Author's Note-As RynMar likes to call this, this is the bday gift that just keeps giving. I'm glad you're all enjoying it as a short ficlet, rather than a lengthy one-shot. We're inching closer to Everlark smut, I promise!

Again, this was not intended to be a full-fledged story, so some minor liberties have been taken with police/FBI protocol. All mistakes are mine.

RynMar, this is for you, as always.

(And I'm glad I've converted some people to Brooklyn Nine-Nine viewers. Yay!)

~Katniss~

Electricity crackles in the air and pulses between my legs as Peeta continues to appraise me like I'm the only thing he wants to eat tonight. We haven't done a thing but sit together on a blanket in the middle of an airport field and this is already the best first date I've ever had. That thought alone should be enough to have me feigning an emergency, fleeing the scene of the crime, and begging him to take me back home.

He reaches over and winds his index finger around one of the tendrils loose by my ear. "Are you hungry?" he asks.

I nod. "Famished."

He releases my hair and grins. "Good." He tugs the uncovered plate closer to us and picks up a tiny little fork. "You like oysters?"

"No. I-I've never had them. I'm, uh, kind of a…" How do I say that my idea of appetizers is wings or nachos, not the fancy seafood he's offering?

He seems to understand without me uttering another word. After squeezing a wedge of lemon over the oyster, he uses the little fork to pry the chunk of meat away from the shell. He pauses. "Did you, ah, want to use the fork, or try it right from the shell?"

Whichever will make me look less idiotic is what I want to say. "The fork is fine," I reply. I wait for him to pass it over to me. But he cautiously raises his hand and lifts the fork to my mouth. My lips part, more out of shock that he's actually feeding me, and very gently I feel him push the fork past my teeth to deposit the oyster on my tongue. I chew once, moving my jaw slowly, then I swallow the slimy bite.

Holy shit. Is this why they say oysters make you want to fuck? It's not that I'm really that impressed with the taste, but I am entirely turned on by the experience, especially with the way Peeta watches me, an enthralled look on his face.

"Good?" he whispers.

"Different." I run my tongue over my teeth, the residual grittiness coming away, and I swallow once more. He smiles and works at another oyster. He sets down the fork and cups the shell in his hand, bringing the narrow end to his mouth. It's my turn to watch, transfixed, as he tips the oyster directly into his mouth. My breath catches somewhere between my lungs and my throat as I take in the sight of him savoring the delicacy. After he swallows, his tongue swipes the circumference of his lips once.

I'm dead. I'm never going to be able to sit across from this man and study photos of corpses and crime scene evidence without thinking of this moment. My stomach is a mass of fluttering creatures that threaten to take up flight higher in my chest. He's slowly chipping away at that wall around my heart—and I'm in fast need of some mortar.

"So…ah…what else did you make?"

He grins and begins unwrapping and uncovering things, rattling off all sorts of terms that I've only heard before when Mags leaves the station TV tuned to Rachael Ray. His enthusiasm is infectious. He's truly excited as he explains the things he's prepared, and all I can do is stare. And drool. And stare more. I might even moan. There's some kind of shrimp salad and potato salad, an assortment of cheeses and crackers, and fruit. He sounds almost modest as he explains that he made the sourdough bread that the turkey, brie, and apple Paninis are on. It's the nicest picnic spread I could have possibly imagined.

"You made all this. Like, from scratch?" I ask, dumbfounded.

"Ah, yeah," he admits sheepishly. "I like to cook…and bake."

I gape at him. "The stuff you bring Mags…the coffee cakes and the muffins and the brownies…"

He removes two plates from the basket and closes the lid. "She's a great guinea pig. She'll eat any of my experiments."

A thousand questions race through my mind. I know I really shouldn't ask any of them, because asking questions invites answers, and answers mean learning more than I might want to know about Peeta Mellark.

~Peeta~

Katniss looks like she's in pain from whatever is going on in that pretty little head of hers as she gapes at me. I wish I knew what she was thinking, but perhaps it's better that I don't. Something tells me that I won't like it.

"Here, help yourself. Go ahead." I hand her a plate and urge her to start eating. Her lips twitch, and she says a quiet thank-you as she takes the plate from me. I sip my champagne and observe her eyes darting from dish to dish, as if she doesn't know where to start.

"Aren't you going to eat?" she asks while scooping up some of the shrimp salad.

"I think I'll just sit back and watch you enjoy yourself."

"Peeta!" she protests. "You have to eat! There's no way this is all just for me!"

I reach past her and pluck a strawberry from the bowl of fruit. I don't miss the way her eyes drop to my lips as I take a bite of the berry. She glances away and picks up her Panini.

"Oh my God, Peeta…" she moans in appreciation, and both my ego and my cock swell a little at the pleasurable sound. It's so fucking hot hearing her gasp my name like that. Her jaw moves slowly as she visibly savors the tastes on her tongue. "Caramelized onions too?"

I grin, pleased that she likes it. "Yeah, it goes well with the apple."

I can see her tongue moving again, and once she swallows, she takes another big bite. "God this is so good. How do you go to Sae's as much as you do, when you can make this?"

I snag another strawberry. "I enjoy cooking, but it's not much fun to do it alone…for one person, I mean. That's why I tend to bake more. That stuff I can give away to Mags, or my doorman, or leave out at the station for everyone."

"If you weren't such a damn good cop I'd tell you that you should open up a restaurant," she mumbles around her mouthful. I'm not sure she even realizes the compliment that she just gave me, and while it would be easy to tease her and further inflate my ego by calling her on it, I feel like I'm making some progress, however minor it might be, so I let it slide.

"It's funny you said that…my grandfather had one. A bakery-slash-delicatessen. He's the one who taught me everything I know."

"Really?" She looks intrigued. I scoot a tiny bit closer to her on the blanket.

"Yeah…I used to love hanging out in the kitchen when I was younger. Watching him, sneaking things off the prep counters…" I trail off before I get too choked up and she realizes the weight of emotion anchoring my voice. Not that I mind giving Katniss a window into my past—I'm not at all opposed to letting her in the way that she seems to be with me. I just don't want to get all weepy on her and have her think I'm some kind of pussy. For all I know, she might already think that, on account of the baking. I took a lot of shit for it in college and during the academy…until my friends started reaping the benefits of what I'd make.

"Well, he must be an incredible teacher, because you learned well. This—" she waves her hand over the blanket. "This is all amazing."

"He was, he was the best."

She turns and stares at me, chewing carefully. After she swallows, she sets her plate down beside her and wipes her mouth with one of the linen napkins I brought. The angle at which she's sitting now, facing me, pushes her breasts together, creating more cleavage. I should not be ogling her tits in this moment, as much as I want to—God help me I want to. But I think we're connecting and that's more important than getting an eyeful of her amazing breasts.

"Was it recent?" she asks, tenderness in her voice.

I shake my head and lean back, brushing my hands over the grass behind me, past the edge of the blanket. "It's been a few years now. He was a good man. I miss him. My dad misses him." And then I pause. There's so much I could tell her about my family, things that might help her understand why I drive my nice car and why I really became a cop. I'm just not sure if tonight is really the time for it. Is it exploitative if I bring it up while I have her alone like this? It probably is...

"The girl in the photograph…my sister…" Katniss mashes her lips together and her shoulders lift as she takes a long breath. "She died eight years ago, along with my father."

Pain curves through me like a hook, sharp, piercing. "Oh God, Katniss, I'm sorry." I don't know what else to say. It's not enough, I know that much. But the pieces are starting to assemble in the puzzle that is Katniss Everdeen.

She smiles humorlessly and blinks. Her gaze is deep and penetrating, and it nearly sucks the air from my lungs. "Drunk driver hit them head on…they were on their way to visit me for parents' weekend my freshman year at college. Broad daylight on a Saturday morning. My mother survived the accident, but she might as well have died too, for the shell of a woman who was left behind."

She starts playing with the fringe of the blanket and shaking her head. I don't dare say a word or ask a question. I'm simply going to let her decide what she shares. Hopefully, my silence gains her trust more than interrogating her could. I cover her restless hand with mine, and I swear the look she gives me reaches inside my stomach and ties all my organs into a taut knot.

And then my fucking phone rings.

Fuck. Me.

We both release our breath at the same time, and Katniss jerks her hand away. She rubs the back of her neck and evades my eyes.

My phone keeps ringing.

~Katniss~

Peeta mutters a curse as he shifts his weight and pulls his phone from his pocket. A ringing phone can never be ignored, not when you're a cop.

"Mellark," he says. I watch his eyes, but it's not even a second before they're pinned to me. He shakes his head slowly. "Really?…You're sure?...What else did the guy say?" He leans over and places a hand on my knee. The warmth of his palm on my bare skin feels incredible, even if I know his touch is merely to get my attention.

"Your phone. Check it," he says to me, then he goes back to his phone. "Yeah, no, I told her. She's checking."

My heart was already pounding furiously from the heightened intimacy of the moment with Peeta. But now that familiar little jolt of adrenaline pricks it and it accelerates ten-fold. I grab for my purse and rummage for my phone. I enter my passcode and swipe the screen, and it's then I see the new message from Mitchell. It was sent about an hour ago; I never heard the damn thing.

(201) 467-3319

Today 6:47 p.m.

hey Everdeen...just arrested a perp who is muttering something about Seam and a warehouse. Might be related to your case—Ill keep you posted.

I look up and meet Peeta's eyes. I should be flattered and thrilled by how irked he appears right now, our date irrevocably ruined. His phone call is undoubtedly related to this text.

"Right…yeah, we're on our way, Captain..." He disconnects the call with another sigh and shoves it back in his pocket.

"Duty calls," I say, immediately beginning to gather up the containers.

"I'll fill you in in the car." He swears to himself again and blows out the candles, bringing up the flashlight on his iPhone. It doesn't take long for us to pack away the remnants of our dinner, and Peeta grumbles something about not even getting to dessert, while he stacks everything inside the basket. For a brief second, I wonder if he's referring to something delectable that he made or if he had more erotic intentions. To my shock, I find that the loss of both disappoints me profoundly.

Peeta gets us back on the highway, and as he drives, he gives me the details of his call from Captain Abernathy. "Mitchell brought in a guy tonight on suspicion of attempted rape. Heard the girl's cries for help while he was on patrol." Peeta glances over at me. "Cray something or other."

I know the name immediately. "He's got priors. He's been out on parole for the last six months." Things start to come into focus. "And a rape charge would violate that parole, and so the canary started singing to save his own skin."

Peeta hesitates. "Well yes…but no. It's…uh…worse than that. Turns out this Cray asshole has a little side business. He rounds up girls. Young girls. Sometimes very young girls…"

My stomach sours; all of Peeta's delicious food curdles from the nauseating implication. I'm grateful that he trails off and lets my imagination fill in the blanks. In our line of work, it doesn't take much, given the heinous things we've been witness to.

"This girl…was she…?"

"Mitchell didn't stop a rape in progress, Katniss. He stopped a kidnapping. Cray was supposed to make a drop tonight—"

"At the warehouse," I finish his thought. "The traffickers. He works for the traffickers."

Peeta nods. "Cray said that there is another runner. He doesn't know him, doesn't know who he reports to. But the name Cray gave, the one he goes through…" He pauses, not so much for dramatic effect, but I sense he really is trying to wrap his head around the revelation. "It's Seneca Crane."

"What! No fucking way!"

"Yes fucking way."

Seneca Crane was a state congressman who crashed and burned three years ago, when a former aide who he had been sleeping with decided to extract revenge after he ended their affair. With a couple of calculated statements to the press and a few phone calls to the feds, she implied that Crane had an appetite for young flesh. Upon further investigation, his work and personal computers turned up a nauseating amount of child pornography—both male and female. While he escaped serious prison time, thanks to a shark of a lawyer and generous plea bargain, he had no choice but to register as a sex offender, and he was put on ten years probation. As egregious as the child pornography charges were, there's no way he'll escape prosecution and life in prison if he's entangled in this trafficking ring.

I rub my temples, pain suddenly stabbing at my skull and nausea roiling in my gut anew. "God, Peeta, this…it's bigger than we anticipated."

"I agree. If Seneca Crane is involved, he's probably not even the biggest name."

I let his statement settle in my bones.

"Anyway," Peeta continues, "we don't know if this other runner also had a drop scheduled for tonight. Abernathy needs us to stake it out…"

"I sense a 'but' coming," I grouse.

Peeta grimaces. "Yeah, we, ah…we need to stake out the scene, but the feds who are taking over are also on their way. This isn't technically our case anymore."

I nod bitterly. Human trafficking is a federal offense. With this new evidence, the FBI now trumps us in terms of jurisdiction. I slump back in my seat, sulking a little that all the hard work we've put in will be passed along to whichever FBI agent shows up and saves the day. Yeah, it's immature and petty and I know I should just be glad that some truly disgusting people will be off the streets, but the competitive side of me hates being cast aside.

I feel warmth on the back of my hand, and when I glance down I see Peeta's hand covering mine. He gives me a sympathetic look and his thumb rubs over my knuckles gently.

"I know," is all he says.

For the rest of the ride to Seam Street, I can feel the lingering effects of his gentle touch on my hand, and I allow myself to indulge in thoughts of what might have transpired had Peeta and I not been interrupted, how far I might have allowed him to take things. I fight the lure of fantasizing about what his mouth might have felt like on mine if he had kissed me. Would he have kissed me? He would have, right? Wait…did I want him to kiss me?

Dammit, this is exactly why I can't fall in love with Peeta. He's my partner. We're about to stake out a building where all sorts of illicit, illegal shit is happening, and I'm ruminating on how soft his lips might be and what his tongue might taste like teasing mine. This is dangerous on so many levels.

"Katniss?"

God the way he says my name…I almost don't want him to revert to calling me Everdeen.

~Peeta~

I kill the engine and the car quiets. I glance over at Katniss. She's doing that thing she always does, where I can tell her mind is going a mile a minute and her face nearly looks anguished, she's thinking so hard.

"Everdeen?" I try another angle, and saying her last name has her jerking upright in her seat, as if she's been struck by a bolt of lightning. Her eyes are wide as she meets mine. I give her a reassuring smile. "You looked a little lost there."

"No, no," she says quietly. "I'm right here."

"Yeah, well we're here, too." I motion to the warehouse across the street. She nods absently, but there's something unspoken in those quicksilver eyes that strikes me, clutches at my heart. And so before we get out of my car and things undoubtedly go back to whatever passes as normal between us, I unbuckle my seat belt and turn towards her. "Look, Katniss, I just wanted you to know the time I spent with you tonight was worth every minute, even if it got cut short. So thank you for being a good sport about it."

Her silence is deafening. I leave her sitting in the front seat when I hop out and retrieve my stakeout bag from behind the cooler and picnic basket. I sense her behind me.

"You'll want to grab your sweater. You know how cold—"

Her lips are hot when she turns me to face her and she crushes her mouth to mine. It takes me a second to react to the fact she's kissing me, and by the time my mind—and other parts of me—starts to rouse, she's stepped back and she's reaching into the trunk to grab her sweater. My lips tingle from the intensity of the short, passionate kiss.

She doesn't look up as she unfolds her sweater and shakes it out. My fingers curl around her upper arm, stilling her movement. Out of the corner of my eye, I see an older man watching us from the front of the apartment building. Disappointment crests through me like a tidal wave. It all makes sense. She's acting again, playing up the part of the young couple returning home. But there's something about the way this doorman is watching us. I'm sure shifts get switched all the time, but the fact that Darius isn't at the door only exacerbates my uneasiness.

"Here," I murmur, keeping the ruse going, "let me help you with that." She freezes as I gently guide her left arm, and then her right arm, into the sweater. I rub her shoulders a few times and she shudders.

"Thank you," she says.

"C'mon, let's go." We hurry across the road. The doorman tips his hat and opens the door for us. He stares at me for a long second, and something in his steely eyes causes my instincts to heighten.

"I don't like the way he just looked at us," Katniss says to me as we wait for the elevator.

I glance back over my shoulder at the older doorman. "I don't disagree. Something feels off."

We only have my binoculars and camera tonight, since Everdeen doesn't have her bag. Once we reach the roof, I pass the binoculars to her. Now that we have one task—to be on the lookout for the van—she doesn't technically have to do her sweep of the windows, but I know she won't be able to resist.

"Well, there appears to be movement inside," she says quietly. "Third floor."

She keeps the binoculars focused on the warehouse, squatting down to stay out of sight. It can't be comfortable in the dress and heels, but she seems unfazed, completely focused on her task.

I, on the other hand, am a fucking mess. Current hums through my veins, yet there's also a plaintive ache in my gut. I wish I had been aware of her lips on mine sooner. It may have only been for show on her part. But if my reflexes had been quicker, I would have made damn sure she'd still be feeling that kiss Monday morning.

"Mellark? You okay?"

Hearing her say my last name makes my stomach tighten and my heart sink. I give her a weak smile and nod.

"Yeah, I'm good." I crouch down beside her and brace my palm on the ledge. "Can you see anything distinct?"

She shakes her head. "Nah, not yet…" She straightens up a bit, wobbling on her heels, and instinctively I grip her knee to help steady her. "Thank you," she whispers. I can't resist splaying my fingers across her soft skin, and I hear her suck in a breath.

"That was good acting down there. That kiss almost felt real," I say.

She doesn't let me pull away and her voice is husky when she confesses, "Well, I've never been a very good actress."