A/N – doesn't fit in with my little AU series.

This is set immediately after Season 4 episode 4, when Emily tells Morgan she has a date with her hot tub. I have no idea what came over me when writing this, don't know if I'll continue with it, and not sure if I'm happy with it – certainly not as happy as I am with How Far Away the Stars – as I do think its slightly OOC, and Emily's character needed fleshing out a little more. However, I thought there was no point in hiding it on my hard drive, and it might cheer up your Sunday/Monday for ten minutes or so... let me know what you think. I now need to get on with When the Blue of the Night, which will hopefully be updated later tonight.

"I believe I will dip my pink-and-white body in yon Roman tub. I feel a bit gritty after the affairs of the day."

WC Fields

Maybe Tomorrow

Emily had a hot tub?

The thought was not conducive to doing paperwork. He picked up another pen, hopefully one with powers to make him concentrate.

Emily had a hot tub?

Again, he pushed the image as far away as possible, instead visualising as clear desk and tried to proceed.

Had she been serious? Did she really have a hot tub?

He'd only been round to her apartment on a couple of occasions, but he remembered the large sun terrace she had. The hot tub must be new – he recalled her saying something about having treated herself a couple of weeks ago, it must have been with the hot tub.

She'd told Morgan she had a date with it. Did that mean there was someone sharing the hot tub with her? Hotch stared at the paperwork in front of him, trying his best to concentrate, but even he had the sense to realise when he was a man defeated.

Hotch had admitted defeat in one respect a couple of weeks ago, after the situation at the compound. He could never bear to hear one of his team such a situation as she had been, but afterwards he'd found himself brooding over what had happened in more depth than he would have done for anyone else; blaming himself more than he knew was rational, and checking on her at her desk to the extent where Rossi had told him to lay off as Emily was beginning to think that Hotch didn't consider her to be doing her job properly.

She'd stayed on his mind, without a break, since then. In fact, during one conversation when picking Jack up, he'd even called Haley Emily, which had earned him the curse of the glare.

And now she had a date with a hot tub. And whoever she was inviting to share it.

Hotch's mind began to whirr through all the possibilities he knew of. There was Steve who worked in recruitment, and Jason, who was an agent in counter-terrorism. Both had been around Emily's desk a lot lately, but he had heard her telling JJ that there wasn't a chance in hell of her ever dating one of those two. He was sure he'd seen her having lunch with Mark from Fingerprints, but then, he was also pretty sure that Mark was gay, given what Reid had told them about his encounter the other day.

Hotch switched off his desk lamp and decided there was only one possible course of action to take. Go see this hot tub and her date for himself. Granted, it may look a little odd; her boss turning up with no reason whatsoever, but he could always try and explain why he'd been so watchful of her recently, or maybe just drop off a report he needed her to look at again, as she'd overlooked a section. The latter was definitely the most in keeping with what she would expect from him.

He drove to her apartment trying not to think about Emily in the hot tub, and only went through one set of red lights, which he thought was good going considering Morgan would have gone through them all at the prospect of an attractive woman in a bathing costume, or whatever it was called these days.

Attractive.

Attractive?

Had he just labelled Emily Prentiss as attractive –his own, personal opinion of her?

Crap. This was not good.

He parked the car a space near her apartment block and walked to the door feeling a little odd, reminiscent of being in high school and speaking to a pretty girl for the first time. He'd done this since separating from Haley, or course, he wasn't a complete monk – but then, going round to Emily Prentiss' apartment fairly late on in the evening because he wanted to see her hot tub would not automatically resolve this period of monk-likeness.

He buzzed her, realising that he was now probably dragging her out of her hot tub, thus not making her happy.

"Hello?" the familiar voice answered quickly.

"Prentiss? It's Hotch," he said, now feeling extremely ridiculous.

"Oh no, there's not another case, is there?"

He now felt like a complete and utter selfish idiot. "No, I'm just dropping a form off where you've overlooked a section."

Silence filled his ear.

"Really?" she said, her voice brimming with disbelief. "You've not come to see my hot tub?"

Well, technically, no he hadn't. He'd come to see how she was dressed for the hot tub, and if she had anyone sharing it with her. "I thought you might need a hand setting it up."

Laughter was followed by the buzz, indicating that the door to the apartment block was now open, and he made his way up, wondering exactly how this story would sound when Rossi heard it from Morgan.

He went up the stairs rather than taking the elevator, wanting to give a little space so she could consider why he might have decided to visit her at this time, straight after a big case.

"Have you brought something to wear?" she said as soon as she opened the door. She was wearing a bath robe over a swim suit that he couldn't see.

Hotch's mind went blank for a moment, and then comprehension kicked in. "I hadn't really thought to bring anything, but I do have in my go bag." Sometimes, the hotel where they stayed had a pool, and a few dozen laps early in a morning was a good way to help him focus. He'd seen Morgan do the same thing, but late at night, and Rossi would always have some sort of swimming gear with him to use the sauna and steam room, if there was one.

"And you've not brought them up?" she smiled at him, tipping her head to one side. "Go back and get them. I'll fill in that bit I've missed while I wait for you." She took the paperwork from his hand without him realising.

Hotch nodded mutely and slipped back to his car, hearing her laughing quietly as he decided to take the elevator this time for speed.

Emily left the door on the catch so he could let himself in and took the piece of paper to the breakfast bar where she'd been making herself a jug of mojito to take to the hot tub that was currently heating up on the terrace. The paperwork Hotch was apparently so concerned about took precisely thirty seconds – she'd forgotten to sign it in two places and hadn't ticked a box. It was certainly something that could have been left until Monday, and did not warrant a special trip to her apartment.

So it didn't take a profiler to work out that there was another reason for his being here.

Her door pushed open and Hotch stood there, this time with his go bag in his hand. He looked a little lost, and he seemed to be checking the apartment to see if someone else had magically appeared there in his absence.

"You shouldn't leave your door unlocked like that," he said. "Anyone could have just walked in."

"If they get past the concierge, who I'm sure let you in because he recognised you so you didn't have to buzz," she said, weighing him up. "Why are you here? Because it wasn't for a measly two signatures and a ticked box."

He walked further into her home, making sure the door was locked behind him. "Have you got company?" he said, completely ignoring her question.

"No," she said. "Just a jug of mojito. You can have one if you wish, but it might mean you taking the sofa, or a cab home." She could see him weighing up the options.

"I'm sorry, Emily, this was a bad idea. I'll see you Monday," he said, and suddenly she felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach again, although in a different way to Cyrus.

"No," she said, too quickly. "Stay for a bit. There's no one else here, and I'd like to see what you think of the hot tub." She thought she sounded like a sulky child almost, not something that would be endearing to her boss.

"You sure, Emily?" he said, the use of her first name making her wonder what this was really about.

She nodded. "Look, it's a Saturday night, we're both on our own, we can at least have some company for an hour – and you can admire the finery that is my latest purchase."

"Now you sound like Garcia," he said. He walked over to the breakfast bar, where the jug of the cocktail she'd just made up stood. "I'll have a glass and get a cab. It's not far to mine, and I could do with a drink tonight."

"The glasses are in the cupboard just below you. I'll take my drink and see if the water's warm enough yet. Feel free to... join me when you like." The words sounded far more seductive than she'd meant.

Had she meant to be seductive?

She liked Hotch; more than she should like her boss, and not in the way she should like him either. Occasionally she dreamed about him, the same dream usually, that involved the loosening of his tie and a few buttons coming undone, but she'd tried not to dwell on its significance. If there was any.

Pushing the recollection aside, she loosened her bath robe and allowed it to slip onto the floor of the terrace. It was quite private; one of the reasons she'd bought the apartment to start with. It wasn't overlooked and couldn't be seen by anyone passing, plus it was something of a sun trap, when the sun bothered itself to come out. She put a toe in the water and deemed it the correct temperature, entering quickly after that.

Hotch appeared a minute or so after, just when the alcohol in the cocktail was making itself apparent. She figured she'd added too much vodka, but it still tasted good.

"When did you get this?" Hotch said, not giving her much time to discreetly take in his almost naked form before getting in the tub.

"Erm..." she had to think real hard now. "It was fitted on Monday. This is the first time I've used it. It was a rather indulgent gift to myself. What do you think?"

He hadn't admired the hot tub yet. The sight of her, however camouflaged by the water, had distracted him completely. "It's good," he said. "Not that hot tubs are my speciality. More Morgan's thing, I expect."

"They weren't my thing either; just a different way to pass an evening. I'm pleased with it though," she sank deeper into the water. It wasn't a warm night, but that didn't matter inside the hot tub, where the water was enough to stop any chills from creeping in. He watched her sip the mojito, trying not to think about the fact that he was sharing the same water with his colleague who was wearing something that was certainly not work wear.

"It's pleasant," he said. "Not sure if it'd work having one of these with Jack around."

He saw her smile at the word 'pleasant'. He knew it was such an innocuous word to use. "I don't think I'll regret buying it," she said. "What have you got planned for the weekend?"

He looked away, the strange awkwardness of the situation striking him. "Since when have we become so polite that we need to talk about how we're spending weekends?"

"Since when have you called round to my apartment at nine thirty in the evening with some lame excuse about paperwork?" she said, her tone acerbic.

He wasn't sure what to say so he flicked water at her instead, catching her face and hair which up until now she had kept dry.

Emily laughed, as he knew she would, and flicked water back, a tidal wave going from one side of the tub to the other.

Eventually, the water calmed, as did their laughter – he'd realised after a minute that the laughing was coming from him as well, and noted that he'd barely recognised it. "I wanted to see if your date was just with your hot tub, or if it was with someone else?" he said, confessing.

"Oh," she said, and he wondered if he'd done the wrong thing in telling her. "I didn't realise it was in your job description to check up on your subordinates' personal lives."

She'd taken his comment the wrong way. Now he wasn't sure whether to enlighten her or not. "Strauss' orders: make sure the team is psychologically well. Of course, relationships have a lot to do with that."

"Shouldn't you be tracking down Morgan then?" Emily said, still half looking at him with disbelief.

Hotch shrugged. "You were more interesting than Morgan." He didn't want to play it totally cool. He liked her, was more attuned to that fact now that the mojito had kicked into his bloodstream. He wanted to give her just a hint that he found her attractive, and then she could make her mind up what to do next; whether that be to ignore it, and they'd just go back to as they were, or to act on it, if she felt something similar, whatever that may be.

"Did you really think that there might be someone here besides me?" She sounded amused, almost a little disbelieving.

"I had two , maybe three names that could have been here as well," he said.

"Who?"

He knew she would want to know. "

"Steve Vernon, Jason Hunt and Mark Forshaw." He waited for her reaction.

She laughed, loud and hard, the sound containing the essence of life, and he remembered what he found so fascinating about her, besides her awkwardness and the geek she confessed to be, she loved being alive. "Mark Forshaw is gay for a start. He may come over here once in a while, but that's usually so we can both moan about the lack of quality men. And as for Steve and Jason; I've been considering taking out a restraining order against Steve, he's been pestering me that much, and Jason's just about got the message that I'm not interested in even sharing a coffee with him. You know, for a profiler, Hotch, you should've had that figured already."

He felt rather stupid now. She was right; he should have had all that sussed, although he pretty much knew about Mark. However, his paranoia had gotten in the way of any intelligent analysis. Paranoia or jealousy? He wasn't sure. "I don't like to profile you," he said, keeping his voice low. "That wouldn't be fair; and in judging if someone would definitely have been around here tonight, I would have had to." He'd have also have had to admit his own feelings to himself as well, feelings that the mojito was now making all too clear.

"I would've thought you wouldn't have needed to, Hotch," Emily said. "You've barely left my desk for the past fortnight."

"I've wanted to make sure you were alright," he said, barely uttering the words so she might not hear them. Then he spoke up. "After what happened in Colorado I wanted to make sure you were okay. I wasn't checking up on your work, Emily," he said, glad of the chance now to explain.

The water was completely still now, just the steam moved upward from it. "I wasn't sure," she said. Her words told him more than what she had said. She had analysed his behaviour and had been confused by it.

Hotch knew he wasn't a bad looking guy; they'd been propositions made by women in the past, although very few had been accepted and none in the time he'd been married to Haley – or at least before they were separated. If his luck was in, Emily might see him as he saw her, although how far that could take them when they worked together he wasn't sure. The bureau could be pretty tight on office relationships, although the rules were only enforced when it looked like it was going to pose an issue.

"You want another mojito?" she said, standing up, the water running off her slim frame.

"Why not?" he said, trying to keep his eyes on her face rather than just below. He wouldn't be driving anywhere tonight after that first drink. He figured she'd probably got the measures wrong on the vodka and something else; not that it had tasted bad.

She returned quickly, passing him a glass and then getting in next to him rather than opposite. "So, Agent Hotchner, you've noticed that a couple of men have been hanging around, you've been concerned about my wellbeing and you turn up on my doorstep on a Saturday night to inspect my hot tub. How am I meant to interpret these events?"

Now he was being put on the spot. But at least it gave him an inkling to the fact that she didn't find him repugnant; if she had, she'd have found some excuse to kick him out of her apartment by now. There certainly wouldn't have been the offer of a second drink.

"In whatever way you see fit," he said, acting stoic, giving nothing away. He felt her leg brush against his under the water, certain that it was on purpose. He could fail to notice now how the water was lapping over her bikini top, and what it contained, and he knew that he had to make a decision there and then as to stay in the tub and consolidate why she thought he was there, or to make an excuse and go home before anything came of the warm water, the alcohol and her state of dress.

It was as if she could read his mind. "Hotch," she said. "This drink is too strong and after this glass I'll probably think I'm invincible, and I might do something I wouldn't do sober. I think we both know what that might be. If we don't want the ramification of that, then I suggest I call you cab now, and you take the completed paperwork back with you."

So now he knew, and she was letting him call the shots. That wasn't fair. "What would you do if the roles were reversed?" he said.

She laughed, showing straight white teeth, and looked at him with eyes that were sparkling. "If I was your boss, but still me, I'd have your bikini top off by now."

He laughed, knowing there was no way he could out this pool any time soon. "But?"

"You're not me, and I don't know if you can have a night like this without having done a risk assessment first."

"Okay," he said, knowing it was a fair comment. "So say I didn't get a cab now and we carried on drinking and sitting here..."

"Sitting?"

He ignored her. "We pretend tomorrow that nothing's happened and get on with work like we have before?"

"With you making sure you always sit next to me on the plane?" Her eyes were teasing. She had him cornered. "Hotch, no, things don't go back to the way they were. We might enjoy tonight too much to want them to, but where's the harm in that? No one needs to know."

He knew she was a private person with regard to some things, although she was far more open than Elle had ever been with the rest of the team. The team, of course, would guess, as they had done with JJ and Will, but never ask about it, unless it was disclosed voluntarily. What she had said was fair. They need put no rules on this, or make any promises, and somehow that made him feel a little more in control instead of the alcohol.

So what did he do next? Respond with words? Actions? Instead he took a long drink, and sank a little deeper into the water. She laughed, taking her own glass and held it to his.

"Cheers," she said, chinking the glasses together. "Now, let's stop pretending to be so formal with each other and asking about weekends. We've the whole of the night to discuss whatever we want."

And maybe tomorrow as well, he could help but think, hope. Maybe tomorrow.

I could be persuaded to continue this; it depends on how good y'all think it is (ie, should I remove it from fanfic and hang my head in shame) and how much despair I continue to inject into When the Blue of the Night. Let me know.

Sarah x