Author's Note—Thanks for the continued response to this story. I'm trying to post the chapters fairly quickly, since it was supposed to be a one-shot and most of it is written!

I'll have iLoVeRynMar and streetlightlove post something more detailed and formal on my behalf on their Tumblrs, but I am beyond humbled by the outpouring of birthday gifts, wishes, and messages yesterday. I am grateful to have a place in this fandom.

Please remember that this is a work of fiction in a fictional place and there may be liberties taken with the details. The jurisdiction and sharing of cases between police detectives and the federal agents is murky for me, and this is meant to be a fun little takeoff on B99.

Thanks for reading!

~*~Chapter 3~*~

~Peeta~

I've never looked forward to a stakeout as much as this one. In our time as partners thus far, Everdeen and I have yet to be handed a case that involves this kind of surveillance. Being alone together for a prolonged, undetermined amount of time is new territory for us.

Though I doubt she will appreciate my efforts, as I pack my stakeout bag I include an assortment of little snacks. Everdeen likes to eat, even if she rebuffs all my invitations to lunch and never lets me bring her anything back when I go out. I see her snacking when she thinks I'm not noticing.

Detectives have the weekends off, but we are always on call. The erratic nature of my job makes it difficult to plan ahead, which was a downside at the beginning of my promotion. I had adapted to the predictable schedule I had as a cop, even if it was at times inconvenient to have odd hours and weird days off.

On Saturday afternoon, Odair texts me around five, right as I'm finishing up watching the end of the Yankees-Red Sox game (which lasts an ungodly four hours and during which I nod off twice), and he starts needling me to come out drinking with him. He reminds me that I need to pay up for a bet I lost yesterday, a culmination of a weeklong wager as to how many calls the rookie kid would fuck up on the switchboard. We did over/under, but apparently Mags has been teaching him well, cause he only screwed up on three, and I had taken eight. So I now owed Odair the first two rounds the next time we go out.

I had really kind of been looking forward to an evening on the couch, Ilsa's head in my lap, with something mindless on the television. After I reluctantly agree to meet Finn, I find myself briefly wondering what Everdeen does for fun on the weekends. Is she at home, getting ready to go out with her friends, too? She doesn't strike me as the kind of girl who hangs out drinking overpriced cocktails with the ladies, but I also imagine she doesn't just sit around on a Saturday night. God I hope she's not with Hawthorne.

As I shed my sweats and rummage through a drawer for something to change into, the image of Everdeen in her skimpy running outfit persists, practically burned into my retinas now. I picture that smile that I see all too rarely and it's not long before my imagination starts to rebel. It takes all my willpower not to thrust my hand inside my boxer briefs, take my swollen cock in my hand, and get myself off to the visual of her nearly naked body. Don't do it, Mellark, I chastise myself. I count to ten and picture a grisly crime scene photograph I had been studying recently. Once my erection deflates, I tug on my jeans and a black t-shirt. Ilsa wags her tail at me in farewell, and I tell her I won't be late. I throw her a Milkbone and turn on the Food Network for her, to keep her company.

There are five other guys at the bar with Odair, guys we went to the police academy with who are now scattered at precincts all throughout the city. We've managed to stay friends throughout the years. I buy Finn his first Amstel Light and order my own Sam Adams. We chat and watch the games, and I have to admit it's nice to kick back for a couple of hours.

My second pint glass is nearly empty when my phone vibrates against my thigh.

[Katniss Everdeen]

Today 8:42 p.m.

Hey. Darius the doorman just called me. Said a van just went around back of the warehouse.

A tiny jolt of adrenaline courses through me.

[8:43 p.m.]

Sounds like our stakeout is a go. Meet you there in 10.

[Katniss Everdeen]

8:43 p.m.

I'll be there in 5.

I gulp down the rest of my beer, throw down two twenties and tell Odair his next two are also on me, and say my goodbyes.

As I near the warehouse, I park my BMW several blocks away. Seam Street isn't the best of neighborhoods, though Mayor Undersee is doing his best to clean up the seedier parts of town. The east end has fewer dive bars and strip clubs, and several of the buildings now have security—doormen like Darius.

Once I've retrieved my backpack from the trunk, I walk quickly up the street and spy Everdeen loitering near an intersection one block away from our destination. She's wearing a grey tank top that stretches taut across her breasts and a pair of skinny jeans that hug the slender curves of her hips. A large messenger bag hangs from her right shoulder. As smoking hot as she looks, all effortlessly casual, my first thought is that she's going to be cold as hell up on that roof.

When I reach her, she greets me by winding her arms around my neck and burying her face in my chest. I'm so startled by the delicious feel of her body against mine that it takes me a moment to hug her back.

"We're just a couple arriving home at our apartment building," she hisses through her teeth. "Darius will let us inside and nothing will look out of the ordinary." She draws back and searches my eyes for understanding. I nod. She laces our fingers together, and warmth radiates through my palm and up my arm as we clasp hands.

Darius is younger than I expected, probably no more than my age, and he tips his hat to us as he ushers us inside. Everdeen immediately drops my hand.

Our exchange in the vestibule with Darius is brief. He explains that the super is having us a set of keys made, so we can come and go as we please as long as we need to monitor the warehouse. He reiterates that Everdeen and I will just look like any other young couple that calls the building home, and I swear the faintest tinge of pink appears on her cheeks.

Then he presses a key into my palm. "Take the elevator up to the fourth floor. When you step out, just to your left will be an unmarked metal door. Use this key. It's one flight up to the roof and the door only locks from inside the building. You'll have no trouble getting back in once you're finished."

We thank him and he disappears back outside the building. Once we reach the fourth floor, Everdeen spots the door right away. I fit the key inside and wave my arm, indicating that she should ascend the stairs first. She crosses her arms in front of her, narrowing those silver eyes at me, but she relents. As I climb behind her, I can't avoid staring at her ass, so perfect in the tight jeans she wears. I don't see her in casual clothes that often. Between the skimpy running outfit, and now the tank top and jeans, I'm amassing quite the visual collection.

She pulls out a pair of binoculars and a small camera from her shoulder bag. She looks around, and her lovely features twist into a scowl.

"There is nothing up here."

"It's a roof," I say, setting down my backpack. "What did you expect?"

She huffs and hangs the binoculars around her neck and jams the camera into her jeans pocket.

"You sure you're not going to get cold?" I ask, indicating her tank top.

"I'm good," she replies. She sits down cross-legged beneath the ledge, bracing one hand on it while the other raises the binoculars to her eyes. She extends her upper body and peers over the ledge, careful to keep herself concealed. I squat down beside her.

The warehouse is cloaked in darkness. Everdeen scans the windows systematically, starting near the roof, and she shakes her head.

"Nothing. Not a sliver of light, no movement."

We sit for an hour or so, neither of us speaking. Everdeen keeps staring at the building, yawning, and she wraps her arms around herself, and I notice her rubbing her hands up and down her upper arms. I chance a peek at her chest, even if it means I'm going to hell for doing so. Her nipples are clearly hard. My cock twitches and I quickly look away.

"You have to be cold," I say, hoping I don't let on to how I've come to this assumption.

She glares at me. "I'm good," she repeats, lying through her chattering teeth. "I was grocery shopping. I don't get all dolled up to walk the produce aisles. And I wasn't counting on being in there for more than half an hour."

A little thrill curls through me at this revelation of her low-key evening plans. At least she wasn't out with another guy. But she's still visibly shivering, being as stubborn as usual. I reach into my bag and pull out a zippered nylon pouch then shake out the blanket from its neat little confines and drape it around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she says quietly, gripping the edges of the blanket and cocooning herself in it more securely. "That's clever." She nods to the pouch.

"Oh, yeah…my brother and I did a lot of tailgating in college, and well, late season football games can get pretty damn frigid. We had a ton of these. Don't know where they all disappeared to. He probably snagged 'em all when he moved out."

"You have a brother?"

I nod. "Two actually. I'm the baby."

She snickers. "Why does that not surprise me?"

I laugh. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I can tell you're used to getting whatever you want. Typical baby of the family."

I give her a wry smile. I don't argue with her, even though she's way off base, because my mother didn't believe in treating any of us boys with any kindness, no matter our birth order. But I'm not about to sully my time with Everdeen by bringing up my witch of a mother.

"What about you? Siblings?" I ask.

I don't miss how her body tenses and her mood alters instantaneously. "How long do you think we should stay tonight?" she asks.

Though I'm curious as to why she completely sidestepped my inquiry about her family, Mason's words from this morning reverberate in my ears. Perhaps Everdeen's family is part of the baggage Mason hinted at. I could press the issue, try to get Everdeen to open up to me, since bonding is essential to a strong partnership, and she and I have made little headway in that department. Of course, then I run the risk of pissing her off further, and I've done more damage than I've done good. But given the way she's looking at me, I need to decide which it's going to be—and fast.

~Katniss~

Mellark stares at me, and for a moment I swear he can see inside my head. The maelstrom of emotions churning in me must be obvious. His expression grows concerned and he seems hesitant to say anything. Trying to keep myself in check, I silently implore him not to ask why I changed the subject.

"We should probably give it another several hours," he says. "It's a Saturday night. The area is busier than it would normally be on a weeknight. If there's anything brewing in there, they could be waiting for two or three a.m…you know, for the bars shut down and crowds to disperse. It's the nature of the beast with surveillance. There's a lot of risk and wasted time for the ultimate reward."

I press my lips together and exhale, relieved. I'm not ready to go there. He's said several times that he wants to know what made me want to become a cop. Unfortunately it's the same thing that makes me so vulnerable, and I don't want Mellark knowing my Achilles heel. The last thing I need is for him to pity me, or for him to see me as weak. I'd rather he just assume I'm a bitch.

He unzips his bag and pull out a wrapped parcel. He offers it to me, and I look at him cautiously.

"Heavensbee liked to snack on stakeouts," he supplies. I must give him a strange look because he continues, "My old partner? The one who retired and opened up the position for you?"

"It's after midnight," I state. I try never to eat this late, even on days when I've skipped lunch or worked past normal dinner hours. I love my food, but there are some bad habits I strive to avoid. It's far too easy to develop them in my line of work.

"What, you some kind of Gremlin?" he teases. I raise an eyebrow at him dubiously, and he adds, "Like the old movie, you know?"

"I know. I'm just trying to let it sink in that you just compared me to some hideous creature that occasionally gnaws on human flesh."

He rubs at the back of his neck and looks apologetic. "They were cute when they weren't wet." I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if he even realizes the suggestive way that sentence could be interpreted, but he doesn't react if he does.

By four a.m., we're both struggling to stay awake, and it becomes apparent we're not getting anything, not this morning anyhow. We make our way back down to the street, and Mellark walks me to my car. He leans against the expired parking meter, unmoving, and I roll down my window.

"What?"

"I'm not going to my car until I know that thing starts." He nods to my clunker.

I blow out a breath and turn the key, smiling smugly when the engine catches on the first try and my car coughs to life. His mouth curves into a smile, and he leans down and presses his lips to my cheek. I gasp, and he rubs his thumb over the spot his lips just were.

"A guy saying goodbye to his girl the morning after would definitely do that, at the very least. Go get some sleep. See you Monday, Everdeen." He stands and steps around to the curb, but he lingers again, and with a trembling hand I jerk the gear shift into drive and steer the car onto the empty street, bound for my apartment. In my rearview mirror, I see him finally begin to walk up the sidewalk, his eyes still locked on my car.

After the way we left things early Sunday morning, I equally yearn for and dread for our next surveillance to crop up. Peeta Mellark is starting to affect me in ways I don't want to think about, and usually, this would be where I'd retreat and keep my distance if he were just another guy. But that's impossible in these circumstances.

And to complicate things, since that innocent little peck, Mellark has amped up his pursuit of me. The smoldering looks he gives me across our desks have dampened my panties more than I will ever admit, and sexual innuendo—all him—now infuses more of our conversations. He constantly teases me about what will happen when I lose our bet. He invents lavish scenarios for our date, relating them to me in such detail that once or twice I get a little swept up in how nice it would be to do these things with him. I nearly forget he is my partner, and not an incredibly attractive man who wants me—me.

"You should just wave the white flag and surrender," Mason says, stopping by my desk one morning when Mellark is behind closed doors with Abernathy. "Let him wine you, dine you, and fuck you til you can't walk straight. I bet he's phenomenal in bed."

I ignore the whorl of lust in my stomach that wends its way down between my thighs, and give Johanna a dirty look. Then I cut my eyes to the chalkboard, where the score shows Mellark is ahead of me, with four arrests to my two. Two weeks have already passed, and though I will never confess to it, even under the worst torture imaginable, I have thought about losing. And even if I were okay with going out with Mellark—which I try to convince myself that I am not—my competitive side refuses to give up. I will win. He will not best me.

In order to get rid of Mason, I pick up my phone and call Darius. There haven't been any more developments on the trafficking case, and thus, no more stakeouts since the only one we conducted that Saturday night. I'm starting to wonder if the intel from 2 was wrong and the traffickers aren't here. For there to be nothing…it just seems improbable. These assholes are that good, or we're missing something.

Darius is apologetic, as if it's his fault our guys haven't shown their hand, and he reassures me that the other doorman, an older man named Thread, also has my cell phone to call if he sees anything unusual during his daytime shift. I thank him and hang up.

I'm swiveling in my desk chair, poring over a different file, combing the photographic evidence in the remote chance I missed something, when Mellark emerges from Abernathy's office. I recognize the shit-eating grin on his face as he strolls to the board and adds a tally mark.

"How is that possible?" I exclaim, leaping from my chair. "You never left the precinct! How can you—"

"Mitchell brought in one of my suspects on that Sam's Club robbery from last month. Picked up for a minor traffic violation, but oh a search of the vehicle turned up six grand in stolen merchandise. Booked him for larceny."

"Bullshit! That's just fucking dumb luck!" I spit, clenching my fists, struggling to keep my temper in check.

"An arrest is an arrest," he replies, unwrapping one of the chocolates he keeps on his desk. He pops it in his mouth and I can tell he's using his tongue to flip it over, forcing me to keep my eyes trained on his mouth. Shit, he even makes eating a chocolate look sexy. Tearing my eyes from him, I take a deep breath and spin on my heel, stalking off to the break room. I yank on the refrigerator door and pull out one of my cans of Red Bull. Popping the tab, I take a long sip and set it down, resting my palms on the counter. Why do I let him get to me like this?

"Because…" I hear his honeyed voice a second before I feel his breath tickle my ear. "…Your armor is starting to crack, Everdeen. I'm getting to you."

Fuck, did I say what I said aloud? Mellark had to have heard me. His palms bracket mine on the counter, and I sense his solid body practically pinning me from behind. I can't breathe. Every nerve cell is firing at once, panic swiftly supplanted by desire, and I instinctively shift back. Doing so causes me to bump into his sturdy chest, and a gasp escapes my throat at the contact.

"If it bothers you that much, I won't count the arrest," he whispers. My eyes close on their own accord, and I fight the urge to lay my head back on his shoulder. His lips are barely an inch from my neck. If I tilt just the slightest bit, his mouth would definitely graze my skin, and oh god, I bet it would feel so…

Fortunately my brain rouses from its temporary coma, and I whirl about, meeting his eyes. They're dilated and a darker shade of blue than I've ever seen them. His gaze flits to my mouth and neither of us moves.

"Count the arrest," I say hoarsely. "This isn't over."

His lips curl into a seductive smile. "Oh, I think you're right. We're just getting started." He leans forward. I swear in that instance that he's going to kiss me, and my stomach does a swan dive. But he merely reaches out, takes my braid in his hand, and very slowly slides his fingers down its length, until it slips from his grasp. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a suspect to interrogate."

It's impossible to rein in my galloping heart as I watch him leave, and God help me I can't stop myself from lowering my eyes down his back to the round globes of his ass, highlighted by the way the expensive fabric of his pants molds to it. I gulp down the rest of my Red Bull, toss the can in the recycling bin, and bolt to the ladies' room to gather my composure—and to sop the moisture out of my damn-near-ruined panties.