Chapter Text
Hotch’s mind turned on before the phone started to ring, registering that the feeling of a body pressed tightly against his had vanished. He moved around his fingers, realizing that they’d no longer been holding a hand. His figure rolled over in the bed, picking up the receiver without opening his eyes.
“Hotchner,”
“I have a 7 AM wake up call for Dr. Reid. Happy Groundhog Day!” he groaned, eyes darting open. He saw Spencer in the bed across from him, the same pajamas from two days ago. He snapped out of bed, back into the corner.
“Do not play,” he shouted, causing Spencer to shift tiredly. “Don’t you dare,” he said, tone quieter now as the radio alarm pierced through his ears.
Who is that? Who is that, Emerging from his burrow? Who can see today that we won’t see until tomorrow? Is it a squirrel, is it a beaver? Kind of both but not quite either! That’s right, Woodchuck-Chuckers, it’s Groundhog Day!
Hotch ran over to his jacket, fumbling for a bottle of painkillers and swallowing six without water. He heard Reid fall out of the bed, the same as yesterday and the day before. He threw on his shoes at the sound, grabbing his work phone from his suit pocket before fumbling over to the counter for water. The young man watched from the floor with confusion, his brows knitted together. “Hey, did you know that the army corrected that theory? The percentage is around 40, now,” He cried out at the innocent comment, slamming the door from behind him.
“Garcia, I need you to get me a list of anyone, anyone even interested in medicine in this town. Check therapists, alternative mendicants, surgeons, doctors, addicts, whoever you can find in town. Ask them if they’re available today, and give me a list of addresses. And if a word comes out your mouth to anyone about this, you won’t walk into your office ever again. Got it?”
“Oh, God, yes- yes, sir.” She whispered, tripping on her words. “It’s a little after seven right now; I just left for work. Give me a minute, I’m driving as fast as I can, please don’t fire me yet,” Hotch groaned in frustration, nearly slamming his fists onto the wall of the hallway manically. He hung up in anger, storming down to the reception desk.
“Is there a doctor in town today?” the older woman looked up from her novel, smiling politely.
“Good morning, handsome, and happy Groundhog Day! I’m sure that Dr. Kensington is in; she’s an excellent help with my sons if that’s what you need. She’s on 23rd and Park, dear,” He ran out without thanking the woman, the cold and parades are damned. He shut the glass door of the office from behind him loudly, panting from his disorganized running. A woman in scrubs and a lab coat sat behind the counter, whispering to a nurse quietly before he came in. Her dirty blonde hair was held up with a pencil, and she seemed young and kind, similar to JJ.
“What kind of doctor are you?” he gasped, head pounding.
“I’m a urologist… Caleb, be a darling and hand this man a clipboard to get checked in, thank you.” her tone was poised, sprinkled with uneasiness. “I have a neurosurgery residency at a hospital in Pittsburgh, and I’m also licensed in psychiatry. How can I help you?” A doctor of three, just like Reid.
“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner; I work for the behavioral analysis unit at the FBI. But, uh- I’m not here for that. I think that I’ve lost my mind,” he said, quickly scribbling his info down and handing it over to the technician at one of the desks.
“Come in, I’ll try to help in any way I can,” she opened the door behind the window, her arm extending as an invitation into the exam room. “Some routine questions before we start- What’s your sex life like?” he froze, tensing up at the uncomfortable question.
“Non-existent,”
“Are you asexual, or just not active with a partner?”
“My wife left a month ago, but we probably haven’t been in bed for months now,”
“Do you get off regularly, then?”
“I guess,” he flushed, eyes to his feet.
“That's normal. Sorry for the awkward questions, I just needed to get them out of the way.” she smiled politely, flipping through a notebook. “You get aroused normally, correct?” he hummed in response, playing with the paper-like fabric of his exam gown. “Great, you urinate without any pain?” she continued with questions until the man from before had brought out a dark manilla folder with his name on it, “your charts from the system,” she explained, reading them carefully in silence for a few minutes.
“Do you get nightmares a lot?”
“That’s the thing, this feels like a nightmare. The same day repeated itself for the third time today. Every morning, I pick up the phone to a wake-up call for Spencer, then the radio starts playing this obnoxious song- sorry. I’m stuck; I’m just stuck,” the guy from earlier came barging in again, breaking every ounce of professionalism. He whispered something in her ear, causing her to groan.
“I’m a bit busy here. No, I don’t care. Fine,” she snapped, reaching for her prescription booklet. “The mayor’s kid is here, try coming back tomorrow, he’s going to probably take up what few hours I have today with dumb questions. I’ll write you some prescriptions for antipsychotics and inhibitors, but that’s all I can do right now. Sorry,” stunned, he took the small stack of blue papers as he watched her walk out, his phone chirping.
“Garcia,”
“I sent you the list; I’m a bit swamped today, so I can’t do much else for you. Happy Groundhog Day!” she sang, the phone call ending before he could have the last word. Half of his day consisted of visits to every doctor, alternative therapist, pseudoscientist, veterinarian, even priest in town; none of them able to help him, only helping themselves with the outrageous prices.
“It’s your karma,”
“It’s just toxins,”
“It’s your bladder,”
“You have Satan within you; we must exorcise at once,”
“Would you consent to an enema?”
“I specialize in psychosis, in pigs.”
“You must be delusional,”
He had gone to anyone he could think of with a scientific background, his head spinning as he wandered the streets. A part of him wondered if he was suffering from some sort of schizophrenic break, the other convinced that the town and his team was simply playing a completely impractical joke on just him. He asked a man for directions to a pharmacy when he’d got the golden advice he was looking for. “If you don’ feel right in the head, brother, just head on over to Dom’s. I drink, and drink, like an alcoholic little hamster on a wheel until I’m not feeling things. ‘S great,” he slurred, clearly buzzed himself.
It was nearly dark when Hotch had somehow managed to remember his way back to the Inn, let alone his room, which was thankfully unlocked (he had bet it away after his 20th round of shots in a game of poker, promising a man with a large mustache covered in beer foam it was a key to the White House), his legs tiredly dragging into the bedroom. His face snapped over lazily when he heard muffled whispers from the bathroom, probably coming from Reid, the crazy kid.
“Mrs. Hotchner- Miss Brooks, I hear you, and I am so sorry that you thought that. This has all just been a big misunderstanding. No! No, I have not! That’s entirely inappropriate to be asking me. Calm down, please,” he fumbled between pauses, Hotch’s brows knitting together at the drunken thought that the man whose pants he’d wanted to get into was on the phone with his ex-wife, practically arguing. He stripped to his boxers before throwing on a hoodie, tossing in the sheets in his bed until he thought he looked like a burrito, his head throbbing. “What the hell is wrong with that woman?” he heard Spencer shout, followed by bottles dropping to the bathroom tile.
“You have weird hair,” Hotch whispered, watching his subordinate storm into the room in a daze. The sun was set, yet it’d been early enough; Hotch had remembered that Reid was probably getting ready for dinner by now, his hair tied into a carefree topknot and only one shoe on his feet. “Hey, hey- what are you doing?” his tone was drawn out drunkenly, his mind utterly numb.
“We can talk about this tomorrow; I can’t deal with you right now, Hotch,”
“That was Haley on the phone, so I think -hic- you need to deal with that now, kiddo,” he laughed loudly yet slowly as if he were in quicksand.
“She just said that I should've had your phone. I only picked it up because it wouldn’t stop ringing. See you tomorrow,” He watched Reid swiftly throw the blackberry onto the cheap mattress, sprinting out the door. Hotch didn’t bother calling his wife, instead of bothering to vomit into the musty toilet in the bathroom. He emptied the booze from his stomach after what felt like hours, groggily shuffling back to bed; tomorrow would be a new day. People would stop being cryptic, and he and the team would be back to work at Quantico. His wishes were never this simple, but then again, Groundhog Day didn’t seem to be either.