A/N: I have no idea what this is becoming. Expect it to be a three-shot. I have no business writing or posting new chapters on four hours' sleep, so forgive me for any glaring typos!

(Translations for foreign words in footnote.)

When he returns, mop in hand, she's lying in the tub again, legs hooked over each side, forearm draped somewhat dramatically over her eyes. For a second he thinks she's fallen asleep, but the curve of her mouth at his approaching footsteps betrays her. He sighs and gets to mopping up the floor, pushing all the glass to to lie next to the poor musical instrument that had been broken beyond repair.

'What's with the double bass?'

She smirks from under her arm, teeth still bloody. 'It's a cello, actually.'

'Right.'

'There's a big difference,' she sits up. 'I mean, have you seen how big double basses are? I would have been crazy to try climb up the tree with one of those, let alone attempt to get it through the window.'

'As opposed to the perfectly sane alternative of attempting it with a cello,' he retorts dryly as he helps her to her feet. 'Makes sense.'

Her eyes narrow at him. 'Well, I succeeded, didn't I?' her eyes flicker over to the sorry pile of wood and strings. 'It's not in one piece, but I achieved what I set out to do,' she waggles a finger. 'I think you'll find that's the definition of success.'

He raises an eyebrow. 'I don't think you'll be playing it any time soon.'

'Oh no,' she laughs. Suddenly, a warm hand is on his shoulder, gripping tightly, and he maneuvers himself to grab her other arm as she half-spills out of the tub. 'Oh no, no no, no, no, Hotch.' All he can do is stare at his hand in hers as she doubles over in a fit of giggles, swaying on the spot. For the first time since this surreal nighttime escapade began, he realizes she's not entirely sober, and grits his teeth at the idea of his employer's daughter tumbling to her death while trying to break into her own home. Before he can open his mouth to ask if she's alright, she straightens up, slipping out of his grasp and plucking her previously discarded boot from the floor. 'No, you idiot. I wasn't bringing it up here so I could play it.'

He stares at her incredulously. Glances at the instrument briefly before locking eyes with her. Curiosity gets the better of him, although he's already dreading the answer to his next question. 'Why, then? Did you steal it?'

Her jaw juts out and she cocks her head to the side; there's a challenge there, he knows - like mother like daughter comes to mind - but underneath it all, behind the impassivity of her eyes, there's more to it; a glimmer of profound ire. One blink and it's gone, her rage breaking over him like a wave as she senses she's obtained an advantage and breezes past him, waving her hand dismissively before opening the door adjacent to the spot once occupied by the bathtub. 'Aw, don't worry your handsome little head over it, Hotch,' she winks, flashing him a smile. 'It's a long story, and I've got to get ready.'

'Get ready for what?' he splutters, hands braced on the doorframe.

'Ah! Ta gueule!' she rolls her eyes. 'Too many questions. I have a split lip, te acuerdas?' He wonders if the language-switching is on purpose; a haughty (sinful) Franglish-Spanglish ploy to confuddle him and throw him off the scent. 'Look, if it's any consolation, this isn't the first incident of its kind.'

'I gathered that,' he says stiffly. 'But I'm still going to have to inform your mother. Someone's going to have to come round and fix the plumbing,' he runs a hand over his face. 'And the fact that you effectively breached security measures and inundated half the wing is going to require quite a bit of paperwork.'

'And the fact that you broke down a door,' she adds.

'Not helpful.'

'Sorry. How about I pay for the plumber and you keep my mother out of it, thus ensuring the paperwork is kept to the bare minimum?'

'The insinuation that I should lie to my boss aside…would you really be paying for the plumber?'

'I would,' she nods seriously. 'I mean, my mother would be financing it, but I will physically hand over the credit card she pays off every month. Does that count? it seems quite 'potato, potahto' to me.'

He laughs. 'No.'

'You really are no fun, you know. I am sorry, though.' He hears the sincerity in her voice even though she's turned away from him, delicate shoulders slumped in defeat. 'Sorry that I've been so shitty when I caused this mess to begin with. I've had a clusterfuck of a night, not that that's any excuse. And I'm usually much better at climbing through windows.'

'When you're not toting a giant string instrument around,' he concedes.

She peers over he shoulder at him with a baleful expression. 'Exactly.' In the half-light the moon is casting into her bedroom, she suddenly looks painfully small and gaunt, shivering in her tiny dress, one knee bent to compensate for her other foot being bootless. The blood's stopped flowing from her lip, but the faint pink streaks on her chin and neck cause a bloom of concern to curl in his chest.

'Tell you what,' he says gently, taking a step toward her with his hands raised - as non-threatening as possible. 'Why don't you get changed, then I'll take a look at your lip and help you clean the rest of this up while you tell me what the hell you planned to do with that cello.'

She sniffs, considering his proposition. 'D'accord. I guess it's only fair.' Brushing his shoulder as she reaches for the robe at the back of the door, she ogles him shamelessly, sucking her lip between her teeth. It's as if he's only just realized how close they are - almost toe to toe - and he hears his heartbeat in his ears, wills himself not to react to her gaze (your boss's daughter, remember?), the hairs on his arms raised in something close to anticipation. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she twists round, so sudden that his arms instinctively envelop her as of their own accord. 'You really are quite handsome, Hotch. I draw the line at giving you a show, though,' she breathes, pressing a featherlight kiss to his jawline. 'So out you go for now!'

In one swift movement, she catapults him back into the wreck of the bathroom and whips the door shut behind her, leaving him slack-jawed in disbelief.

'Em-'

'First aid kit's in the bottom left-hand cabinet!'

He rolls his eyes. 'Thank you.'

As he turns to investigate, the door is flung violently open and her face peeks around sheepishly, a curtain of dark, damp hair cascading down one very bare shoulder.

'Say, you didn't happen to grab any food while you were downstairs, did you? I'm starving!'

I already know what's going to happen next - but any guesses as to why she ended up with this cello?

Reviews are love!

Translations:

- (FR) Ta gueule! - Shut your mouth / shut up.

- (ES) Te acuerdas? - Remember?

- (FR) D'accord - Okay / Fine (in agreement)