Author's Note—Thanks for your patience with the updates to this story. I've updated some other things, not to mention I've had a ton of beta work and also been working on my PiP submission and I've really been inspired for my S2SL entry (10K already!), so I've missed this one. Thank you for your reviews and all your kind words about it. I'm so glad that so many others can get joy from RynMar's bday gift!

So as always, thanks go to RynMar for always inspiring me and supporting me and being there for me. Oh, and for always posting my updates on her Tumblr and answering asks about my updates. LOL. This is technically still for you. All errors are mine.

Happy Holidays everyone! ~Court

~Katniss~

I want to freeze this moment and capture the look on Peeta's face when I utter my confession that I've never been a good actress. I know he comprehends the meaning behind it. And while I'm as stunned as he is that I actually said it, I couldn't let him think I had only kissed him because of the circumstances. I had wanted to kiss him—he needs to know that.

But that's all he can know right now. We can't get caught up in our feelings and lose sight of why were are up here, on an empty roof, alone, with nothing but the moonlight and the stars…and Peeta looking so fucking handsome just a few feet away, his lips tempting me.

Focus, Katniss. Focus. And not on those big blue eyes. Or that lush mouth. Or the wall of muscle that I know is beneath that well-fitting dress shirt.

I tear my eyes away from him and fix them on the street below. The waiting begins again.

We make some polite conversation, but whatever spark had been ignited between us has been doused. And there's none of the crackling sexual tension that usually gives rise to playful banter or heated bickering. We just sit there.

Is it selfish of me to wish Abernathy had never called and Peet—no, Mellark and I were still on that blanket in the airport field?

Mellark eventually tries to make a game to pass the time, giving me the names of three celebrities and telling me I have to marry one, fuck one, and kill one. I play along good-naturedly at first, just waiting for him to insert himself in the mix as a means to force my hand, but he never does.

Just before two a.m. my heart leaps into my throat as movement startles me out of my numbness. A bird lands on the ledge inches from me. I have to quell the urge to scream. I hate birds.

Mellark shoos the damn thing away and he looks at me, mirth dancing in his eyes.

"I'm not a big fan of birds myself." He laughs. "But your face…"

"I'm glad you find my face amusing," I shoot back.

His eyes glitter. Even in the darkness I can see them changing. "I don't find anything at all amusing about your face," he says huskily, and my heart, which had only just settled back in my chest, flutters. "In fact—fuck!" He spits the word off his tongue so abruptly that I nearly jump again.

"Mellark," he says, answering his phone in a hushed whisper. He walks away from me and starts pacing. "Are you fucking kidding me?...No, yeah…yeah, it's good news for sure…" I strain to keep eavesdropping on the conversation while still keeping an eye on the warehouse. He heaves a huge sigh and scrubs his fingers through his hair. "No…it's just that it was cut short for nothing…yeah, me too. Thanks…nah, tell him not to bother…Night."

He shoves his phone back in his pocket as he walks towards me and picks up the duffel bag. "Looks like we're off the hook."

"What? What happened?" I exclaim, leaping to my feet.

"That was Odair. Seems Cray started talking again the second his lawyer arrived. He knew everything. All that bullshit about not knowing who the other runner was—it was all a leverage tactic. He gave up everything."

"Oh my god, that's…that's great, right?" I push my hair behind my ear as an errant breeze ripples through it, whipping it across my face.

"It's great, yes, but the warehouse was merely the exchange point, and only one of several. Nothing actually occurs in any of them. As we speak, federal agents are on the way to the Panem estate of Coriolanus Snow to search the premises."

"Snow? The media mogul?" I cover my mouth. Mellark was right. If hearing Seneca Crane's name surface in this web of immoral decay was surprising, I'm effectively stunned speechless by this revelation. Snow is one of the richest, most powerful men in the country. His corporation, Capitol Cable, is the largest television and Internet provider in the nation, and his ruthless tactics acquiring smaller companies to achieve a near monopoly on the industry are infamous. He has mansions and manors all over, one of which is only twenty miles from here, an oceanfront property of nearly fifty acres. If he's the head of this trafficking ring, there will be enormous repercussions.

"I'm sure all the dirty details will be in the morning papers. There are probably twice as many journalists en route to Snow's beach house as there are cops and feds." Mellark heaves the bag over his shoulder. "Come on, milady. Your chariot awaits. I'll take you home."

I muster a smile at his attempt at humor, but I'm awash in waves of disappointment that this case wound up the way it did: huger than I could have expected, but Mellark's and my involvement in it far less than I anticipated.

And then I think about what I could hear of his conversation with Odair. Hadn't Mellark said something about it 'getting cut short for nothing'? He had to have meant our date.

It seems that the turn of events has rendered us both mute, because the ride to my apartment is cloaked in more silence than our time on the roof. I sneak covert peeks at Mellark. The furrowing of his brow and his clenched jaw indicate he's lost in thought. I've seen that expression on his face more times than I can count.

He pulls up to the curb outside my building and puts his car in park. As he moves to undo his seatbelt, I reach over and still his hand on the buckle. He gives me a puzzled look.

"You don't have to walk me to the door…I know that's what you're doing. It's not necessary. It's late. You look exhausted," I say.

"I'm still a gentleman, Katniss. I would hope you know that by now." He unbuckles the belt and exits the car, coming around to my side. He offers me his hand, and I clasp it gingerly as I rise from my seat. "And even if this isn't a real date, I can do the gentlemanly thing and see you safely inside."

I tighten my grip on his fingers, as his words funnel through me, images swirling among them. Everything up until that first phone call from the captain: the rose, the food, the way we seemed to be bonding and opening up to each other...

"Why isn't it a real date?" I ask.

"Would you be here with me if I hadn't won that wager?" he challenges.

"Didn't you hear what I said on the roof?"

"You can't answer my question with a question," he chides. "And we said a lot of things on that roof."

There's something in his tone that unravels me. He's putting the ball firmly in my court. Apparently my implied confession wasn't enough for him: he wants me to admit that I want him. Fear sluices through me. Can I do that? Can I succumb to what I'm feeling for Mellark? Can he be both of those things to me—Mellark my partner, and Peeta my lover? The most delicious ribbon of desire unfurls in my belly as I consider that last part. And in that moment I know: I want Peeta. I want him in every way possible.

He clears his throat, apparently done waiting for my answer. "I'm so tired, Katniss. I'm…I need to go home." My hand tingles then goes cold, aching for the warmth of his fingers laced through mine. I can't breathe, I can't swallow, and thus I can't find my voice to say goodnight back to him, or do anything other than stand numbly on the sidewalk and watch his BMW's taillights dissipate into little red dots. I tremble violently, but I know it has nothing to do with the chill in the air.

I'm still shivering when I climb under my sheets and fall into a restless sleep.

~Peeta~

Monday dawns. The first thing I do is flip off the sunshine pouring though my open window. The second thing I do is take Ilsa out to do her business, promising her an extra-long early evening walk when she gives me those sad eyes wanting a morning run. I skip my morning shower, nor do I bother to shave, and dress for work. I plan on doing some sparring on my lunch hour, and I'll just get all sweaty and nasty and need to clean off anyway. I need to work off the tension and aggression that's been hovering over me like a thunderhead since I drove away from Katniss early Sunday morning. Besides, I've been told more than once that I make the scruffy look work, so fuck it, right?

I had spent most of Sunday staring at my phone, praying for a call from Everdeen, or even a measly text. I didn't care if all she had to say was something in reference to the Snow case. I just wanted to hear from her.

I had thought I was making progress with her. Until the captain's phone call, things had been going better than I ever could have expected. She was opening up to me; the fortress was crumbling. Even after the call, when we staked out the warehouse, I know she had the hammer ready, poised to shatter the walls around her heart and let me in. She kissed me, for fuck's sake.

So the silent treatment since then has cut particularly deep. It feels like not only are we back where we started, but we could be on divergent paths moving even farther away from where I want to be with her.

I pull into the parking lot. Everdeen's Civic is nowhere to be seen. Good. I can get in, get my tea, get to my desk and get to work before she arrives and our visual chess match commences.

When I walk through the station door, however, she is the first person my eyes land on. She's standing next to Mags's desk, smiling and nodding, as Mags leafs through a stack of photographs, showing off her grandchildren. Hastily I head for my desk, trying to avoid being seen.

A Starbucks cup sits in the middle of my desk, the string of a tea bag dangling down its side.

"I know you don't take sugar in it, but there were like thirty kinds to choose from, so I just went with the Earl Grey. I hope I chose wisely."

I close my eyes briefly and open them as I turn to face Everdeen.

"Thank you," I say politely, acknowledging the tea. "I didn't see your car out there. Did the thing finally give out on you?"

She clears her throat. "Actually, um, yeah, it did. Yesterday afternoon." She chews on her bottom lip and brushes at something invisible on her right sleeve. "Look, can we talk, uh, somewhere private?"

"Odair and Cresta sometimes fuck in the evidence locker…I guess that's as private as we're going to get here." I regret that disclosure the moment it leaves my lips, because she looks horrified.

"I'm, um, not sure I needed to know that…but yeah, um, let's go."

The evidence locker is not quite what it sounds like. It's a massive caged room, lined with shelves and compartments where all the evidence bags pertaining to our cases are stored for access. It's behind a set of locked doors, and benches run the length of two walls. Katniss fits her key into the outer door and we step inside. She flicks on a set of lights and the perimeter of the room illuminates, while the cage remains dim.

"You read about the stuff they unearthed at Snow's place?"

Katniss nods. "I can't say I was too surprised to hear that the doorman—Thread, right?—that he was part of things. No wonder Darius didn't see much. By using the Capitol Cable vans, most of the drops happened right in plain sight, in the middle of the day."

"I think it's only the tip of the iceberg with what we've heard so far." I blow out a breath and scratch at the stubble flecking my jawline. "So…you wanted to talk?"

"I…" She wrings her hands in front of her, and her teeth start worrying her lips again. "I…yes, we need to talk. I feel really badly about the way we left things the other night. I…"

If she weren't so goddamn adorable with how nervous she is I'd probably pity her. Everdeen is a proud woman. It's got to be taking a lot of effort for her to apologize to me. And that only makes me feel worse, in spite of my own bruised ego. "Everdeen, it's fine. The tea is a nice peace offering. Thank you."

"No." She shakes her head. "That's not…See…it's not really fair that you won a bet and you didn't really get your prize."

I narrow my eyes at her. "I got my date. It might not have gone the way I would have liked…"

She steps towards me. "How would you have liked it to go, Peeta?"

Good. Fucking. Lord. I can't be hearing her right. The sultry tone of her voice saying my name is as good as her hand reaching out to grab my cock. I inhale sharply at the first stirrings of my erection. I hope she doesn't look down…

"Peeta," she repeats as she takes another step closer. "If Abernathy hadn't called and put a stop to our date, what would have happened next?"

"Well…" I begin, closing the remaining distance between us by a few more steps. "I liked that we were starting to open up to each other. It meant a lot to me that you told me about your sister. I would have told you more about my family."

Her lips twitch. "You—you would have wanted us to keep…talking?" Her silver eyes dance with amusement.

"Talking is good," I demur. "We're talking right now and it's going pretty well." I'm desperate to touch her, so I reach out and play with the end of her braid, letting the silky strands tickle my fingers. I've done it before. It seems like a safe start.

"Well, much like my acting I'm not usually very good at talking," she murmurs. "So we would have just…talked? There isn't anything else we could have used our mouths for?" She purses her lips at me. It takes every fucking ounce of my composure to keep from crushing her against me and showing her just how well I can use my mouth, just how badly I want to taste hers.

"Oh, no, I had other plans." I let her braid slip from my grasp. "See, we never got to the cream puffs and raspberry tarts that I made for dessert."

She licks her lips, and the sight of her pink tongue running back and forth over the top swell does things to me that are going to be all too apparent if I don't put a stop to this suggestive flirting. My cock is barely keeping itself in check and my balls have been eight shades of blue this past month. I want her so bad. Fuck, do I want her. I don't want to stop.

And call me fucking crazy—but I don't think she wants me to stop either.

~Katniss~

My stomach is a knotted mess; the coffee I gulped down while waiting for Peeta to arrive at the station has curdled into a lump, fueling my nerves. I'm so on edge right now that the slightest nudge from him is going to send me careening into an abyss from which I know there will be no return. The dark look that he's giving me has me paralyzed, and I realize I'm still licking my lips and it probably stopped being sexy several seconds ago. I pull my tongue back inside my mouth and pray my cheeks aren't turning red.

"You know the longer we're in here, the more people are gonna talk," he drawls, curving his hand around my hip, his index finger toying with the nearest belt loop on my dress pants. "So where were you going with this, Katniss?"

The sibilant hiss of the last syllable of my name twists my stomach again. I swallow, though it takes some effort to do so. Shit, where was I going with this? Oh, right…

"Your p-prize," I stammer. "Your date."

He cocks a blond brow at me, his fingers slipping into one loop, coercing my feet to shuffle a step closer to him. "What about it?"

"A bet is a bet. And I lost. You won. If you want it all—the entire date, that is, then you should get it."

He stares at me, those enchanting blue eyes boring into me, not blinking, his jaw working, as if each time he thinks he's ready to speak he changes his mind. I start to fidget under his gaze; the knot in my stomach has unraveled and now wends its way through my gut, fearing his rejection.

"My place. Tonight. I'll make you dinner."

My throat feels as if it's on fire when I force myself to swallow once more. There's an edge of lust fringing his words, and I know damn well that if I agree to this, there is no turning back. If I'm alone with Peeta Mellark in his apartment, and if he's half as indulgent and doting as he was last night, I'm not going to be able to resist him. I could very well end up in his bed.

"It's a date," I whisper. "Tell me what time and I'll be there."

I barely hear the gasp of surprise that slips from my lips a half-second before his mouth claims mine in a quick, rough kiss, not unlike the one I gave him in the car before the stakeout. His tongue darts out to sweep across my lips, swiping their circumference once before he steps back, his eyes glittering, his throat bobbing.

"Seven. Be ready at seven. I'll come for you." He gives me a wicked purse of his lips and I can only watch him go. When the door closes behind him, I release the breath I've been holding since his lips left mine, and stumble over to the bench. Sinking down, I lean back against the wall, gasping. When I press my hand over my racing heart, my fingers splay over the curve of my left breast on their own accord, and I can't help but wonder what Peeta's hands might feel like touching me, cupping my tits, kneading them, bringing my nipples to—

Yeah, I'm not going to be able to sit across from him for the next eight hours.