed, but when they haven't.
Crash Course [Captain America Oneshot]
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Crash Course
Thuktun F
You can complain now; I'm no longer a councilor
- Location
- United States
They had been kind enough to scrounge up some worn records -he wasn't comfortable calling them old yet- for the player by his desk. That alone proved a little thought exercise in how much things had changed since the crash, seeing which artists' vinyls had been easier for SHIELD to find for him. Bing Crosby? Piece of cake. Florelle? He had to describe things a little to the "acquisitions aide" before he realized what he meant.
In the meantime, he'd make do with Crosby and Ink Spots while he read. Which was something he'd been doing a lot of since they finally cleared him from the medical wing, and he was finally free to go from one featureless room to another featureless room. There was a lot to read about- seventy years was a long time to know nothing about anything. A man's whole life could be covered in seventy years.
The distressingly short list of friends and acquaintances still kicking was proof enough of that.
The war and aftermath had felt like the best place to start. He'd always fancied himself a quick reader, especially when he started having to go over detailed intelligence reports about HYDRA's latest science projects and Wehrmacht artillery positions. Yet even after three days he'd only just gotten to some confrontation over Berlin- no, West Berlin in 1948.
"At this rate you'll probably have another seventy years to cover when you catch up," someone said.
Steve turned in his seat, then got up and stood at attention when he saw who it was. Nick Fury simply sighed.
"At ease, Captain. Your enlistment status is still in the air, after all."
Steve relaxed his posture. "It doesn't feel like it."
"I can see why," Fury said dryly. He grabbed a spare chair and sat down. "I'm actually here to talk about that."
Steve took a seat as well, albeit backwards. Leaning his arms on the backrest, he thought for a moment, then spoke.
"So what's the latest?"
"President is planning on going public next week," Fury said. "America's greatest war hero, back from the dead in a time where we need him again, yadda yadda. You can see why the people are gonna eat it up."
Steve grimaced as the implication hit him. "Press tours."
"Press tours." Fury's own disdain was only a little shy of his. "Which means it's now SHIELD's job to make sure you're ready for them. I know we keep on saying it and you gotta be sick to death of it, but the world's changed a lot since you were on ice."
"And you have to make sure I don't say something that looks bad on camera," Steve finished. "Something... dated."
"You can see where people might be worried."
Steve frowned. "Then they don't know anything about me. Captain America, maybe, but not Steve Rogers. What do people even know about what I was doing before I picked up the shield?"
Fury chuckled. "Oh, maybe just something about a Brooklyn kid getting rejected by the draft board, if that. Some folk think you weren't even real to begin with."
"Sometimes I feel like they might be right," Steve said, quietly, then let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm painfully aware my time wasn't perfect. Literally painful. I had to replace my office windows six times before Erskine recruited me. I even kept the bricks as mementos, wrote little labels on them for which cartoon I drew had pissed them off."
"Twenty bucks says they're probably in some museum archive right now."
"I have a feeling that's not a lot of money anymore."
"Yup. You were saying about bricks?"
Steve leaned back a little. "First one I ever got was for an anti-lynching cartoon I'd scribbled up after hearing about Elbert Williams. Then there was when I took some shots at people who bought into America First nonsense. Next was when I criticized Pinkertons during a big strike in Harlem, and then I got two bricks in the same week when I criticized segregation in the army. Last one was for the internment camps in California."
"You know, Coulson's mentioned the cartoons before, but it's another thing seeing it come from the horse's mouth. I'm surprised you'd even try to enlist."
"I criticize my country because I want what's best for it, and I know it can get there. Everyone has the rights that we enshrine. Everyone. Even if a lot of people try to say otherwise, or try and take them away. From what I've picked up, we still have a long way to go, but as a man from a worse time, it's encouraging to see the change."
He smiled. "Just seeing the progress made by the Negro community alone gives me hope."
Nick Fury made a strange face, made only stranger by the fact that he was the one doing it. It looked like a pained wince and a barely-constrained laugh all at once, and immediately Steve realized something was off. He shrank a little in his seat, feeling very much like he was back in primary school and he'd just given the wrong answer.
"I said something 'dated' didn't I?"
"Oh, you got the spirit, don't get me wrong," Fury said, wryly. "Let's just say... you're going to need that crash course."
Steve straightened. The challenge to be better was one he'd never back down from.
"Alright then," he said. "Let's get started."
"-the term fell out of favor by the 1970's, though older members of the community felt for a while that 'black' was more offensive."
Steve nodded, jotting it down on the notepad they'd given him. He instinctively moved to dab his pen, then felt like an idiot when he remembered desks didn't have inkwells in the future. He briefly glanced at the tip of the pen and marveled at the little ballpoint before focusing again on the class.
"So it looks like there's two appropriate terms nowadays," he said, referencing his notes. "Which one should I use for the press tour?"
"You can use black or African-American interchangeably in everyday conversation, but in front of journalists stick to African-American," his brand new media relations handler, one Janice Park, said. "Less chance of looking bad, especially since there will be reporters fishing for a slip-up."
"Alrighty." Steven coughed and took on his 'podium stance'. "I am heartened to see the progress made by the African-American community. That 'up to date'?"
"As safe as Wonderbread," she replied.
Safe didn't necessarily mean good, but until he had a good grasp on things he'd have to make do with safe. Steve circled some of his notes, then looked back up.
"What about inverts? What's the up-to-date term for their community?"
"Inverts?" The instructor scrunched her brow.
"When I ran out into Time Square briefly I saw some invert couples holding hands." He made vague gesturing with his hands. "You know, two guys, or two women."
Her eyes widened. "Ohhhh, you mean gay couples."
"I mean, I hope they're happy these days."
"That's not what I-" Park closed her eyes for a moment. "The term you should use in the press tour is 'same-sex'."
"What about outside of press tours? I'm not going to be in front of podiums 24/7."
"In that case you might say gay for men and women, or lesbian for just women," she said quickly. "It shouldn't come up in press tours, though, and if it somehow does, I recommend staying away from the topic."
"Why? They're Americans too."
"It's a topic that might invite controversy. The American public is quite divided on the subject."
Steve frowned. "There was a time the American public was 'quite divided' on women getting the vote."
"We can go over the topic at a later time," Janice said, brusque. "We have a lot of other topics to cover before your first press conference."
He knew a bullshit redirect when he saw it. However, he also knew that she was right about him needing to cover a lot of new terms, and so he bit his tongue for the time being.
"Let's move on to other minority groups," she continued. "As you might have figured, 'oriental' is no longer the preferred nomenclature either. Generally speaking we go by Asian-Americans."
"So does that also include Indians and people from the Mid-East?"
"No, we generally just call them Indian and Middle-Eastern."
"But they're also from Asia."
"It's just the terminology we use."
"Understood. Got it." He jotted it down. "Then what do we call the other Indians these days?"
"Oh god."
The complex they were housing him at had a pretty nice cafeteria, much better than the canteens back in France and Italy, and he was free to -actually encouraged to- mingle with other diners. On one hand, he appreciated the opportunity to have casual conversations with people from this exciting future; on the other, the emphasis on 'mingling' made him feel like a feral kitten being gradually acclimated to the other cats in a home.
He decided not to force any potentially awkward conversations. Odds were people would talk to him anyway, and the more natural a conversation, he felt, the less a faux pas would stick out.
And the conversations did come. Technicians and officers from all sorts of backgrounds would come by, sheepishly asking if they could sit at Captain America's table, and he'd happily oblige them. They'd chat about all sorts of topics- the food, movies he should watch, questions about the war, and so on. He stayed cautious with his own questions, usually just asking about technology or pop culture rather than anything meatier. After all, you never knew what was going to be the next "fondueing".
Sometimes the meaty topics would come unprompted by him, with his lunchmates bringing up boyfriends or mixed children, and he had his suspicions that some of them were specifically chatting him up as part of the crash course. Either that or they were hoping to see the great American hero slip up and prove himself the bigot they suspected him of being.
In any case, he'd engage them earnestly. He'd ask them their kids' names or how long they'd been with their boyfriends, and when he smiled at their answers it was always genuine.
The biggest challenge actually came indirectly.
It was day three of his 'crash course', and he was sitting by himself eating a slice of pizza when he heard his name. He almost turned, but stopped himself at the last minute, and instead carefully listened in. It wasn't just his muscles that had been enhanced by Erskine's serum, after all.
"-a dinosaur," a reedy voice said. "I mean, the guy is literally older than sliced bread. There's no way they're gonna actually let him answer questions."
"I mean he actually seems pretty cool," another voice said, deep and ponderous. "I have neighbors who say way worse stuff than him."
"Don't get me wrong, Rogers is probably a good guy, but he's still from the 1940's. Just the shit he doesn't know about would be a PR disaster if anyone asked him his opinions on it."
"That's what the classes are for, aren't they?"
"It's whitewashed shit, dude. Just enough that he doesn't accidentally call the President 'boy' on live tv before he gives generic answers to questions about gay rights or MySpace or whatever. Then maybe a few late night appearances, then it's off to whatever missions Fury needs him for. I bet they'll give him a script for the press conferences."
Discreetly, Steve turned to look at the two talking. Specifically the one who had called him a dinosaur, who appeared to be the slightly overweight gentleman with curly hair and a nametag that said 'Mendez'. Nodding to himself, he finished his pizza and left the cafeteria, thinking.
"Mendez, right?"
The younger man practically levitated an inch off his swivel chair, then came back down and looked over with wide eyes.
"Oh s- Captain Rogers," he said. "How, uh, is there anything you need help with?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," Steve replied. "I think a dinosaur needs to take on some extracurricular lessons."
Mendez paled as the realization dawned. "Listen, I-"
"You're right," Steve finished. "The crash course isn't enough. I don't just want to be told what to say to avoid looking bad."
He gestured to the desktop. "I heard this internet doohickey can be used for all sorts of things. Like a giant library and bulletin board combined."
"Yeah I guess that's a good enough analogy," Mendez said under his breath. "What, you wanna read up on current issues or something?"
"That too," Steve said. "But also, I want a place where I can talk to my fellow Americans. All of them. With no stupid questions."
He figured a safe bet would be to start with organizations he already knew from before the deep freeze, ones whose old members he'd had letter correspondences with. He was glad to see the NAACP and ACLU were still around, and reading their "websites" provided ideas as where to go next with the laptop he'd borrowed. The actual searching was a bit challenging considering the tech involved, but if he could learn how to fly a plane he could work an electronic computer, especially with Mendez giving him support over the phone.
He went from the NAACP to Brown to Dr. King, from the ACLU to Stonewall to transgenderism. He watched interviews with activists from all sorts of backgrounds and beliefs, and read articles about current events. He even looked into those whose views were far too close to the men he fought in Europe, if only to see how much -or how little- their rhetoric had changed.
What was more crucial was engaging with people from different backgrounds. And so, with a lot of technical advice from Mendez, he made accounts on forums and started conversations with people from the communities that had progressed and grown while he'd been an icicle. He talked, but more importantly he listened.
There were things he didn't understand, even after hours of reading and conversation, but he also knew he didn't have to understand it to support it. He would think to his friends in his childhood, Bucky especially. How they never quite understood why the skeletal boy with half a working lung on a good day would refuse to be treated with gloves as they played and roughhoused, yet they would play anyway.
Steve looked at the binder that had been slapped onto the table, then directed his attention up to Fury.
"What's this?"
"Your script," he replied, giving the word the reverence it deserved. "The White House apparently decided it'd be for the best if you don't make, and I quote, comments that may negatively impact perception of America and its values."
"They're still worried I'll sound like a Klan member on tv?"
"Oh, I don't think that's what has them worried," Fury said wryly.
Steve opened the binder and began to leaf through. "Half of this is just 'no comment' in case I get asked about some current event."
"You know, technically speaking Captain America is just a public domain character," Fury said rather loudly, eye pointing nowhere in particular. "Captain Steve Rogers merely played him while fighting in the war. Meaning that Captain America could be used in all sorts of things."
"I remember the baseball cards," Steve grumbled.
"Ever see the stuff people made after the war?"
Fury's eye briefly pointed at the binder, and Steve flipped towards the end. The script ended suddenly, and in a plastic sleeve was a poster of Captain America- not him, but another man playing the part- punching a man in a Red Army uniform.
He won't let America fall to communists. Will You? it read at the top, and then at the bottom it continued, Report suspicious behavior to the House of Un-American Activities!
He'd read about the witch hunts of the 50s just yesterday, and yet the term 'Un-American' practically leapt from the page and socked him in the jaw. He thought of the bombed-out streets in Western Europe, the posters that proudly declared who was and wasn't an 'Enemy of the Reich'.
His jaw clenched as he flipped it to the next one. This time it was a newspaper cartoon, showing a caricature of Dr. King putting his arm around the shoulders of a squeamish Captain America, gesturing around to a city in ruins.
"We're both doing our part to save America, Captain. See?"
"One of the only times I heard my father swear was when he saw that one in the morning paper," Fury said. "He was in the 92nd Infantry in Italy. Liked to talk about how Captain America took out three machine gun nests that had his platoon pinned down, and just kept on going after that, like the Lone Ranger into the sunset."
Steve actually recalled seeing men from the 92nd, during the push across the Arno River. He'd only been there for three days in order to take out a Hydra lab- men like Fury's father had seen the thing all the way through. Something the great Captain America hadn't.
He flipped to the last page. Captain America stood in front of the sunset, framed on each side by jungle, and his finger was pointed at whoever would be unlucky enough to be reading it.
DO YOUR PART
ENLIST TODAY
The date in the corner read '1968'.
Steve shut the binder and crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. He worked his jaw from side to side for a moment.
"Captain America is just whatever the administration wants him to be at the moment," he said. And Steve Rogers, agitating cartoonist, isn't what they want him to be.
"And right now they want him as safe as Wonderbread," Fury said, giving the last three words particular flourish. He checked his watch. "Well, looks like your ride will be here in five minutes."
He turned to leave, then whirled about on his heel. "Oh, almost forgot."
Fury set down his briefcase, and slid it over. Steve took it, then after a moment's hesitation opened it. It took a moment for him to realize what he was looking at- after all, one normally didn't put half a dozen bricks in a leather briefcase. Carefully, he took one out and eyed it carefully. The writing was worn, but he immediately recognized the scrawl that said 'Japan Camp Cartoon'.
Steve smiled to himself, then pulled out his wallet and produced a crisp $10 bill.
"Thank you," Fury said, plucking the bill from Steve's hand. "Now I gotta get going. See you on tv, Captain."
"Yeah," Steve said, already knowing what he had to do. "I guess you will."
The camera flashing was less obnoxious than it was before he'd been frozen, so at least there was that. Still, he'd honestly rather be staring down a bunker full of Nazis than the absolutely packed room of journalists before him. He was still sitting to the side in a little plastic chair, yet all eyes were on him, not the actual speaker.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, Captain Steven Rogers," the Press Secretary said.
It was finally his cue, and he rose from his seat, straightening his dark blue suit jacket. Somehow, a blue suit and red tie felt more on-the-nose than if he'd brought the shield with him. Crossing to the podium with the binder tucked under his arm, he got himself situated and cleared his throat.
"Good afternoon, everyone. I know it's been-" he checked his watch. "Oh, sixty-six years since I last had to talk to the press, but hopefully I'm not too rusty."
A few chuckles. He knew a cheap joke could do a lot more for the speaker than the audience, and god did he need it right now.
"All kidding aside, it is good to finally be back home. When I was on that bomber, bringing it down over the ice, I never thought I'd get to see home again. But I am home again, and I thank the brave men and women who made that possible for me. I know a lot of my comrades in arms never got that chance."
He paused briefly, and someone was bold enough to take that opportunity to ask a question.
"Captain Rogers, it must be a big shock to see the America of today," an older woman at the front said. "Anything that has... surprised you in particular?"
He put on what he used to call the USO smile. "Well, the whole cell phone thing was a big surprise. I actually asked someone how they fit the vinyls in whenever they wanted to play music."
A few more chuckles, but the journalist who'd spoken frowned. "Technology is one thing, but what about social changes? Have you had any trouble adjusting to the attitudes of this time?"
There it was. Steve breathed in, and glanced down at the binder. Safe as Wonderbread, as Captain America should be. So he took the binder and calmly ripped it in half, plastic and hall.
"To be quite honest, I have had trouble adjusting," he said. "I'm a man from a different time, as everyone likes to point out. Things were done differently, and were said differently when I was growing up. And seeing the America of today has me disappointed."
Everyone began furiously scribbling down on their notepads, some of them with hungry glints in their eyes as they got ready to hear the great American hero make an ass out of himself on live tv.
"I'm disappointed," he repeated. "Because of how little things have changed for so many Americans."
The hungry glints became confused or surprised. Some of the reporters began to write even faster.
"I came from a time where bigotry was seen by millions of Americans as normal," he continued. "Where my mother was pregnant with me the first time she was able to cast a vote, because just a year before she would've been arrested for trying. Where I was once offered fifty dollars at the age of eighteen to get sterilized so I wouldn't pass on partial deafness to the next generation. And that was just how I was personally affected."
"At the same time I was fighting the Nazis to stop their mad racism from killing millions more, people back home were using their rhetoric to defend segregation. There were days where I would liberate death camps, retching at the smell of death borne out of hatred for people whose only sin was being different, and then in the newspaper I'd read about the Americans kept behind barbed wire fences because their last names were Narita or Takahashi."
He pulled some hastily scribbled notes out of his pocket and continued. "Now almost seventy years have passed, and things are still not as good as they should be. I've woken up to an America where in forty-three states loving and consenting adults still can't get married just because they are the same sex, while in plenty of states a parent can make their teen child marry a forty-year-old. I've woken up to an America where one out of six women are still victims of sexual violence, and where sundown counties still exist in some parts of the country."
He took a moment to give the crowd a glare that had made SS units piss their uniforms. "You bet I'm disappointed."
Someone managed to speak up. "Some may say this attitude is not to be expected from Captain America."
"Then those people read too many of his comics, and not enough of my own," Steve replied. "I have never fought for the interests of whatever administration's in charge, or what even the majority of Americans might be thinking at the time. I have fought, and will continue to fight, for the ideals of America. That we are all of us equal, and that we all have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Doesn't matter what you look like, or who you love, or what you believe in."
He looked at the cameras. "We are all Americans. And until we all have the same opportunities for happiness, I won't stop fighting. Will you?"
The crowd was silent, without even a scribble on a notepad. He took it in, then straightened.
"So, any more questions?"
"He threw out the script," Janice Park mumbled at the tv. "Literally threw out the script."
"Technically he just ripped it in half," Nick Fury said, years of spywork reaching their limits as he hid a smile.
"Shit," she muttered, looking at her phone. "I'm already getting texts asking if Captain America was secretly in love with Buchanan Barnes and that's why he's supporting gay marriage."
Fury huffed. "And no one's asking if he's a brother for bringing up sundown counties? The shame."
"That term's already trending on Twitter." Janice ran a hand through her hair. "Since when does a ninety-year-old dinosaur start talking like a millennial? What the fuck was that?"
Fury finally allowed himself a smile. "That... was Captain America."
In the meantime, he'd make do with Crosby and Ink Spots while he read. Which was something he'd been doing a lot of since they finally cleared him from the medical wing, and he was finally free to go from one featureless room to another featureless room. There was a lot to read about- seventy years was a long time to know nothing about anything. A man's whole life could be covered in seventy years.
The distressingly short list of friends and acquaintances still kicking was proof enough of that.
The war and aftermath had felt like the best place to start. He'd always fancied himself a quick reader, especially when he started having to go over detailed intelligence reports about HYDRA's latest science projects and Wehrmacht artillery positions. Yet even after three days he'd only just gotten to some confrontation over Berlin- no, West Berlin in 1948.
"At this rate you'll probably have another seventy years to cover when you catch up," someone said.
Steve turned in his seat, then got up and stood at attention when he saw who it was. Nick Fury simply sighed.
"At ease, Captain. Your enlistment status is still in the air, after all."
Steve relaxed his posture. "It doesn't feel like it."
"I can see why," Fury said dryly. He grabbed a spare chair and sat down. "I'm actually here to talk about that."
Steve took a seat as well, albeit backwards. Leaning his arms on the backrest, he thought for a moment, then spoke.
"So what's the latest?"
"President is planning on going public next week," Fury said. "America's greatest war hero, back from the dead in a time where we need him again, yadda yadda. You can see why the people are gonna eat it up."
Steve grimaced as the implication hit him. "Press tours."
"Press tours." Fury's own disdain was only a little shy of his. "Which means it's now SHIELD's job to make sure you're ready for them. I know we keep on saying it and you gotta be sick to death of it, but the world's changed a lot since you were on ice."
"And you have to make sure I don't say something that looks bad on camera," Steve finished. "Something... dated."
"You can see where people might be worried."
Steve frowned. "Then they don't know anything about me. Captain America, maybe, but not Steve Rogers. What do people even know about what I was doing before I picked up the shield?"
Fury chuckled. "Oh, maybe just something about a Brooklyn kid getting rejected by the draft board, if that. Some folk think you weren't even real to begin with."
"Sometimes I feel like they might be right," Steve said, quietly, then let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm painfully aware my time wasn't perfect. Literally painful. I had to replace my office windows six times before Erskine recruited me. I even kept the bricks as mementos, wrote little labels on them for which cartoon I drew had pissed them off."
"Twenty bucks says they're probably in some museum archive right now."
"I have a feeling that's not a lot of money anymore."
"Yup. You were saying about bricks?"
Steve leaned back a little. "First one I ever got was for an anti-lynching cartoon I'd scribbled up after hearing about Elbert Williams. Then there was when I took some shots at people who bought into America First nonsense. Next was when I criticized Pinkertons during a big strike in Harlem, and then I got two bricks in the same week when I criticized segregation in the army. Last one was for the internment camps in California."
"You know, Coulson's mentioned the cartoons before, but it's another thing seeing it come from the horse's mouth. I'm surprised you'd even try to enlist."
"I criticize my country because I want what's best for it, and I know it can get there. Everyone has the rights that we enshrine. Everyone. Even if a lot of people try to say otherwise, or try and take them away. From what I've picked up, we still have a long way to go, but as a man from a worse time, it's encouraging to see the change."
He smiled. "Just seeing the progress made by the Negro community alone gives me hope."
Nick Fury made a strange face, made only stranger by the fact that he was the one doing it. It looked like a pained wince and a barely-constrained laugh all at once, and immediately Steve realized something was off. He shrank a little in his seat, feeling very much like he was back in primary school and he'd just given the wrong answer.
"I said something 'dated' didn't I?"
"Oh, you got the spirit, don't get me wrong," Fury said, wryly. "Let's just say... you're going to need that crash course."
Steve straightened. The challenge to be better was one he'd never back down from.
"Alright then," he said. "Let's get started."
A
"-the term fell out of favor by the 1970's, though older members of the community felt for a while that 'black' was more offensive."
Steve nodded, jotting it down on the notepad they'd given him. He instinctively moved to dab his pen, then felt like an idiot when he remembered desks didn't have inkwells in the future. He briefly glanced at the tip of the pen and marveled at the little ballpoint before focusing again on the class.
"So it looks like there's two appropriate terms nowadays," he said, referencing his notes. "Which one should I use for the press tour?"
"You can use black or African-American interchangeably in everyday conversation, but in front of journalists stick to African-American," his brand new media relations handler, one Janice Park, said. "Less chance of looking bad, especially since there will be reporters fishing for a slip-up."
"Alrighty." Steven coughed and took on his 'podium stance'. "I am heartened to see the progress made by the African-American community. That 'up to date'?"
"As safe as Wonderbread," she replied.
Safe didn't necessarily mean good, but until he had a good grasp on things he'd have to make do with safe. Steve circled some of his notes, then looked back up.
"What about inverts? What's the up-to-date term for their community?"
"Inverts?" The instructor scrunched her brow.
"When I ran out into Time Square briefly I saw some invert couples holding hands." He made vague gesturing with his hands. "You know, two guys, or two women."
Her eyes widened. "Ohhhh, you mean gay couples."
"I mean, I hope they're happy these days."
"That's not what I-" Park closed her eyes for a moment. "The term you should use in the press tour is 'same-sex'."
"What about outside of press tours? I'm not going to be in front of podiums 24/7."
"In that case you might say gay for men and women, or lesbian for just women," she said quickly. "It shouldn't come up in press tours, though, and if it somehow does, I recommend staying away from the topic."
"Why? They're Americans too."
"It's a topic that might invite controversy. The American public is quite divided on the subject."
Steve frowned. "There was a time the American public was 'quite divided' on women getting the vote."
"We can go over the topic at a later time," Janice said, brusque. "We have a lot of other topics to cover before your first press conference."
He knew a bullshit redirect when he saw it. However, he also knew that she was right about him needing to cover a lot of new terms, and so he bit his tongue for the time being.
"Let's move on to other minority groups," she continued. "As you might have figured, 'oriental' is no longer the preferred nomenclature either. Generally speaking we go by Asian-Americans."
"So does that also include Indians and people from the Mid-East?"
"No, we generally just call them Indian and Middle-Eastern."
"But they're also from Asia."
"It's just the terminology we use."
"Understood. Got it." He jotted it down. "Then what do we call the other Indians these days?"
"Oh god."
A
The complex they were housing him at had a pretty nice cafeteria, much better than the canteens back in France and Italy, and he was free to -actually encouraged to- mingle with other diners. On one hand, he appreciated the opportunity to have casual conversations with people from this exciting future; on the other, the emphasis on 'mingling' made him feel like a feral kitten being gradually acclimated to the other cats in a home.
He decided not to force any potentially awkward conversations. Odds were people would talk to him anyway, and the more natural a conversation, he felt, the less a faux pas would stick out.
And the conversations did come. Technicians and officers from all sorts of backgrounds would come by, sheepishly asking if they could sit at Captain America's table, and he'd happily oblige them. They'd chat about all sorts of topics- the food, movies he should watch, questions about the war, and so on. He stayed cautious with his own questions, usually just asking about technology or pop culture rather than anything meatier. After all, you never knew what was going to be the next "fondueing".
Sometimes the meaty topics would come unprompted by him, with his lunchmates bringing up boyfriends or mixed children, and he had his suspicions that some of them were specifically chatting him up as part of the crash course. Either that or they were hoping to see the great American hero slip up and prove himself the bigot they suspected him of being.
In any case, he'd engage them earnestly. He'd ask them their kids' names or how long they'd been with their boyfriends, and when he smiled at their answers it was always genuine.
The biggest challenge actually came indirectly.
It was day three of his 'crash course', and he was sitting by himself eating a slice of pizza when he heard his name. He almost turned, but stopped himself at the last minute, and instead carefully listened in. It wasn't just his muscles that had been enhanced by Erskine's serum, after all.
"-a dinosaur," a reedy voice said. "I mean, the guy is literally older than sliced bread. There's no way they're gonna actually let him answer questions."
"I mean he actually seems pretty cool," another voice said, deep and ponderous. "I have neighbors who say way worse stuff than him."
"Don't get me wrong, Rogers is probably a good guy, but he's still from the 1940's. Just the shit he doesn't know about would be a PR disaster if anyone asked him his opinions on it."
"That's what the classes are for, aren't they?"
"It's whitewashed shit, dude. Just enough that he doesn't accidentally call the President 'boy' on live tv before he gives generic answers to questions about gay rights or MySpace or whatever. Then maybe a few late night appearances, then it's off to whatever missions Fury needs him for. I bet they'll give him a script for the press conferences."
Discreetly, Steve turned to look at the two talking. Specifically the one who had called him a dinosaur, who appeared to be the slightly overweight gentleman with curly hair and a nametag that said 'Mendez'. Nodding to himself, he finished his pizza and left the cafeteria, thinking.
A
"Mendez, right?"
The younger man practically levitated an inch off his swivel chair, then came back down and looked over with wide eyes.
"Oh s- Captain Rogers," he said. "How, uh, is there anything you need help with?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," Steve replied. "I think a dinosaur needs to take on some extracurricular lessons."
Mendez paled as the realization dawned. "Listen, I-"
"You're right," Steve finished. "The crash course isn't enough. I don't just want to be told what to say to avoid looking bad."
He gestured to the desktop. "I heard this internet doohickey can be used for all sorts of things. Like a giant library and bulletin board combined."
"Yeah I guess that's a good enough analogy," Mendez said under his breath. "What, you wanna read up on current issues or something?"
"That too," Steve said. "But also, I want a place where I can talk to my fellow Americans. All of them. With no stupid questions."
A
He figured a safe bet would be to start with organizations he already knew from before the deep freeze, ones whose old members he'd had letter correspondences with. He was glad to see the NAACP and ACLU were still around, and reading their "websites" provided ideas as where to go next with the laptop he'd borrowed. The actual searching was a bit challenging considering the tech involved, but if he could learn how to fly a plane he could work an electronic computer, especially with Mendez giving him support over the phone.
He went from the NAACP to Brown to Dr. King, from the ACLU to Stonewall to transgenderism. He watched interviews with activists from all sorts of backgrounds and beliefs, and read articles about current events. He even looked into those whose views were far too close to the men he fought in Europe, if only to see how much -or how little- their rhetoric had changed.
What was more crucial was engaging with people from different backgrounds. And so, with a lot of technical advice from Mendez, he made accounts on forums and started conversations with people from the communities that had progressed and grown while he'd been an icicle. He talked, but more importantly he listened.
There were things he didn't understand, even after hours of reading and conversation, but he also knew he didn't have to understand it to support it. He would think to his friends in his childhood, Bucky especially. How they never quite understood why the skeletal boy with half a working lung on a good day would refuse to be treated with gloves as they played and roughhoused, yet they would play anyway.
A
Steve looked at the binder that had been slapped onto the table, then directed his attention up to Fury.
"What's this?"
"Your script," he replied, giving the word the reverence it deserved. "The White House apparently decided it'd be for the best if you don't make, and I quote, comments that may negatively impact perception of America and its values."
"They're still worried I'll sound like a Klan member on tv?"
"Oh, I don't think that's what has them worried," Fury said wryly.
Steve opened the binder and began to leaf through. "Half of this is just 'no comment' in case I get asked about some current event."
"You know, technically speaking Captain America is just a public domain character," Fury said rather loudly, eye pointing nowhere in particular. "Captain Steve Rogers merely played him while fighting in the war. Meaning that Captain America could be used in all sorts of things."
"I remember the baseball cards," Steve grumbled.
"Ever see the stuff people made after the war?"
Fury's eye briefly pointed at the binder, and Steve flipped towards the end. The script ended suddenly, and in a plastic sleeve was a poster of Captain America- not him, but another man playing the part- punching a man in a Red Army uniform.
He won't let America fall to communists. Will You? it read at the top, and then at the bottom it continued, Report suspicious behavior to the House of Un-American Activities!
He'd read about the witch hunts of the 50s just yesterday, and yet the term 'Un-American' practically leapt from the page and socked him in the jaw. He thought of the bombed-out streets in Western Europe, the posters that proudly declared who was and wasn't an 'Enemy of the Reich'.
His jaw clenched as he flipped it to the next one. This time it was a newspaper cartoon, showing a caricature of Dr. King putting his arm around the shoulders of a squeamish Captain America, gesturing around to a city in ruins.
"We're both doing our part to save America, Captain. See?"
"One of the only times I heard my father swear was when he saw that one in the morning paper," Fury said. "He was in the 92nd Infantry in Italy. Liked to talk about how Captain America took out three machine gun nests that had his platoon pinned down, and just kept on going after that, like the Lone Ranger into the sunset."
Steve actually recalled seeing men from the 92nd, during the push across the Arno River. He'd only been there for three days in order to take out a Hydra lab- men like Fury's father had seen the thing all the way through. Something the great Captain America hadn't.
He flipped to the last page. Captain America stood in front of the sunset, framed on each side by jungle, and his finger was pointed at whoever would be unlucky enough to be reading it.
DO YOUR PART
ENLIST TODAY
The date in the corner read '1968'.
Steve shut the binder and crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. He worked his jaw from side to side for a moment.
"Captain America is just whatever the administration wants him to be at the moment," he said. And Steve Rogers, agitating cartoonist, isn't what they want him to be.
"And right now they want him as safe as Wonderbread," Fury said, giving the last three words particular flourish. He checked his watch. "Well, looks like your ride will be here in five minutes."
He turned to leave, then whirled about on his heel. "Oh, almost forgot."
Fury set down his briefcase, and slid it over. Steve took it, then after a moment's hesitation opened it. It took a moment for him to realize what he was looking at- after all, one normally didn't put half a dozen bricks in a leather briefcase. Carefully, he took one out and eyed it carefully. The writing was worn, but he immediately recognized the scrawl that said 'Japan Camp Cartoon'.
Steve smiled to himself, then pulled out his wallet and produced a crisp $10 bill.
"Thank you," Fury said, plucking the bill from Steve's hand. "Now I gotta get going. See you on tv, Captain."
"Yeah," Steve said, already knowing what he had to do. "I guess you will."
A
The camera flashing was less obnoxious than it was before he'd been frozen, so at least there was that. Still, he'd honestly rather be staring down a bunker full of Nazis than the absolutely packed room of journalists before him. He was still sitting to the side in a little plastic chair, yet all eyes were on him, not the actual speaker.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, Captain Steven Rogers," the Press Secretary said.
It was finally his cue, and he rose from his seat, straightening his dark blue suit jacket. Somehow, a blue suit and red tie felt more on-the-nose than if he'd brought the shield with him. Crossing to the podium with the binder tucked under his arm, he got himself situated and cleared his throat.
"Good afternoon, everyone. I know it's been-" he checked his watch. "Oh, sixty-six years since I last had to talk to the press, but hopefully I'm not too rusty."
A few chuckles. He knew a cheap joke could do a lot more for the speaker than the audience, and god did he need it right now.
"All kidding aside, it is good to finally be back home. When I was on that bomber, bringing it down over the ice, I never thought I'd get to see home again. But I am home again, and I thank the brave men and women who made that possible for me. I know a lot of my comrades in arms never got that chance."
He paused briefly, and someone was bold enough to take that opportunity to ask a question.
"Captain Rogers, it must be a big shock to see the America of today," an older woman at the front said. "Anything that has... surprised you in particular?"
He put on what he used to call the USO smile. "Well, the whole cell phone thing was a big surprise. I actually asked someone how they fit the vinyls in whenever they wanted to play music."
A few more chuckles, but the journalist who'd spoken frowned. "Technology is one thing, but what about social changes? Have you had any trouble adjusting to the attitudes of this time?"
There it was. Steve breathed in, and glanced down at the binder. Safe as Wonderbread, as Captain America should be. So he took the binder and calmly ripped it in half, plastic and hall.
"To be quite honest, I have had trouble adjusting," he said. "I'm a man from a different time, as everyone likes to point out. Things were done differently, and were said differently when I was growing up. And seeing the America of today has me disappointed."
Everyone began furiously scribbling down on their notepads, some of them with hungry glints in their eyes as they got ready to hear the great American hero make an ass out of himself on live tv.
"I'm disappointed," he repeated. "Because of how little things have changed for so many Americans."
The hungry glints became confused or surprised. Some of the reporters began to write even faster.
"I came from a time where bigotry was seen by millions of Americans as normal," he continued. "Where my mother was pregnant with me the first time she was able to cast a vote, because just a year before she would've been arrested for trying. Where I was once offered fifty dollars at the age of eighteen to get sterilized so I wouldn't pass on partial deafness to the next generation. And that was just how I was personally affected."
"At the same time I was fighting the Nazis to stop their mad racism from killing millions more, people back home were using their rhetoric to defend segregation. There were days where I would liberate death camps, retching at the smell of death borne out of hatred for people whose only sin was being different, and then in the newspaper I'd read about the Americans kept behind barbed wire fences because their last names were Narita or Takahashi."
He pulled some hastily scribbled notes out of his pocket and continued. "Now almost seventy years have passed, and things are still not as good as they should be. I've woken up to an America where in forty-three states loving and consenting adults still can't get married just because they are the same sex, while in plenty of states a parent can make their teen child marry a forty-year-old. I've woken up to an America where one out of six women are still victims of sexual violence, and where sundown counties still exist in some parts of the country."
He took a moment to give the crowd a glare that had made SS units piss their uniforms. "You bet I'm disappointed."
Someone managed to speak up. "Some may say this attitude is not to be expected from Captain America."
"Then those people read too many of his comics, and not enough of my own," Steve replied. "I have never fought for the interests of whatever administration's in charge, or what even the majority of Americans might be thinking at the time. I have fought, and will continue to fight, for the ideals of America. That we are all of us equal, and that we all have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Doesn't matter what you look like, or who you love, or what you believe in."
He looked at the cameras. "We are all Americans. And until we all have the same opportunities for happiness, I won't stop fighting. Will you?"
The crowd was silent, without even a scribble on a notepad. He took it in, then straightened.
"So, any more questions?"
A
"He threw out the script," Janice Park mumbled at the tv. "Literally threw out the script."
"Technically he just ripped it in half," Nick Fury said, years of spywork reaching their limits as he hid a smile.
"Shit," she muttered, looking at her phone. "I'm already getting texts asking if Captain America was secretly in love with Buchanan Barnes and that's why he's supporting gay marriage."
Fury huffed. "And no one's asking if he's a brother for bringing up sundown counties? The shame."
"That term's already trending on Twitter." Janice ran a hand through her hair. "Since when does a ninety-year-old dinosaur start talking like a millennial? What the fuck was that?"
Fury finally allowed himself a smile. "That... was Captain America."
Thuktun F
You can complain now; I'm no longer a councilor
- Location
- United States
Quoth Noble Six: "I am to please."
- Location
- Brazil
Really wouldn't mind reading a series of shorts about this idea. Very well done
This was great. Frankly I've never seen this take on Captain America, at least in fanfiction. It's in the title that this is a oneshot, so I won't get my hopes up or whine about getting more, but if you decide to make more on this, it would be lovely.
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Grosstoad
Birdbrain - Dick - Rules-Lawyer - Creeper
There was some old fic from Ao3, of similar context, but I cannot find it again...
- Location
- Texas
Found this one on Tumblr.
steve rogers: pr disaster | gen | 4k
(someone asked about the full version of this, so here u go) “Wait,” says Sam, “you had a publicist?” “For my first five months at S.H.I.E.L.D,” says Steve. “Then she quit. Uh, decisively.” “Well…
www.tumblr.com
Actually, found an AO3 link too.
Steve Rogers: PR Disaster - idiopathicsmile - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
archiveofourown.org
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Thuktun F
You can complain now; I'm no longer a councilor
- Location
- United States
That was actually really good. I will say it's interesting how the PR agent stays walking the line between sympathetic and frustrating as she continues to try and police Cap's takes while agreeing with them.
- Location
- Texas
I just realized that my only comment on your one-shot was to link someone else's.
I quite like this one, too. Not as tumblr-ish, probably slightly more in-character for MCU Steve. And a good speech there at the end. Steve's oratory skills are underrated, but you did him justice. I'm glad to see you writing again recently. I remember reading your Silver Age Superman/Mass Effect story ages ago and loving it.
I quite like this one, too. Not as tumblr-ish, probably slightly more in-character for MCU Steve. And a good speech there at the end. Steve's oratory skills are underrated, but you did him justice. I'm glad to see you writing again recently. I remember reading your Silver Age Superman/Mass Effect story ages ago and loving it.
Well it's either Bucky or Howard Stark. Think about it the man never stopped searching for the big beautiful blonde.
Imagine him as a guest star on Glee and Rupaul. Or wearing a custom pride outfit cutesy of Coulson his number one fanboy.
Thuktun F
You can complain now; I'm no longer a councilor
- Location
- United States
I actually recently updated that story after like five years lol.
We'll believe a man can WHAT?! [Superman/ME]
A/N: After some deliberation on the thread for The Girl of Tomorrow, I've decided to post some...
forums.sufficientvelocity.com