He can't believe it. Almost literally – he stares at the woman on the stage far too long before accepting that it's her and only just stops short of pinching himself. She'd told him, too. Some oblique reference to a Sin to Win weekend he couldn't stop himself from following up with a question, then an unusually bold moment where she'd handed him a ticket. He knew exactly where she was going when she left him sitting at the table. But still.
She stands straight and confident in the middle of the stage in this floor length black sequined thing that hugs her body in ridiculous ways, and his eyes fix first on her hand, the smooth and confident way her fingers wrap around the microphone, and then on her face. She raises an eyebrow at him, and he knows she's playing to the ridiculousness of the situation, expecting him to find it funny too. And he supposes it is on some level – Emily Prentiss the ambassador's daughter he was faintly aware of in a different life; Emily Prentiss the agent who found out when he was coming back from a case and staked out his office to fight for a chance on the team; Emily Prentiss the woman who drove to his house and insisted he come out with them the night he was served his divorce papers…
She winks at him before she starts to sing, and it is ridiculous, of course it is, but it's also beautiful. Her voice has him reeling, and he wonders why he didn't realise until now he's never actually heard her sing. It is low and sultry and unexpected and over too quickly and only when there are cheers and laughs and whistles around him does he remember there is an entire audience here. She blows a kiss, sashays off the stage, and he springs from his seat and waits for her at the stage door.
She appears with a smile and a glass of champagne in each hand and offers him one. He takes them both from her hands, places them down on a table, then pounces, his hands finding her waist and pulling her to him as their lips crash together. She responds enthusiastically, her arms coming up around his neck, and eventually she pulls back with a laugh. "Hotch," she breathes, meeting his eyes with this glorious mix of arousal and amusement as her hand comes round to cup his cheek. "We're in public."
He finds himself smiling back, his heart thudding in his ears. "We have a room upstairs."
She hums in agreement, picks up both champagne glasses and hands one to him, heading for the elevator without another word.
Later, they lie naked on top of the covers, the sequinned dress that had been abandoned on the floor now draped over the back of the desk chair, and she curls into his chest. He can feel her smiling again, and he knows on some level she's laughing at him but can't bring himself to care. "Prentiss," he says, and she tilts her head a little. "I uh… I didn't know you could sing."
She laughs, wraps a leg around his and pulls herself closer. "I didn't know you were so into Bond girls."