This is my new fic based on Emily's comment about her 'sin to win weekend'. I have changed it somewhat though. One, she refers to the fact that it is in Atlantic City, but I have changed it to Vegas and two, I read that a sin to win weekend actually refers to a Comics Convention which I understand is huge in the States. I have just stuck to a more 'ordinary' meaning of the phrase, so I hope you'll allow me this artistic licence. Please let me know what you think!

If you are going to bluff, make it a big one.
— Amarillo Slim, professional poker player, inductee of the Poker Hall of Fame

Emily breathed out a silent moan of relief as she dropped her head back on the headrest and closed her eyes. She had finally managed to get a long weekend away, thanks to the extra long hours she put in for the last case. She hoped the plane wasn't full so she could stretch out without worrying about bumping elbows with the person next to her. Although that was a small price to pay to be able to get away.

The last sin to win weekend resided in such distant memory that she could barely remember what happened. Oh, that's right. She had won big, but the sin part of the weekend was a massive disappointment. There was a large portion of sloth and a fair measurement of gluttony, plus a sprinkling of envy when she witnessed a pair of honeymooners in the pool but the lust department scored a big zilch.

Oh, there were plenty of gorgeous men around, but none of them had lit her fire. And she needed to get laid bad. If she went any longer without sex she might do something crazy like tackle someone and have her wicked way with him. Unbidden, an image of her unit chief appeared and she couldn't suppress a smile as she pictured herself jumping into his lap as he sat in his office.

As fantasies went, that wasn't a bad start. Not that she usually had a fantasy about Hotch. There'd been a couple of x-rated dreams but she had no control over those. Hotch. Emily waited a second to see if she was going to feel uncomfortable about having a fantasy about her supervisor. And...

Nope.

Apparently, her body and mind were so sex starved it didn't matter who the object of her fantasy was. Not that she didn't think Hotch wasn't sexy, he was; well, if you liked the tall, dark, grim and workaholic type. But he was her boss, so it was just wrong on so many levels. For goodness sake, Emily, it's a fantasy, stop analysing it!

Getting back to this fantasy, let's see. First she would remove his tie and then nuzzle his newly bared throat, kissing the dip between his collar bone. The scent of his cologne was almost real. She had just started to unbutton his shirt when she heard her name.

"Hmm..? Oh, Hotch," she sighed. He had such a deep, sexy voice, but really, she wasn't sure if she wanted there to be any conversation in her fantasy. Just lots of action. Lots of really dirty action.

"Emily?" Louder this time.

It can't be, can it? No. Freaking. Way. She slowly opened her eyes.

"CRAP!" She jumped up so quickly that she bumped her head violently on the bulkhead causing an unbearably sharp pain to shoot through her skull. "OW! Crap, crap crap," she mumbled as she clutched the injured area, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Emily, I'm sorry, are you all right?" He sounded concerned. Well, actually he sounded like his normal serious self, but there was a note of concern in his voice.

She couldn't bring herself to look at him. Despite the awful throbbing pain in her head she could feel a blush start on her chest and travel north. Sometimes she really hated her fair complexion. Please let him not have noticed her moaning his name. She felt like sinking through the floor of the plane in embarrassment. But there was nowhere to go. So after a minute she slowly opened her eyes. Yep, it really was him. Not that she had any doubt really. She would have recognised his voice if he had been shouting at her through a tin can phone from a mile away.

Then she noticed the ready bag he was carrying in his left hand. Oh God, really? What had she done to deserve this? This was the worst case of bad luck she had ever encountered, including the time she bumped into not one, but two of her ex-es at her mother's annual Christmas party. That was the first time she ever thought of deliberately giving herself alcohol poisoning so she would have a legitimate excuse to leave, even if it had to be via the hospital.

She took a deep breath and hoped the smile she dredged up didn't look too fake. "Hotch! What are you doing on this flight?"

He looked at her, an unreadable expression on his face. "I'm attending a friend's wedding. I didn't know you were planning to get away."

"Uh, yeah. I sometimes like to go somewhere different," she said, somewhat uncomfortably. There was no way she was going to tell him she went to Las Vegas whenever she could get a few days off.

"Right." He glanced behind him. "There are people trying to get past. Have a good break. I'll see you later."

Emily nodded, giving him a weak smile. She watched him stow his bag and take a seat seven rows back. She sent up a prayer of thanks. She didn't know what she would do if she had to sit next to him for five hours. Especially after that little fantasy incident. A..wkwa..rd. She settled back in her seat and nodded politely to a blonde haired woman who got into the seat next to her.

Once the plane was airborne and the seatbelt sign had been turned off, the blonde got up immediately from her seat and walked towards the back of the plane. Not feeling like reading the novel she brought along yet, Emily picked up the in-flight magazine and started to flip through it. She had only reached page five when she heard his voice again.

"Hey." Hotch seated himself in the seat which the woman had just vacated while Emily stared at him open mouthed.

"Wha...what are you doing here?" she stammered.

He looked at her, brows furrowed. "I told you, I'm going to a wedding."

"No," she answered irritably. Was the man dense? "I meant, why are you sitting here?"

"A woman came up to me and asked if I minded changing seats with her so that she could sit with her husband so I said yes. I didn't realise I would be sitting with you." He paused and gave her a searching look. "Why, is this a problem?"

"No, no problem." Why would there be a problem? She was just going to be sitting with her boss for the next 4 hours and 35 minutes unable to sleep in case she has another x-rated dream and starts moaning his name, or worse, grope him. Boy, she had been celibate too way long if she was now worried about jumping her boss' bones. Get a grip, she told herself. This was Hotch for goodness sake.

She hoped he didn't want to talk because she really wasn't in the mood. What about if he asks you to join the mile high club with him. Would you be in the mood then? asked the naughty minx in her head.

He must have seen through her because he said, "You won't even know I'm here. I have some work to do." No, you don't say. She won't have been surprised if he slept with his files, he was such a workaholic. The only time she had seen him not think about work was when he was with Jack. Even then she would bet her next pay check that it was lurking at the back of his mind.

"Fine. But don't you dare talk to me about work, Hotch. Or I might do something we'll both regret." What would that be? Kiss him? The minx at work again. Shut up, her rational brain hissed back.

He raised his eyebrows ever so slightly at her bitchy tone.

Emily sighed, feeling guilty. It wasn't his fault she was tired and emotionally drained. Not to mention very sexually frustrated. "Sorry Hotch, I didn't really mean that."

His eyes probed her. "It's fine. I'm sorry that I'm spoiling your trip," he said quietly.

Emily felt even more guilty after his statement. "No, you're not. I'm just tired and cranky. Please, just ignore me."

Just then the stewardess came by with drinks. Emily was sorely tempted to have some hard liquor but thought she better remain sober. Who knew what her subconscious would do if her inhibitions were lowered any further. Really, what were the chances that Hotch would not only be going to the same location but be on the same flight and on the seat next hers. Fate must be laughing his ass off.

Once she had a few sips of her orange juice, she felt a bit better. Maybe her blood sugar level was low and was the cause of all her irritation. She glanced at Hotch who, surprisingly, hadn't pulled his work out yet. He was resting his head back against the headrest and she felt a surge of concern for him. He looked weary, the lines carved deeply around his mouth. She hadn't realised that he had been that deeply affected by their last case.

"Hotch, are you okay?"

He looks over at her. "Yeah, why?"

"You just look tired. Was it the last case?"

"No, I've just been working a lot. I've had to pick up a lot of management related work since Strauss is away. It's been kind of crazy. But I'm okay. Thanks for asking."

They fall silent for a moment.

"So what do you normally do in Vegas?"

Emily blinked. "What do you mean normally?" she asked carefully.

"Your previous trips. Do you usually do the same sort of things?" His gaze drilled into hers.

"How did you know?" Hotch's eyes never wavered. Emily's narrowed in anger. "I am going to kill Morgan."

"If it's any consolation he didn't mean to tell me, he and Garcia were discussing what you could have possibly have meant by 'sin to win weekend'. So, do you want to tell me or is it some deep dark secret?"

She laughed heartily. "Hardly. I just wanted to pull Morgan's chain. It's no big deal. The win part is kinda obvious. It is Las Vegas after all. I have a weakness for blackjack and I'm pretty good at it. As for the sin part, it's usually sloth and gluttony that gets an airing. Maybe pride if I win big." She was not going to mention the L. Some things were not meant to be discussed with one's boss.

"Sounds like fun."

"You're not going to quiz me about my gambling habits?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

"I'd be a pretty bad profiler if I haven't realised by now that you have a gambling addiction," he replied drily.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe I can keep a secret really well, like Clark Kent." She flashes her dimples at him, laughing.

He raises an eyebrow. "You're comparing yourself to Superman? Should I be concerned that you might have a superhero complex?"

She looked at him, incredulous. "Are you kidding me, Hotch? If anyone had a superhero complex it'd be you. That enormous responsibility you carry on your shoulders and the fact that you don't accept that you're fallible. It's unnatural, you realise that, right?"

"I thought we agreed not to profile each other," was his mild reply.

Emily rolled her eyes. "That Clark Kent comment was a joke, you know."

"So was my reply."

"Ri..ight. I must've missed the cue. You really need to work on the delivery." She surprised herself at the cheekiness of her retort. She would never have said anything like that had they been at work.

"Noted." She glanced up at him and felt a little jolt of happiness when she saw the almost smile on his face. He smiled so very rarely these days that it was sad. But when he did, his whole demeanour changed. His frown would disappear and the warmth in his brown eyes always made her feel like she was melting inside which was somewhat of a worry. And his killer dimples, wow. She was starting to sound like a schoolgirl with a massive crush. Slightly inappropriate. What was wrong with her?

She tried to distract herself. "So, who's this friend that's getting married?" she asked him, leaning back in her seat and relaxing.

He followed her cue as he told her about his friend and their history.

They spent the next couple of hours chatting about lots of inconsequential things and found out things about each other that neither had know before. Like how Emily was addicted to chocolate strawberries and that Hotch hated bachelor parties, which was why he was really not looking forward to tonight. Emily's eyes soon grew heavy and she fell asleep.

She would have been surprised if she knew the number of times Hotch's eyes had alighted on her face as she slept.

They finally arrived and once out of the airport terminal, get in the queue for a cab. Emily could not believe her ears when Hotch told her the name of the hotel where he was staying and where the wedding was going to be held. She was staying at the exact same hotel. After hearing this, she really won't have been surprised at all if they somehow ended up in the same room and the same bed. Ooh, you'd like that, won't you, said the little wicked voice.

"Oh, shut up," she muttered irritably.

"What's that?" Hotch turned to look at her, a question in his eyes.

"Nothing, nothing at all. Oh look, here comes a cab." They'd decided to share a cab since they were going to the same location. She really hoped that there would be no problems with their rooms. That might be the catalyst to her blowing her stack. But luckily, fate seemed to be taking a rest from pushing the both of them together and they were smoothly checked into their respective rooms; hers on the 18th floor and his on the 23rd floor.

They finally parted ways after checking in and Emily breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind her. First a massage, then food, glorious food. Despite the slightly rocky start, things were starting to look up.

I would be very, very grateful if you can review and let me know what you think of my new fic. If you like it enough, I just might be persuaded to post the next chapter on the weekend :)