A/N: Have some short, domestic fluff.
Warnings for: everything's fine AU, established Steve/Peggy, Steve and Peggy trolling each other by being cheesy.
They'd planned on getting a dog for a while. Steve had always wanted one as a kid, but had never gotten one - his ma had never allowed it because it'd exacerbated his allergies, and once she'd died, there had never been enough money for him to justify owning a dog. Now he has neither of those problems, and Peggy likes dogs well enough, so they get one.
She's a mutt, nothing fancy, but the dog's strongest features come from her bulldog lineage. As a joke, Steve christens her Churchill, but Peggy's reaction is funny enough that the name sticks.
"You cannot name her Churchill," Peggy says, giving him a mostly harmless glare over the top of her newspaper.
"Why, because she's a girl?" Steve says, as the puppy in question gnaws eagerly on his fingers. "We can call her Church for short."
"Not because she's a girl," Peggy says, finally deigning to lower the paper. "Because I'm British."
Steve tries very hard not to grin at her. "So it's a matter of patriotism, then?"
"No!" Peggy says. Steve can tell she's not really irritated, but she's too proud to pretend otherwise now. She is, however, completely serious when she adds, "I can't own a dog named Churchill, Steve. Especially not a bulldog. It's just so - corny. It's quite literally the worst joke ever."
Steve laughs so hard he startles Church, and there's no going back after that.
Two weeks later, Steve comes home from a mission at two o'clock in the morning. He's quiet, because while it's conceivable that Peggy might be waiting up for him, it's more likely that she's already asleep. He's creeping through the foyer when something small and black darts so close to his feet that he very nearly steps on it, and has to skip to avoid it. The small black thing yowls wildly and shoots into the living room like a bullet.
Steve follows it, muttering in confusion, and finds a very sleepy Peggy lounging on the couch, cradling a very panicked cat to her chest. On the floor next to the couch is Church, lying on her back, sound asleep. "I see you've met our guest," Peggy says, stifling a yawn.
Now that he's close enough to the cat to actually see it, Steve can see that it's got a rather roguish look to it - solid black, with a scar on one ear from some fight or another. "Met him? I nearly stepped on him."
"How rude of you," Peggy says dryly.
"Well, at the risk of being even more rude ... why is he here?" Steve asks, as the cat nuzzles his face against Peggy's blouse.
"Well, he's been making a fuss outside while you've been gone," Peggy replies, "and the only way I could get him to be quiet was to let him inside."
Steve eyes her skeptically. "The only way, huh?"
Peggy raises her eyebrows at him in entirely fake innocence, and Steve can't help but smile and lean down to kiss her. As soon as he gets close, however, the cat hisses and darts out of Peggy's arms, fleeing to a spot under the coffee table. "Seems Rose isn't a fan of yours," Peggy muses.
"You named the tomcat Rose?" Steve asks. He doesn't particularly mind, but it's kind of funny - a ragged little alley cat like that named Rose.
"Of course," Peggy says, and without missing a beat, she adds, "Roosevelt's a bit of a mouthful, don't you think?"