Summary: Nick and Olivia and their anniversary.

A/N: Fluff!

You and Me

"I can't feel my face."

Olivia stuffs her gloved hands into her coat pockets bouncing up and down uselessly attempting to warm herself up.

"Maybe next time you'll think twice about walking when we have a perfectly good rental car to get around in," Liv replies.

Vermont is horribly cold. Even with the added layers of clothing covering their bodies, the vicious cold the small, quaint town seems to harbor splits through them with a certain vengeance.

"What's the point of driving around a town like this, Liv? Everything's in walking distance. In fact, I haven't seen a single car in sight," he exaggerates.

Olivia rolls her eyes. "Whose idea was this anyway? Anniversaries are supposed to be celebrated in tropical islands and foreign countries. As charming as this town is; it's not what I signed up for."

Nick stands behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. "Maybe next time you won't volunteer us to accompany the Carson's on their annual couples' retreat to the middle of nowhere."

She looks over her shoulder at him, her lips pursed. "How was I supposed to know that it was the same time as our anniversary?"

"You ask," he answers her in his 'well-duh' voice—the one he adopted from their two daughters.

"Whatever. Do you think we can move now? I'm starving. The Carson's can meet us at the café if they're that desperate to have breakfast with us. Although I don't know why they would be."

Nick shrugs. "Me neither, you're sure not the most pleasant person in the world right now," he teases grabbing her arm.

She hits his chest in response as he drags her toward the almost undetectable café on the corner.

"You sure you don't want to try that diner over there? I heard they serve pretty good food."

Olivia shakes her head. "I don't want anything heavy."

Now it's Nick's turn to roll his eyes. "Liv—"

"Don't start."

Nick shakes his head and changes course, heading toward the small diner instead of the café. "If I see you eat another scone or muffin, God knows what I'm gonna do."

"I don't want that food, Nick."

"You are going to eat a hearty meal, Olivia Amaro—"

"Benson . . ."

"If I have to feed you myself."

Liv's 50th birthday has come and gone and she's been uncharacteristically obsessing over her body image. He thinks it has a lot to do with her actually accepting her age—or in this case, not accepting it—and even more to do with their age gap. He's been doing his best to make her feel beautiful and desirable but she has it set in her stubborn mind that she lacks in the . . . sexiness department. Huh, he thinks to himself, tell that to little Nick. To him, and every other man with the gift of vision, she's sexy and beautiful, drop dead gorgeous. The woman is perfect. That's why it baffles him to know that she can be even a little bit self-conscious.

Nick pulls open the door for his wife who gives him one of her heated 'I'm unhappy with you' sidelong glances. His hand on the small of her back, he leads her to a booth and sits down across from her.

"Are you gonna order for yourself or do I have to do it for you?"

Sometimes Nick infuriates her. This is one of those times. She just wishes that he'd respect her wishes sometimes and let her do what she feels is best for her even though he doesn't like what she's doing—if that makes any sense.

"Fruit," she answers pushing the menu that the waitress just set down in front of her to the side.

Ignoring her, Nick surveys the surprisingly lengthy list of options. All of which sound rather delicious.

"How about biscuits and gravy? French toast and scrambled eggs? I think I'm gonna try the French toast."

Their waitress sets a fresh pot of coffee on their table along with two plain off white mugs.

"I'll just give you guys a second to get your orders together."

Olivia smiles up at her and nods her head.

"You know what you want babe?"

"Yes, the same thing I would've gotten at the café, probably for less."

"Fruit, muffins, and scones are not options."

"That's not what it says on the menu."

"Forget the menu," he argues. "We are on vacation, this is our anniversary weekend and you're going to enjoy every minute of it eating food you actually like."

"I like fruit," she counters pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"You can get fruit, but you're getting more than that."

"You are not my father, Nicholas Amaro, and I do not need your permission to eat what I want to eat. This is my body and it wants fruit."

Nick sighs. "O-liv-via . . ."

"How about we just end this part of the conversation right now, because it's going to get us nowhere. I'm watching what I eat, end of story, accept it, and let's move on. It's probably best for your health."

"I'm just looking out for you. It's just hard for me to believe that you can get full off of a couple of pieces of fruit and a cup of coffee."

"Well believe it," she says doctoring up her coffee.

". . . Fine."

Sometimes, especially with a woman like Olivia, you have to pick your battles. This is not a battle he intends to lose; he's simply going to shelve it for the time being. Nick goes back to looking at his menu, them averts his eyes back to Olivia's face.

". . . You're beautiful, Liv, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your husband. You're the most beautiful, sexiest woman I've ever met . . . It's really the reason I married you, you know?"

Liv looks up at him with a smile playing on her lips and throws a balled up napkin at his forehead.

"Go to hell."

TBC . . .

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.