I'd rather be happy than dignified

Steve Rogers had faced HYDRA.

Aliens.

Ultron.

A homicidal assassin who had once tried to punch his way through Steve’s rib cage and who, admittedly, was now his best friend again.

None of those things made him quite as cautious as walking into your apartment.

Not because of you.

You were wonderful.

You were, in fact, the reason Steve willingly continued entering the apartment despite the very real threat to his personal safety currently sitting in the middle of your living room floor.

Steve stopped just inside the door.

The cat stared at him.

Steve stared back.

Small.

Black.

Green-eyed.

Perfectly still.

Completely unreadable.

Steve slowly closed the door behind him.

“Hi.”

The cat blinked.

Steve narrowed his eyes.

There were two possibilities.

Paris.

Sweet, affectionate Paris, who had decided within approximately twelve minutes of meeting Steve that Steve belonged to him. Paris climbed into his lap whenever he sat down, slept against his chest, purred loud enough to vibrate Steve’s sternum, and had once spent nearly twenty minutes kneading Steve’s stomach while Steve endured it with the patient expression of a man being blessed by a very small god.

Or Dakar.

Dakar was insane.

There was no kinder way to put it.

Dakar had bitten Steve’s ankle during their first meeting.

Not aggressively, apparently.

You had assured him of that.

“He likes you.”

“He drew blood.”

“He gets excited.”

“He ambushed me from underneath the couch.”

“He was playing.”

Steve had stared at you.

You had kissed his cheek.

He had decided to let it go.

That had been a mistake.

Dakar did not walk through the apartment.

Dakar manifested.

He appeared on top of bookshelves no one had seen him climb. He launched himself sideways off furniture for reasons known only to him. He attacked shadows. He screamed at closed doors. He once slapped Steve directly across the mouth at three in the morning and then sprinted away.

Paris had been asleep on Steve’s chest at the time.

Which was the only reason Steve had known exactly who the culprit was.

Usually, he had no idea.

Because they were identical.

Completely.

Utterly.

Infuriatingly identical.

You claimed there were differences.

Apparently Paris’s face was “softer.”

Dakar’s ears were “slightly pointier.”

Paris had “kind eyes.”

Dakar had “crime in his.”

Steve saw two black cats.

That was it.

Now, the cat in front of him flicked its tail.

Steve remained motionless.

“You Paris?”

The cat stared.

“Dakar?”

Nothing.

Steve glanced toward the hallway.

“Baby?”

“In the bedroom!” you called.

Steve looked back at the cat.

The cat looked back at Steve.

Neither moved.

Steve slowly crouched.

“Okay.”

One ear twitched.

Steve extended his hand cautiously.

“If you’re Paris…”

The cat leaned forward.

Steve relaxed slightly.

“…you’re a very handsome boy.”

The cat sniffed his fingers.

Steve smiled.

“There we go.”

A tiny nose bumped his knuckle.

Definitely Paris.

Steve scratched beneath his chin.

The cat purred.

Steve’s smile widened.

“Yeah. Knew it was you.”

The cat pushed eagerly into his hand.

Steve crouched lower.

“You’re my good boy, huh?”

The purring intensified.

Steve scratched behind one velvet ear.

“I don’t know why your brother can’t be more like you.”

The cat’s pupils expanded.

Steve stopped.

“Oh.”

The cat launched himself at Steve’s face.

“Jesus Christ–!”

Steve fell backward.

A black blur ricocheted off his shoulder, hit the floor, sprinted across the living room, jumped onto the couch, bounced off the backrest and disappeared down the hallway.

You appeared in the bedroom doorway.

Steve was sitting on the floor.

His hair was disheveled.

There was a thin red scratch along his jaw.

You looked toward the hallway.

Then back at your boyfriend.

“Oh no.”

Steve pointed after the cat.

“Dakar.”

You pressed your lips together.

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re laughing.”

“I’m really not.”

Your shoulders started shaking.

Steve stared at you.

You lost the battle entirely.

He sighed.

“You said Dakar doesn’t purr.”

“I said Dakar doesn’t usually purr.”

“He weaponized affection.”

That only made you laugh harder.

Steve pushed himself to his feet with as much dignity as a six-foot-two super soldier who had just been defeated by an eleven-pound house cat could reasonably manage.

“He deliberately tricked me.”

“He’s a cat, Steve.”

“He knew what he was doing.”

You came closer and touched the scratch on his jaw.

“He got you good.”

Steve gave you a flat look.

You smiled sweetly.

“Poor baby.”

“Thank you.”

“I was talking about Dakar. You probably scared him.”

Steve stared at you in betrayal.

You kissed him before he could protest.

That helped.

Somewhat.

Then something brushed against his ankle.

Steve froze.

He looked down.

Black cat.

Naturally.

Steve looked at you.

You looked down.

“Oh, hi, Paris.”

Steve immediately bent and scooped the cat into his arms.

Paris settled against his chest without protest, beginning to purr before Steve had even properly adjusted him.

Steve pointed toward the hallway with his free hand.

“See? This is a normal cat.”

Paris rubbed his face beneath Steve’s chin.

“He loves you.”

“I love him.”

A distant crash came from the bedroom.

Steve’s eyes closed.

You glanced toward the sound.

Another crash.

Then silence.

Steve opened his eyes.

“Do we need to check?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Something else hit the floor.

Steve frowned. “What does he have access to in there?”

“Nothing dangerous.”

A pause.

“To us or to him?”

“Yes.”

Steve stared at you.

You took Paris from his arms.

“Come on. I made dinner.”

Steve followed you toward the kitchen, casting one suspicious glance down the hallway.

Dating you had meant learning several things.

You stole his shirts.

You hated folding laundry.

You always forgot where you put your phone despite usually holding it while searching for it.

And your cats had somehow decided that Steve represented two entirely different things.

To Paris, Steve was furniture.

Premium furniture, admittedly.

Warm, broad, comfortable furniture with excellent hands for scratching behind ears.

Paris adored him.

If Steve stayed overnight, Paris slept with him.

If Steve sat on your couch, Paris occupied his lap.

If Steve arrived after several days away, Paris greeted him at the door like a soldier returning from war.

Dakar seemed to regard Steve as an interactive enrichment activity.

Steve never knew when an attack would come.

His ankles had become particularly popular targets.

“You could put different collars on them,” Steve suggested one evening.

You looked personally offended.

“They have different collars.”

Steve glanced across the room.

Two black cats sat side by side on the rug.

Both wore black collars.

Steve looked back at you.

“Different how?”

“Paris has the little silver moon.”

Steve squinted.

“Dakar has a star.”

He squinted harder.

“They’re the size of my thumbnail.”

“They're completely different.”

“From six feet up, they’re identical.”

You kissed his shoulder.

“You’ll learn.”

Steve did try.

God, did he try.

He studied them.

Paris was supposedly slightly bigger.

Dakar supposedly had a narrower nose.

Paris’s tail curved differently when he walked.

Dakar held his head “like he was planning something.”

Steve even took pictures.

This proved to be useless because every photograph became a small black void with eyes.

Bucky found the entire situation hysterical.

“You can identify me from my footsteps,” he said one afternoon at the compound.

“I’ve known you since we were six.”

“You identified six HYDRA agents through thermal signatures last month.”

“That was different.”

“You memorized the license plate of a car that followed us for fourteen seconds.”

Steve scowled.

Sam leaned across the table.

“But the cats got him.”

“The cats are identical.”

Bucky grinned. “Sure.”

“They are.”

“Whatever you say, punk.”

Steve pointed at him. “You haven’t met them.”

Bucky’s grin widened.

So Steve made another mistake.

He invited Bucky and Sam over.

Paris immediately jumped into Bucky’s lap.

Bucky looked delighted.

“Well, hey there.”

Steve crossed his arms.

“That’s Paris.”

“See?” you said. “You’re getting better.”

Steve nodded smugly.

Sam crouched near the other cat.

“And this must be Dakar.”

Steve opened his mouth.

“Sam–”

Too late.

Sam extended one finger.

Dakar sniffed it.

Sam scratched beneath his chin.

Dakar purred.

Steve watched.

Nothing happened.

Sam looked up at him.

“This the crazy one?”

“Yes.”

Dakar rolled onto his back.

Sam rubbed his stomach.

Steve’s eyes widened.

“Don’t do that.”

Sam looked confused. “Why?”

“He hates that.”

Apparently, Dakar did not hate that.

Dakar stretched luxuriously beneath Sam’s hand.

Bucky started laughing.

Steve looked at you.

“You told me he hated that.”

“With you.”

“With–”

Steve stared at Dakar.

Dakar stared back upside down from the rug.

The little bastard looked smug.

“He does this intentionally.”

Sam snorted.

“He’s a cat, man.”

“That's what she says.”

Bucky scratched Paris’s head.

“I think he just doesn't like you.”

Paris purred.

Dakar purred.

Steve’s jaw tightened.

“I am not getting bullied in my girlfriend’s apartment by something that fits inside a grocery bag.”

Dakar immediately got up.

Steve watched him approach.

“Don’t.”

Dakar continued.

“Dakar.”

The cat sat directly on Steve’s shoe.

Steve looked down.

Dakar looked up.

Steve hesitated.

Slowly, very carefully, he crouched.

Dakar remained still.

Steve touched his head.

Dakar leaned into his palm.

The room went quiet.

Sam whispered, “Holy shit.”

Steve looked toward you.

You smiled.

“There.”

Steve scratched Dakar’s ears.

The cat’s eyes closed.

Steve’s whole expression softened.

“See?” you murmured. “He likes you.”

Steve smiled.

“He does.”

Dakar opened his eyes.

Steve saw it.

That tiny shift.

That spark.

Crime.

“Oh, no–”

Dakar grabbed Steve’s wrist with all four paws and sank his teeth gently but decisively into his thumb.

Bucky nearly fell off the couch laughing.

Sam doubled over.

You covered your face.

Steve stared down at the cat attached to his hand.

Dakar stared back.

Then released him and casually walked away.

Steve straightened.

“Nope.”

You were laughing too hard to answer.

“I’m done trying.”

“Steve–”

“No. Paris and I have an understanding. Dakar and I are enemies.”

From Bucky’s lap, Paris meowed.

Steve pointed at him.

“Good boy.”

Bucky glanced down.

Then at you.

Then back at the cat.

His grin slowly disappeared.

“Uh, Steve?”

“What?”

You had noticed too.

You were biting your lip.

Bucky carefully lifted the cat’s collar.

A tiny silver star glinted beneath the fur.

Steve went very still.

Sam made a choking noise.

Steve looked toward the hallway.

Another black cat had appeared there.

The little silver moon hanging from his collar caught the light.

Paris.

The same cat who had wrapped himself around Steve’s wrist and bitten his thumb less than five minutes ago.

Steve stared at him.

Then at the cat sitting peacefully in Bucky’s lap.

Dakar.

Who had apparently been cuddling Bucky for nearly twenty minutes without committing a single act of violence.

Bucky slowly looked at Steve.

Steve’s face hardened.

“Don’t.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched.

“Not one word.”

“You called Dakar a sociopath.”

“He usually is!”

“And Paris bit you.”

Steve pointed toward the hallway. “He was impersonating his brother.”

Sam made a strangled sound and folded over laughing.

“You got attacked by the nice one?”

“He tricked me!”

Paris sat neatly in the hallway, looking entirely innocent.

Steve stared at him in betrayal.

“You.”

Paris blinked.

“You’re supposed to be my good boy.”

Paris meowed.

Sam wiped tears from his eyes. “Man, at some point you gotta accept the possibility that neither of these cats respects you.”

Dakar yawned from Bucky’s lap.

Steve pointed at him.

“And that one is still a sociopath.”

Bucky scratched beneath Dakar’s chin.

The cat immediately began to purr.

“Seems pretty nice to me.”

“He slapped me while I was asleep.”

“You probably deserved it.”

Steve looked at you. “See what I deal with?”

You slipped both arms around his waist from behind.

“They both love you.”

“One attacks me.”

“Apparently they both attack you.”

Steve’s head turned slowly toward you.

You were already smiling.

“That is not helping.”

“Paris only nibbled your thumb.”

“He betrayed me.”

“He got excited.”

“He bit me.”

“He didn’t bite hard.”

Steve gestured toward Dakar. “And his brother stole my sock.”

“He likes your smell.”

Steve stared at you.

“That is still the least convincing defense you’ve given either of them.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth.

Steve tried to remain offended.

He lasted approximately three seconds.

Then Paris trotted over and jumped onto the couch beside him.

Steve automatically reached down.

He stopped halfway.

Everyone watched.

Steve narrowed his eyes at the cat.

Then very deliberately checked the collar.

Silver moon.

Paris.

Steve looked into his sweet little face.

Paris blinked up at him.

“You bit me.”

Paris leaned forward and bumped his head against Steve’s palm.

Steve’s entire expression softened.

Bucky snorted.

“Oh, come on.”

Steve began scratching behind Paris’s ears.

“He apologized.”

Sam stared at him. “He absolutely did not.”

“He did.”

“With his head?”

Steve ignored him.

Paris started purring.

Steve looked smug.

“My good boy.”

From Bucky’s lap, Dakar opened one eye.

Bucky glanced down at him.

Then at Steve.

“You know, I think I’m starting to see the difference.”

Steve’s smile vanished.

“Shut up, Buck.”

“Coward.”

Steve looked at him.

“You wanna spend the night here?”

Bucky glanced toward Dakar.

Dakar was staring at him.

His pupils were enormous.

Bucky hesitated.

Steve smiled.

“Thought so.”

Later, after Sam and Bucky had gone home and you were curled against Steve in bed, he woke sometime after two in the morning to weight settling on his chest.

Steve opened one eye.

Black cat.

He did not move.

The room was dark.

No visible collar.

No identifiable features.

Nothing.

Steve stared.

The cat stared.

Steve whispered, “Paris?”

The cat blinked.

Steve swallowed.

“Dakar?”

Nothing.

Beside him, you slept peacefully.

Steve considered waking you.

That felt ridiculous.

Captain America did not need his girlfriend to identify a house cat.

Steve slowly lifted one hand.

The cat watched.

Steve touched the top of his head.

No attack.

He scratched gently behind one ear.

The cat began to purr.

Steve relaxed.

“Paris.”

The purring grew louder.

Steve smiled sleepily and let his hand fall back onto the mattress.

The cat curled into a ball on his chest.

For several minutes, everything remained peaceful.

Steve's eyes drifted closed.

Then a second weight landed beside his head.

His eyes snapped open.

Another black face appeared six inches from his own.

Steve stopped breathing.

One cat on his chest.

One cat beside his head.

He had absolutely no idea which was which.

The cat beside his face leaned forward.

Steve whispered, “Don't.”

A tiny nose touched his.

Steve remained perfectly still.

The cat licked his forehead once.

Then curled against his neck.

Steve blinked.

He looked at the cat on his chest.

Then the one beneath his chin.

Both were purring.

Neither was attacking him.

Slowly, Steve smiled.

Maybe you were right.

Maybe Dakar did like him.

Maybe this was progress.

Maybe…

The cat on his chest suddenly launched off him at full speed.

The one beside his head immediately followed.

They tore across the bed, used Steve’s stomach as a springboard, hit the floor, raced out of the bedroom and crashed into something in the hallway.

Steve stared at the ceiling.

You stirred beside him.

“Everything okay?”

Steve listened to another crash.

Then what sounded suspiciously like something rolling down the hallway.

“No.”

You sleepily pressed a kiss against his shoulder.

“Which one was it?”

Steve turned his head toward you.

“Both.”

You smiled without opening your eyes.

Steve sighed and pulled you closer.

From somewhere in the apartment came an unmistakable feline battle cry.

Steve closed his eyes.

He loved you.

He loved Paris.

And, although he would deny it under oath, he was beginning to love Dakar too.