Disclaimer: I own N-O-T-H-I-N-G. Unfortunately.

I always thought walking through Times Square at night with your lover is a cliché, but then, New York after midnight in and of itself is almost a cliché. But still, I was never one for clichés, so I never went.

Needless to say, that was before Olivia.

When she found out I'd never been to Times Square at night, her eyes went so wide that it was as if I'd told her I'd never taken a cab before in this city (which, by the way, was true in the pre-Olivia years – I'd always taken limos or cruised around in my BMW, but I wasn't about to tell her that). "We have to go," she told me decisively, taking my hand and pulling me toward the door.

I stared at her. "What?"

She half-dragged me to the closet and handed me my coat. "We're going to Times Square and I'm going to take a million pictures of you."

I rolled my eyes. "Liv, I've been there before! It's not a big deal."

She narrowed her eyes. "Driving through it in the daytime and actually being there at night are two different things, Alex."

Well. Who was I to argue with that? I didn't even really want to, so I shrugged on my coat and followed her out the door.

Times Square really was a sight to behold. I had to stop and catch my breath for a moment, because it was beautiful in a way I'd never understood before. Sure, it was crowded and we got jostled by a bunch of Asian tourists holding disposable cameras, and Olivia shoved them right back, but the billboards lit up the sky, almost as if it was day instead of night.

Olivia slipped one of her warm, soft hands into mine and kept the other one on the small of my back so I didn't get lost in the crowd, which would have annoyed me if I hadn't been so dazzled by the sight before me. I really could take care of myself, but I could never quite bring myself to tell her so. Besides, I loved the feeling of her so close, even if it was in more of a protective gesture than an intimate one.

She grinned that lopsided Olivia Benson smile at me, pushing away a few people who were speaking rapidly in Italian and attempting to invade our personal space – although arguably, in New York City, personal space is a foreign concept. But she had this notion that we deserved at least five square feet in the middle of Times Square, and God help anyone who got in our way. "You see what I mean?" she asked smugly.

"Mm," I agreed nonchalantly. "I think I do."

"Good. Now stand in front of that sign so I can take a picture."

"Liv," I whined. "You're going to get a bunch of Indian tourists in the background. I can do the same thing in Photoshop and it'll look much nicer."

She looked down her nose at me. "It's not the same thing and you know it. Now do that thing with your feet and strike a pose."

I stared at her in confusion. "What thing with my feet?"

She sighed. "Okay, I'll coach you. Here, cross your right leg over your left leg." When I do so, she rolls her eyes. "Other right leg."

"That's my left leg," I informed her.

"My right, your left," she told me. "Good. Now put your hand on your hip. Your left hand."

"Mine or yours?"

"Yours. I just said that. Okay, now turn a bit to the right – not that much, turn back – no, a bit more, perfect. Tilt your head just a bit. Good, like that."

I rolled my eyes. "Can you just take the damn picture?"

She raised her hand to curb any further protests. "Move over maybe two feet. I want the light from the Coke billboard to be shining right on you. A bit more – stop! Perfect."

"Glad you like it," I said dryly. "Quick, take the photo before the Indian tourists return."

She smiled sweetly. "You look gorgeous, Alex."

I tossed my hair and put on my best British accent. "Don't I always?"

Olivia's expression was one of abject horror. "Oh, no! Now I have to pose you again!"

"Liv. You're not a professional photographer. This is fine. Just take the shot!"

She pursed her lips. "Hand on your hip. Good. Smile!"

She snapped the photo and grinned, pleased to have gotten her way as she pocketed the camera. She pulled me close and kissed my cheek, and then leaned in for another, melding our lips together in a sea of passion.

When we broke apart, I took her hand in mine and started to skip down the street, smiling like a child on Christmas morning. This really was a day I'd never forget.

Olivia laughed as she kept pace. "So tell me, was I right?"

"You were," I admitted.

She squeezed my hand. "I'm going to frame that photo."

I stopped. "No, Liv, let's get one of the two of us!"

She rolled her eyes. "Who's going to take it?"

"One of the Indian tourists!"

A/O/A/O

I'm sitting in the living room, snug in Olivia's arms. She's half asleep, her head resting on my shoulder, but still her arms are wrapped tightly around me, as if I'll fall if I don't have something to anchor me to her. Or maybe it's because she knows she'll fall if she doesn't have something to anchor her to me.

I glance around the living room, not wanting to move so as not to disturb Olivia. My eyes fall on the photograph hanging in the center of the room. It's of Olivia and I in the middle of Times Square, our arms around each other, smiling so hard that I'm surprised our faces didn't break. But they're real smiles, the kind that meet your eyes and light up your whole face. Sure, we were exhausted the next morning, but it was probably the best time I ever had in my entire life. Olivia always knows how to turn every day into a special one.

When I'm with her, every day is.

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