A/N: This was my entry for round three of the Everlark Games fic challenge, hosted on tumblr by fyeah-everlark. The theme was AU. I chose a modern AU take on 'growing together'.

This was born of a discussion my husband and I had about emotional affairs (purely hypothetical I assure you!)

It's going to be a long day.

Plutarch knows I'm busy, so what does he do? Assigns the new hire to my team. Effective today. And he tells me this by text of all fucking things, as I'm tearing out of my girlfriend's place this morning, already late for work and wearing yesterday's slacks.

Who the hell starts a new job on a Wednesday anyway?

I sneak into my own office as soon as I get to work; thankfully I keep extra clothes here. My phone starts buzzing before I've even finished knotting my tie. She's here.

I can only skim through the new hire's resume as I run for the elevators. Young, only a year out of school, with a master's in epidemiology, she'd been working as a policy wonk for an environmental NGO in the Capitol.

By the time I've reached the concourse my tie is straight and the elevator mirror says I look reasonably professional. We're pretty casual here but my mother always drilled into my head that you never get a second chance to make a first impression.

I notice Plutarch first; he's wearing another of those ridiculous bright-coloured suits his young lover tells him are trendy. They're not, but no one is going to tell Plutarch that. Beside him, looking out the large windows, is the new hire. Dressed in a black pencil skirt and pale grey blouse, she's not very big, and not particularly pretty, at least not conventionally so, though there's an elegance to the way she holds herself. But she turns at the sound of my footsteps, and I'm completely mesmerized. Her eyes are an unusual silvery colour, and when they lock onto mine I feel it like an electrical shock.

"There he is now," Plutarch bellows and I grimace. He's my boss, and he can be a good boss, but fuck I'm annoyed with him. "Peeta my boy," he continues, and I plaster the biggest smile I can muster on my face. "Allow me to present Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, this is Peeta Mellark, Director of Reporting for The Office of Minority Health and Health Equity." I snicker internally, fancy title for a middle management position in the civil service. But I like my job.

"Pleased to meet you," I tell her, reaching to shake her hand. Her grip is firm, surprisingly so for such a little wisp of a woman.

"Mr Mellark," she says and her voice is smoky and rich, smooth as bourbon. Completely unexpected. It's only when Plutarch slaps me on the back that I realize I'm still holding her hand.

"I'll leave her in your capable hands my boy," he says.

Despite our precarious start Katniss and I get along like a house on fire. She's easy to talk to, smart as a whip and has the driest sense of humour. She's a hell of a worker too, and so dependable that I gravitate towards her when I need help with the most important files. Many days she and I find ourselves working well into the evening together when the others have long since vanished.

We share take out dinners several times a week, her appetite rivals my own and unlike the other women in the office she's not carb-free or paleo or whatever, she loves burgers and fries and salty noodles from the pho place. It's refreshing.

And in those evenings of hard work, fast food, cold coffee and exhaustion we forge a genuine friendship.

After a long day that capped off an interminable week I lock my office door and head down the hall. It's well past six and all I want to do is head home, have a beer and zone out in front of the tube. That's not in the cards for me though; Glimmer, my girlfriend, has plans for us and I know better than to plead exhaustion. I'm not sure even death would convince her to change any of her plans.

I blame my fatigue for not noticing Katniss until I nearly bump into her, my hands instinctively reaching out to curl around her waist as we narrowly avoid colliding.

Gone is the blouse and slacks combo that she wears every day, instead she's changed into a silky, clingy dress in my favourite soft orange. It's cut conservatively, knee length and modest, but it hugs her curves perfectly. She's paired it with tall black boots and pulled her hair out of its usual braid so that it cascades in raven waves down her back.

Holy shit she's stunning.

A blush paints her cheeks and travels down to where the tops of her breasts peek out from the v-neck of her dress. My dick twitches and I drop my hands quickly, stepping back. "You, ah, you look nice." My voice sounds gravelly and I clear my throat. "Hot date tonight?" I try to joke, but it sounds flat. She slowly blinks once, twice, then shakes her head slightly.

"Uh, yeah, sort of. My boyfriend's mother is in town." Boyfriend? In months of working side by side, chatting, sharing take out while we stay late, she's never mentioned a boyfriend. I mean, I don't talk much about Glimmer either I guess, but I'm sure I've brought her up in passing. I think.

"He's taking us to L'Orée du Bois," she continues. My eyebrows shoot up, it's a trendy spot in the city, a place you go when you want to be seen. From what I know of Katniss it's not the type of place she'll enjoy. She grimaces. "Yeah, it's a little pretentious, but Gale likes to spoil his mom." I barely bite back a retort. I imagine the choice of restaurant actually has more to do with ego.

"Anyway, I should go," she says softly. "Goodnight Peeta. Have a nice evening."

"Goodnight Katniss," I murmur as she walks away, the sway of her hips utterly captivating. I try to convince myself that the clenching in my gut is hunger, not jealousy.

"Everdeen!" I bellow at her from across the floor. "It's your turn to pick, get a move on!" She rolls her eyes but dutifully moves away from her desk and comes over to where Finn, Jo, and I are crowded around Haymitch's laptop screen. Her hand on my shoulder for balance, she skims the remaining list of players thoughtfully before choosing some obscure guy I've never heard of for the last spot on her fantasy hockey team. At my raised eyebrow she smirks.

"He played for the Mockingjays when I was a student there," she explains. "This is going to be his year, mark my words."

She's right; her team leads the pool right from the beginning, and she earns Haymitch's respect with her rather impressive knowledge of hockey stats, both professional and collegiate. When I ask her about it her expression turns melancholy. "My dad was a huge hockey fan, it's something he shared with me," she says softly, but doesn't elaborate further.

"So who are you today?"

Katniss startles a little, looking up from the spreadsheet she was engrossed in and turning the paper cup in front of her so that I can read the name scrawled on the side in marker.

Candice.

"Hey, that's closer than usual," I tease, and she laughs. On a shelf in her cubicle she has an army of takeout cups lined up, their bizarre distortions of her name proudly displayed.

That she has accumulated so many cups in the four months she's been here is a testament to how much her life seems to revolve around her job. It's almost 7 and she's still here. Of course, so am I.

"What are you going to do if they ever get it right?" I ask. She shrugs.

"Guess I'd have to leave here, find a new office and a new coffee shop, start over," she laughs. I laugh too.

"Good thing it's not going to happen," I tell her, and the smile she rewards me with is so genuinely sweet that I know I'll do almost anything to see it again.

"Don't dilly-dally, Peeta, it's going to be a big, big, big night!" Effie Trinket might be the most gratingly chipper person I've ever met, but she's a bulldog under the cotton candy exterior. She's running our annual charitable drive; this year she's organized a karaoke night to benefit the local children's hospital. I'd rather have my leg chewed off by rabid mutts than go, but she knows I'm a sucker for children's charities.

It's not as bad as I was expecting. We have the whole place to ourselves, and the playlist is entirely tunes from the 70s, 80s and 90s.

I slide into a booth next to Katniss; she's already ordered a beer for me and one for herself. Finnick Odair from the finance department is flirting absolutely shamelessly with her, I love watching her squirm as he gets more and more suggestive. Someday he's going to end up in harassment training, or worse.

Most of our coworkers are terrible singers. When Cato, from security, belts out 'Don't Stop Believing' in a key that only dogs can appreciate I know I have to join in the fun. I grab Katniss's hand and drag her up with me, and while she pretends to protest she's smiling and laughing.

We duet on 'Paradise by the Dashboard Light,' and it's the most fun I can remember having in forever. When we collapse back into the booth I can't stop smiling, and her eyes are twinkling.

A few drinks later Katniss goes up for another song, a ballad this time. Madonna's 'Crazy for You,' a song that should be the epitome of cheese, but when her voice floats through the bar, sultry and warm and utterly captivating, every patron falls silent. Fuck can she sing! Her gaze locks on mine, and everything else disappears for me, my entire world compresses to a pair of smoky silver eyes and a voice that wraps around my soul.

I toss my phone carelessly on the desk and drop my head into my hands, concentrating on breathing evenly. I'm almost 30 years old, it's ridiculous that she can still upset me this much, but my mother has always known just how to push my buttons.

I'm still hunched over, trying to ignore the voices that tell me I'm worthless and a disappointment, when Katniss wanders in. I didn't know she was still here, it's the day before Thanksgiving, most of the office left early. She doesn't ask me what's wrong, doesn't try to cheer me up or tell me I'm too old to be fighting tears. She just pulls a chair around, sits beside me, and rubs my back soothingly.

When I'm calm she drags me out of my office and down the block to The Hob, the bar where we have happy hour on Fridays. Today it's nearly empty, intimate. Over beers I spill my family story, and she listens.

I don't think anyone has ever really listened to me before. Not like this. Not like her.

The cup on her desk says Catalyst today and I snort. "They're just screwing with you now." She laughs, it's such a musical sound that my own smile widens in response.

"Yeah," she admits, "I think they are. But the sheer number of pictures I post on social media of their cups is likely their entire advertising campaign." She's probably right about that, but I admit I enjoy seeing them. Her whole feed is coffee cups and pictures of her sister.

She glances at her phone, then grimaces. "Shit," she mutters, closing her laptop as I perch on the edge of her desk. At my confused expression she explains. "I'm supposed to meet Gale, and I'm already late."

"Katniss," I admonish. "Why are you still here then, the others left hours ago!"

She shrugs, chewing on her lip. "Avoiding it I guess. He's taking me to the premiere of that new slasher movie." I know the one she's talking about, and I also know she's going to hate it.

"Can't you see something you'd both enjoy instead?" She rolls her eyes at me.

"Please, Peeta, you of all people should know it doesn't work that way." She's right, I spend virtually every weekend doing things I hate because it's what Glimmer wants. "Remember your trip to the outlet malls?" Katniss teases. That pulls a small smile from me, I'd complained about losing an entire Saturday caddying Glim's bags as she sauntered from store to store, buying purses that cost more than my monthly mortgage payment.

With a sigh I grab Katniss's coat from the rack, and hold it for her to slip into. She smiles up at me, that same shy smile that has been doing strange things to my insides for half a year. We stare at each other for just a little too long, then she squeezes my hand.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Peeta," she whispers before finally dropping her eyes and walking away.

For our annual Christmas party Effie has turned the ballroom of a mid-rate downtown hotel into a winter wonderland. It's frankly amazing what she can do with our paltry entertainment budget.

Glimmer is wearing a silver gown, it's over the top for a Christmas party of underpaid government workers but she's never been one to risk being underdressed. And she admittedly looks hot, the neckline plunges low enough to give everyone an eyeful of her impressive rack. She's not pleased that I wouldn't wear a tux, but since I'm wearing the silver tie and pocket square she bought me, along with my plain black suit, she's not complaining. Much.

Katniss slips in late and I get my first glimpse of the infamous Gale. He's tall and dark, ruggedly good looking. I'm distracted watching them wander through the crowd. Katniss barely says a word, but Gale talks and laughs loudly and constantly. Finally Glimmer and I work my way over to them.

Katniss looks phenomenal, the thin straps of her dress highlight toned shoulders and arms, and the rich wine colour makes her olive skin glow. But her expression is one of barely-veiled misery.

We make small talk but my every attempt to draw Katniss into the conversation is unsuccessful. I even bring up last night's hockey game, since Katniss's favourite goalie got a shutout I know she'll be thrilled, but Gale brusquely interrupts. "Oh, Katniss doesn't care about hockey, we're all about football." He doesn't even glance at her to gauge her reaction. But I do, and I don't miss her eye roll.

"Actually Katniss is winning our office hockey pool by a long shot," I can't help but snap at Gale. He looks briefly surprised, then sneers.

"Not much else to do in your cushy government jobs than surf the 'net and look up sports stats, is there? Putting my tax dollars to good use I guess. Come on, Catnip, I've done my time, let's get out of here."

Glimmer's lips curl in a self-satisfied smirk once they leave. "So that's Katniss," she says, almost to herself. "And to think I was jealous, since you talk about her so much. Clearly I have nothing to worry about there." She snorts derisively.

Instead of offering my girlfriend reassurances, I find myself biting my tongue.

"Peeta?" I glance up from the reports I'm pouring over, Katniss is standing in the door to my office, her coat draped over her arm. It's Christmas eve, most of the floor left at noon, she and I are the only ones still here. "I'm heading out now, but I wanted to give you this first." She sets a wrapped gift on my desk, and I brighten immediately.

"Thank you, you didn't have to do that!" I'm like a little kid when it comes to presents. "Do I have to wait for Christmas to open it?" She laughs.

"No, go ahead if you like. It's nothing really."

I tear off the paper. Inside is a hardcover copy of Caesar Flickerman's new cookbook, it only came out a couple of weeks ago and I've been anxious to get it. "Katniss, thank you, he's my favourite chef!" She smirks.

"I know, Peeta, you talk about him constantly. Look inside." I raise an eyebrow at her but do as she says.

It's autographed.

To Peeta, May the odds be ever in your favour. Big love, Caesar.

"How…" I start, but I can't continue. She shrugs.

"I remember you mentioning how much you wanted to go to his book launch and how bummed you were when you couldn't." I remember that too, Glimmer had a function that day and my silly obsession with a television cook wasn't going to interfere with her plans. But the launch was in District 4, a solid 3 hours away.

"You… you went all the way to Four for me?" I'm a little choked up; no one has even done anything like this for me. She smiles, that sweet shy smile, and I have to swallow hard against the rush of emotion that threaten to overwhelm me.

I stand and wrap my arms around her before I can even think about whether it's a good idea. She snuggles into my chest, her head fitting perfectly into the hollow of my throat. "Merry Christmas, Peeta," she murmurs.

I hate working on the weekend but my funding proposal has to be finalized by year's end and yeah, okay, maybe I'm avoiding Glimmer too. The new year is only days away and she's been dropping what I'm sure she thinks are hints but what feel like demands.

She wants to get married. Or more specifically, she expects a large diamond and a New Year's Eve proposal.

We've been dating three years now, and I'm turning 30 soon, it's time to grow up and settle down. A year ago I would have bought into the idea wholeheartedly. But settling just doesn't feel like enough anymore.

A gentle tap pulls me out of my thoughts. Katniss. She's in jeans and a hoodie, her face flushed from the outdoors. "Figured I'd find you here," she smirks. "Come on Mellark, you're done."

"I have to finish this," I tell her, but I really don't put up a fight when she tosses my jacket at my head.

We end up at the Hob again, sharing a pitcher. It's absolutely packed, and hot. I'm already buzzed when Katniss pulls off her hoodie to reveal a plain black tank top. There's nothing lewd about it at all but my dick stiffens at the sight of her small breasts straining against the fabric. She has no idea, the effect she has.

As we talk, and drink, we move closer and closer, my arm across the back of the bench, her head leaning on my shoulder.

We stay until closing.

It's cold as we wait outside for a cab, Katniss only has her hoodie, so I wrap my coat around her shoulders, fiddling with the collar as she stares up at me. There's a tempest in those molten silver eyes, and I know I'm not imagining the desire I see in them. I know she can see the same in mine. It's suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss her.

I know it's wrong, but nothing in my life has ever felt so right.

Her arms wind around my neck and her fingers toy with my hair as I deepen the kiss, tasting her, swallowing her soft sighs. I take my time discovering what makes her whimper and what makes her groan. I worry her plump bottom lip between my teeth, lick a line down the column of her neck, suck on the pulse that leaps in her throat. And she responds furiously, arching into me, panting my name against my ear.

I could kiss her forever. I want to kiss her forever. But when I unconsciously thrust against her she pulls back, looking up at me with wild eyes and swollen lips.

"Oh shit," she whispers, but there's no horror in her words, only longing. We stand wrapped in each other, panting, until she speaks again. "I, uh, I should go."

I know I could stop her, I can see in her face that a single word would have her stay, that she wants me to ask her to stay, but we're both drunk. I want her, desperately. But not like this.

January second. The office isn't open today but I head in anyway. After days alone in my house I really need to get out.

Maybe I should be surprised to see Katniss sitting on my desk, a pair of red take out cups beside her. But I'm not, despite 5 days of her ignoring my repeated calls and texts.

"Hey," she says softly, and smiles, but not the sweet smile I adore. This one is tight, forced. She gestures towards the second cup and I take it with a murmured thanks, perching beside her on the edge of my desk.

We stare at each other, both unsure where to start. When she finally speaks it's definitely not what I was expecting.

"Gale asked me to marry him."

The pain of her announcement is sharp, physical, but when I glance at her left hand it's bare. She notices and shrugs. "I told him I needed time to think."

"You can't marry him."

"The hell I can't," she snaps.

"He doesn't deserve you, Katniss, he doesn't give a damn about what you want, he barely knows who you are." She snorts.

"You might as well be describing Glimmer!" she spits and I nod.

"We broke up." Glimmer had been more angry than upset when I ended things between us, but she knew it wasn't working. "We were comfortable, but we weren't really in love. We both deserve better." Something flickers in Katniss's eyes, something soft and vulnerable, but she masks it quickly.

"So what, I should just dump Gale and come running to your bed now?" I swallow hard against the desire to yell yes, because that's exactly what I want.

"I know you feel it, Katniss, I say softly, leaning in, and her pupils dilate. "There's something here." I gesture between us. "Something special. Something more."

"I'm attracted to you, yes, but it doesn't mean anything Peeta."

"Bullshit!" I roar. "It's more than that and you know it." My hands curl almost involuntarily around her arms and I can feel her trembling. "It isn't Gale you go to when you're excited or sad. And I come to you with everything too. Every time I do something or see something I think, 'I can't wait to tell Katniss.' I know it's the same for you."

"It is," she whimpers, and her hand cups my cheek, caresses the stubble there. "But we can't." She drops her hand and twists away. "I'm not going to have an affair, Peeta."

"Too late," I grumble and she scowls.

"It was only one kiss!"

"When you share your life with one person; the triumphs, the failures, the laughter and comfort, but you're fucking someone else... that's an affair Katniss!"

The words hang between us and I can see when they register in her mind, when she truly understands what I'm saying. She's gone before I can utter another word.

Eventually I message Plutarch, tell him I won't be in for a few days and grab the forgotten cups off my desk as I leave.

Hers says Katniss.

She transfers to the Policy Unit, down on the second floor. I bury myself in my work. My employees shoot me sympathetic looks but wisely say nothing.

I don't reach out to her and she doesn't contact me. But I miss her so much. Our friendship was the best part of my life over the past nine months, and her absence leaves a huge hole.

It's early February and a cold rain falls as I sit in my kitchen with tea and sketchbook. It's been a peaceful Sunday, so when there's a knock at the door I almost ignore it.

Katniss is standing on my porch, raven hair dripping.

I usher her wordlessly into the house, then stand expectantly in the hall. She shifts nervously from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at me.

"I'm sorry," she finally whispers at her feet. I stay silent, and after what feels like an eternity she lifts her eyes to meet mine. I'm shocked to see tears swimming in their silver depths.

"Katniss?" I question, taking an uncertain step forward. "What is it?" I want to hold her in my arms and take away her pain, weeks of feeling so wounded be damned.

"You were right," she says, and the tears overflow, rolling down her cheeks. To hell with the consequences, I surge forward and wrap her in my arms. She lets out a relieved little sob and holds me so tightly. "You were right about me, and about us, and about Gale. You were right about everything, Peeta." Her tears soak my shirt as she confesses; she broke up with Gale a month ago but was too stubborn and too scared to tell me. I kiss her hair and hold her.

We rock together in my hallway, and when the storm abates she pulls back to look at me. She's wearing that smile, the one I see in my dreams. The one she saves just for me. "I've missed you so much, Peeta," she murmurs.

"Me too," is all I can say. I drop my forehead against hers and feel a month's worth of tension melt away. She's here, my best friend, the woman I'm in love with.

"Peeta?" My eyes snap open to lock onto hers, her lips are just inches from mine. "Do you still feel it?" How can she even ask?

"Yes," I breathe, and then she's closing the distance between us. This kiss is explosive; months of pent-up longing mix with relief so acute I can taste it.

We leave a trail of clothes as we make our way to my bedroom. And as I move in her my lips paint confessions on her skin. Real. A goner. Always.

And after, when she looks up at me with lidded eyes and that sweet smile, I know this would have happened anyway. That she is what I need. She's mine. And I'm hers. Always.