Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Means a lot and keeps me writing!

Chapter 4

Saying Morgan was pissed was an understatement.

If Hotch didn't want to be a part of the bet, then he sure as hell should mind his own damn business. This was between himself and Reid. Not Hotch. If Hotch wanted in, then all he had to do was ask, but to interfere like that just pissed Morgan off.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer."

Morgan shot Rossi a glare, but lightened it with a smile. He hadn't realized he had been staring at the joining doors that led to Hotch and Emily's room. So maybe he was taking this a little too far, but he still couldn't help but ask, "You don't think Hotch will tell her? Do you?" Women and guns were not a good idea, especially if they were angry. Emily Prentiss had a gun.

Rossi chuckled, but shook his head. "No, I don't think so. If he told her about it, then she would just get mad at him for not telling her sooner. I don't think he'd tell."

"I think Hotch needs to stay out of this."

"I think you're being a little melodramatic," Rossi told him honestly, as he lugged his suitcase onto one of the twin beds.

Morgan shrugged, knowing that his colleague was right. Sighing heavily, he turned to the remaining bed and raised an eyebrow when he saw who had already claimed it. "Who says you get the bed?"

"I have a bad back," Reid told him.

"Liar."

"I do."

"Rock, paper, scissors," Morgan challenged, extending his hand. He refused to sleep on the floor without a fight.

"Fine."

"One. Two. Three." They both revealed their weapon. Morgan rock. Reid paper.

Morgan glared at his younger colleague, frustrated that he couldn't beat him at the simple game. "How the hell did you know I was going to do that?"

"Well," Reid began. "Rock is played the most, especially in males. Now, I could have assumed that you would have picked paper, since it's the least thrown. Rock was also what you picked the last time we played, but the chances of you listening and remembering to what I told you, were slim. Even if you did pick paper, we would have had to rematch because I picked paper."

"Two out of three."

"You're going to lose," Rossi told him. "I'll take the floor. You two can take the beds."

"No," they both said in unison.

Rossi rolled his eyes. "Okay. While you children figure this out, I'm going to hop in the shower."

Morgan extended his hand. He was more than determined to beat Reid at the game. At least once. Was that to much to ask? "Ready? One. Two. Three." They both revealed their weapon. Morgan rock. Reid paper.

"I hate this game," Morgan muttered and flung his head back in defeat.

Reid smiled as he took his place on the bed. "Really? I love it."

"I'm not even going to ask how you knew."

"I easily assumed that you were going to trick me by playing the same –"

"Reid, don't make me hit you."

He kept his mouth shut.

--

"Thank you," Hotch told her the minute she exited the bathroom. He'd spent the last half-hour going over excuses why he made the sleeping arrangements the way he did. Surely, she knew something was different and off about his attitude.

"For what?" she asked him as she ran a brush through her wet hair.

When he looked up to meet her gaze, he lost his voice. He'd never seen her in her pajamas before, and God, was she beautiful. Cotton pants and a very thin tank top. A very thin tank top. And then he felt his stomach clench at the thought. Where had these thoughts come from? This was his subordinate. Hell, this was Emily. Thoughts of Haley were long gone, and to be completely frank, it scared the hell out of him. Forcing himself to look away, he told her, "Sharing a room with me. Rossi snores like a foghorn and Reid would have just been awkward."

"And Morgan?" she asked, and when he couldn't think of anything to say, she continued, "I know you're mad at him."

"You do?"

"Aren't you?"

Hotch focused his attention on the blank tv; he didn't want to look her in the eye and lie. "I don't know –"

She rolled her eyes, interrupting him mid sentence. "Please, don't go there." She gave him an incredulous look. "I do this for a living. I can tell when two – three – people are butting heads."

He raised an eyebrow, wondering if she knew something. "Three?"

"Reid," she huffed as if it were obvious.

The corners of his lips tugged upward. She was good at what she did, that was for sure. "Morgan's irritating me because of some stupid thing he and Reid got themselves into. That's about it." It was a white lie, he knew, so he looked away from her as he said it.

If it wasn't for the tone of his voice, she would have pressed the issue further, but because the situation seemed to bother him, she dropped it.

He watched as she gracefully flung herself onto the remaining bed. God, she was beautiful. His mouth became dry and he knew he was staring, but he couldn't find the will power to look away. If she knew he was staring, she didn't show it, which made it all the harder to pull his attention elsewhere. It wasn't until he saw her shudder, did he mange to find his voice, "Cold?"

"Freezing."

"I think the heater is broken," he told her. "When you were in the shower, I couldn't get it to work."

"This is the shittest hotel I've ever been to."

Hotch chuckled at that. "The food service is crap too."

"You ordered food?" she asked, looking around the room with eager eyes.

"Tried. Apparently they don't serve after eight." He threw a glance her way, and that was all it took for him to head straight for his suitcase. He pulled out a gray sweatshirt and threw it at her.

It hit her in the head, and he had to stifle a laugh as she pulled it off her. "What…?" she asked him.

"Aren't you cold?"

She hesitated, holding the soft material in her hands. "Well, yeah, but –"

"Take it," he insisted.

"Won't you be cold?"

Hotch shrugged. "Probably," he told her honestly, which got a chuckle from her. "But I'm not the one wearing a tank top."

"I always sleep in tank tops," she protested, but still pulled the sweatshirt over her head as she did so. In the blink of an eye they were plunged into utter darkness and Emily let out a heart-filled laugh.

"You've got to be kidding me," Hotch muttered under his breath, and though he couldn't see her, he turned to the laughing Emily. "How can you possibly find this funny?"

She struggled to breathe. "First the rooms get screwed up. The heater is broken. The service is crap and now the power went out. How can you not think this is funny?"

Hotch found himself joining in with her. "I don't think it could get worse."

Emily's laugh faded out, but he could still hear a smile on her lips as she spoke, "You never know with our luck."

"I think there's a flashlight in my bag." He jumped off the bed, but as fate would have it, Hotch tripped over his shoes and found himself falling to the floor. He reached out his hand to grasp the counter to steady him, but by doing so, he spun around and crashed into something hard.

"Hotch," she sounded panicked. "Are you okay?"

He forced himself off the ground. "Yeah. I'm –" he trailed off, groaning in pain as he stubbed his big toe against God knew what. He gripped his toe in pain, but lost his balance and then fell foreword once again. This time, however, instead of landing on the hard floor, he landed on Emily's bed, with her pinned underneath of him. "Sorry."

She laughed and that's when he realized how close they were. He could feel her breath on his neck, and he knew if he stayed in that position any longer he would do something. Desperately, he struggled to get off of her, but of course this only made things worse and they ended up banging heads. "Ow," came her amused reply.

"Fuck. I'm sorry…"

"Hotch, damn it. Stop moving."

He stopped. "Sorry."

Emily chuckled again. "I think my earring is caught on your shirt or something."

The lights flickered back on before he could reply, and sure enough Emily's earring was caught on his shirt. "Don't move," he told her calmly." How it got stuck on his shirt, he couldn't be sure, but he knew he needed to get off her and fast. She was pinned underneath him, they were in a position that was clearly unethical, and his heart began to beat faster as his mind began to wonder on it's own. For a brief moment, he imagined her arching against him and he momentarily forgot what he was doing. It was her touch that brought him back.

"You're taking to long," she told him heatedly as she removed his hand from her ear. Within seconds she had the earring detached from his shirt, and just as he was about to move, he noticed the cut on her forehead.

"You're bleeding. My watch must have scratched you or something." He reached up a hand to wipe away the blood and that's when he heard her sharp intake of breath. "There," he said, never taking his eyes off of her. It was a blur who made the first move, but it didn't matter, and he found himself leaning in towards her. Just as he was about to grace his lips with her, the alarm went off.

He cursed, rolling off her quickly. Hotch desperately wanted to kill whoever had the room last and forgot to turn of the alarm. He pushed random buttons on the alarm until it went off.

Emily dropped her eyes. "I think I'm going to go to bed now."

Hotch didn't bother mentioning that it was only eight-thirty. "Me too."

"Goodnight, Hotch."

"Goodnight, Emily."

Baha! I had fun writing this chapter. Found it amusing. Hoped you liked it too.

~kitale.