I'M NOT CALLING YOU A LIAR

Four times Natasha tells Steve she doesn't love him.

Title courtesy of Florence + The Machine's song of the same name.

Natasha has always fancied herself a bit of a dancer, but the realization that Steve has been her partner for the past few years comes as a bit of a surprise. Maybe no one ever taught him how to move on a dancefloor but he dances around this thing they have almost as gracefully as she does and between the two of them, they twirl, waltz and box-step around the obvious until their feet give out and their hormones take over.

That's how she chooses to see it, at least – as hormones, urges, basic needs that require tending to. A simple arrangement between two grown-ups that won't lead to any complications. The important thing now (other than figuring out a way to get him out of that damn uniform) is to make sure that Steve is on the same page.

So while he's got his hands on her waist and his lips on her neck, Natasha tells him – evenly, clearly, bluntly – "I don't love you." It feels like that should matter to him, like it does matter to him.

"Okay," Steve shrugs because he doesn't expect her to and it's not like he loves her (yet) and what he finds in her eyes might not be love but it's enough, for now.

Natasha does some searching of her own, and something in the way he looks at her (his eyes dance with anticipation and not love, his smile is a familiar echo of the expression he uses to challenge her to a round of sparring) sets her at ease.

"Okay," She nods, and her fingers curl around the doorknob of her bedroom door.

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"You could leave some of your stuff here," Steve suggests one morning as he watches her root through his closet for a clean shirt.

Natasha retrieves a familiar tee and pulls it over her head. "Don't be ridiculous," She says as Steve finally decides to get out of bed. "I live two floors down, not on the other side of town."

"I'm just saying," He shrugs, following her into the bathroom. "You spend most of your time here anyway. I don't mind sharing my clothes, Nat, but this seems to make more sense. I mean, you could even move up here."

"What?" Her toothbrush hovers mid-air as they stare at each other's reflections in the mirror.

Steve seems equally taken aback by his suggestion, as if he's never even considered this. "I… I mean, it could be fun, right?" He speaks hesitantly at first, but the idea of living together quickly grows on him. "And – like I said – you already spend most of your time here, so it wouldn't make that much of a difference but at least you wouldn't have to rush downstairs to get dressed when we need to suit up in the middle of the night and-" Suddenly, living together makes perfect sense to him.

Natasha finally sets her toothbrush down and turns to face him in person. "Steve," She cuts him off mid-sentence. "You're asking me to move in with you."

"Yes," He nods, trading his excited smile for a sober look as he picks up on her hesitation. "Yes, I am."

It's only been eight months since they started… whatever this is, but maybe it's time for a reminder. "Steve," Natasha deliberately softens her demeanor; she doesn't mean to be harsh, only to be honest. "I don't love you."

He respects her enough to trust that she knows her own mind but he doesn't need Natasha to love him, not when he's just starting to fall for her himself. Steve's always considered himself a simple man, and life's taught him to take what he can get and be happy with it. This thing with Natasha? It makes him happy – and that's all he needs, for now. He can either compile a list of things that should make him happy and then spend his life trying to tick those things off a checklist, or he can decide to be happy with what he has. And what he has is pretty damn great.

"I know," Steve grins, enjoying the surprise in Natasha's eyes. "Move in with me anyway."

The thing is… she really, really hates the extra five minutes it takes her to scramble out of bed at midnight and run back to her place to get her things. And if Steve says he's okay with the way she doesn't feel about him – well, between the two of them, he's always proven himself to be the more trustworthy one.

Four nights later, HYDRA strikes at one in the morning, and all it takes is a quick trip to Steve's closet to get her catsuit.

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Two years later, Natasha finds herself going through the bedroom she's finally comfortable with calling theirs, packing an overnight bag for Steve (and herself, because like hell she's leaving him alone in the hospital).

The first wave of Thanos' army has come and gone, and the fact that they're alive is nothing short of a miracle. Any other time and they'd all be gathered in the common room to toast their dumb luck and continued existence.

Not tonight.

Thor and his friends have returned to Asgard, taking with them what remains of the Mad Titan's army: a handful of survivors, some weapons with insignias they hope to identify and a couple of magical items. Sif had asked that the survivors be left to her, and Natasha's sure they'll have way more information by sunrise. The weapons and magical items will be turned over to Loki (at this point, she's not even surprised to find out the bastard's still alive) for him to figure out which of the Nine Realms have formed an alliance with Thanos and hopefully trace the lingering bits of magic back to their origins, thus giving the Avengers an upper hand and the ability to plan an ambush.

Tony and Thor join her as the lucky ones, bruised and scraped but not enough to be kept under observation. Clint fared almost as well, but he's going to be limping around for the next two days or so. As for Bruce - well, the Hulk might have finally met his match. Some of those creatures out there today… for the first time in her long life, Natasha had found herself staring down an opponent she had absolutely no chance of defeating. It's not an experience she looks forward to repeating but they'll definitely be seeing more of those alien Hulks. Thor and Bruce had been the only ones capable of taking on those giants; after dealing with a dozen opponents at once, Bruce is now absolutely drained. They've set him up in the room next to Steve's and when Natasha pops in for a quick look, he's hooked up to at least five different IVs. The worrying part, a nurse tells her, is that even that might not be enough to make up for everything the battle drained him of. She doesn't stay for long; it's unsettling to see Bruce like this. More than unsettling – it's terrifying.

What awaits her in the next room isn't much better. It's like the day Bucky fished him out of the Potomac all over again – she can hardly make out Steve's body, limbs swallowed up by a patchwork of casts and bandages. What little skin she can glimpse is all ugly, bruised purple. She chokes down the bile that bubbles up to her throat and curses herself – again, for the hundredth time since the battle – for accepting his shield and leaving him to fend for himself.

In a sea of white and purple, blue eyes blink at her.

"Nat?"

It's little more than a whisper, but it's enough to jolt her out of her thoughts and move her to his side. There's a chair by his bed, probably dragged over when Clint stopped by to check on him while Natasha reluctantly let the doctors take a quick look at her. She drops the bag at the foot of his bed and sinks into the chair, trying to decide on some form of comfort she can offer him. His left hand is miraculously free of bandages, so she slips her hand into his and gives him a warm smile.

"I'm here now," Natasha says in her best hushed, soothing tone of voice. "The guys are fine," She adds before he can ask. "So just worry about yourself, okay?"

Steve grimaces at the effort it takes him to speak, but stubbornly goes on in his hoarse, pained voice. "Are you okay? I saw one of them aim for your side-"

"I'm fine," She quickly assures him. "Steve, I'm fine," But only because he made her take the shield and now he's the one stuck in a hospital bed. "I'm the last person you should be worrying about right now," Natasha mutters, suddenly unable to look him in the eye.

"Hey," Steve chokes out before he succumbs to a coughing fit. Thankfully, someone has left a glass of water and a straw on the nightstand. Natasha helps him up into a sitting position and offers him the glass, chiding herself for not doing so the moment he woke up. He sips at the water while she messes with the hospital bed and tries to make things more comfortable.

"Nat," He calls softly, waiting for her to put the glass away and turn back to him before he goes on. "I'm glad you're okay, but I'm always going to worry about you." Steve smiles when she reaches for his hand, and Natasha finds herself – inexplicably - near tears. It finally hits her that she could have lost him today – could have lost all of them but losing Steve would have been worse somehow and she doesn't have the energy to wonder if feeling that way makes her a bad person.

She should say something, maybe tell him she's the one who gets to worry about him because he's always making stupid decisions and reckless moves and God, the idiot is going to get himself killed someday.

"I love you."

Or maybe she could have said that, but it doesn't matter – Steve beat her to the punch and now he's smiling at her with his ridiculously blue eyes and he gives her hand a tiny squeeze and it's all just too much after today. Natasha has no idea what to say in return, so she defaults to the worst thing she could possibly say.

"But I don't-" I don't love you. It should be simple; she's said it countless times over the course of their relationship, even turned it into a thing between them.

Only… this time, she can't quite get the words past her lips.

So she doesn't say anything at all.

Steve takes that as some sort of acceptance on her part, and his smile is so wide it reopens a cut on his lower lip.

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After Thanos – after three years of the Mad Titan and his endless armies and so many near-death experiences that she's, quite frankly, astounded by the fact that they're all alive – they finally move out of the Tower.

Tony tells them their floor will always be there for them should they need it, and they still gather there every time they're called into the field. But Natasha craves some space of her own, some distance from the memories of being ambushed at home, of limping back to the Tower with her fellow Avengers after another battle, of watching Thor land on the roof and dreading whatever news he's brought with him.

The Avengers will always be her family but the Tower is no longer home, and it's time to find a place that is. She prints out a listing for a loft one day and leaves it on the dining table, and that evening Steve comes home with boxes and they start packing up their books.

They don't talk about it, don't consider the ramifications of moving out together and signing both their names on the deed and picking out furniture they both agree on.

By the end of the week, they're fully moved in. Steve makes a big deal out of it, insists that he prepares a home-cooked meal and sets the table, even gets fresh flowers and puts on music. Natasha laughs and makes fun of him for it, but she trusts he'll know how much she appreciates the lengths he's gone to just to give her one happy, normal memory of them settling into their new life together.

The next night they get take-out and eat in front of the TV, and that's another kind of normal she can get behind. It feels more like reality, familiar and comforting in a way the night before wasn't. Maybe that's why Steve chooses to ask her then.

The end credits of some terrifically awful Lifetime movie scroll past the screen, and their coffee table is littered with mostly-finished dishes from their favorite Chinese place. When he slides down from the sofa to get on one knee, his elbow nearly knocks her half-empty beer over.

"I want to spend the rest of my life fighting aliens and watching bad movies with you, preferably less of the former and more of the latter," Steve announces, and thank God he knows her well enough to skip the sappy, cheesy speech. "So, Natasha Romanova – marry me?"

The words come to her easily now – lying has always come naturally to her, after all.

"Steve," She struggles to wipe all traces of amusement off her face and put on her most serious look. "I don't love you."

Steve laughs, a ring in his hand and his heart in hers. "Nat, I'm not calling you a liar but…" He trails off with a shrug and his smile doesn't waver, not even when Natasha keeps him waiting for two full minutes before she offers him her hand.

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Two days later, she brushes past him in the bathroom and says something about being late for lunch with Clint, tells him she'll be back before dinner and not to forget his own lunch with Sam and see you later, love you, bye.

If you've read I Figured Out Where I Belong and My Head is an Animal, here you go: a sickening amount of fluff to make up for the lack of fluff in those two fics. I hope this was the good kind of fluff, the kind that makes you suspend disbelief for a few minutes and just let your insides go all warm and gooey and happy for a while before you return to the hell that is non-canon shipping. As always, reviews would be great.

P.S: this is a canon-divergent, post Winter Soldier AU where Age of Ultron never happened.

This is part of a holiday collection I put together for Christmas. If you enjoyed this fic and would like to read more, please check out the rest of the collection. Who knows, we might have some other fandoms in common!

Happy rest-of-the-year!

E Salvatore,

December 2015.