Author's Note: Thank you guys for the kind words! I, too, love the friendship between Hotch and Rossi. I love the few times on the show when Aaron would bear his soul to Rossi and no one else, it has always felt so genuine and I was inspired to dive deeper into that dynamic.

There'll be days I lose the battle
Grace says that it doesn't matter
- MercyMe "Greater"

Beep. Beep. Beep. Dave was nodding off as he sat on the lumpy couch, covered by a thin blanket. They were waiting on more bloodwork and a visit from the physician, but had at least been moved to a private room. Aaron was sleeping soundly, hooked up to a system of IVs and machines and covered by no less than four blankets. Dave could see he was still chilly, but he seemed comfortable once they began administering pain medication and fluids.

He looked up when he heard footsteps stop outside the doorway, blinking his eyes against the dim light of the room. Aaron's light sensitivity made it impossible to keep the room bright, and Dave had lost track of time. His phone kept buzzing with texts from the team asking for updates, but he'd gone radio silence for the time being. He felt like he was in the middle of a shark's feeding frenzy, but there was nothing else to say, and Aaron was already unhappy he'd said what he did. He heard the doorknob turn, and footsteps entering. Peering around the curtain, an older man with very little hair leaned into the room.

"Aaron Hotchner?" he asked, nodding to the man in the bed. Rossi nodded.

"Correct." He said, rubbing his eyes. He figured it was only about dinner time, but it felt like midnight. He arched his lower back a little, stretching the tired away. He was too old to be sleeping on hospital couches.

"How long has he been sleeping?" the older man asked, peering down at his chart with a furrowed brow. He seemed to get lost in the information for a moment, which gave Dave enough time to look at his phone and check the time.

"About an hour, off and on."

"Alright. Well, I'm Dr. Manson. We've received the results of his bloodwork. You must be David Rossi?"

"Yes." Dave replied, standing up now to indicate he was willing and able to pay attention. His body was so stiff. "He's authorized me to take his results."

"I see that here. Well, Mr. Rossi, he appears to be stable right now. His results don't indicate any complications, which is very good news. There are a few things we will keep an eye out for – blood pressure, kidneys, any presenting neurological issues. Generally, these things are rare in aseptic cases, but in patients of his age we are hypervigilant. Once his symptoms have improved some we will send him for some imaging tests," the doctor paused, looking over at Rossi.

Dave nodded, taking all the information in quietly.

"Now, while he's sleeping, you should take the opportunity to get yourself some food. He gets three meals a day while he's here, and he won't be cleared to eat solid food for another few days…I can't tell you that you should use his vouchers, but they're on the table…if you catch my drift." The doctor winked and closed his chart. "The cafeteria closes at 8pm, but they can bring fluids and small snacks from the staff room if you ask. No visitors for at least another 24 to 48 hours. I am sure people have been asking, but we can't clear him for visitors until he's not contagious anymore."

Dave nodded, looking back at his sleeping friend. He didn't look peaceful, but he was still. His face was pale, his hair matted on his head with sweat. He looked thin, almost fragile, in this light and hooked up to so many machines. It occurred to him, just then, that Aaron Hotchner just couldn't catch a break. Out of everyone on the team, he seemed to be the biggest magnet for disaster, and yet he handled it always with his chin up. Dave had no idea how he did it, but it never ceased to amaze him. He supposed that was why he was here now, because Aaron deserved not to always be alone, even if it was his choice to be that way often.

The doctor performed a quiet exam of the patient before he excused himself from the room and swept through the curtain, leaving the Rossi and Hotch in silence once more. Just the whirring and beeping of the machines was keeping them company now. Dave's stomach grumbled and he glanced at the table, the pile of meal vouchers stacked neatly. He sighed a deep, grumbling sigh. Hospital food would have to do.

"He's doing just fine…" Rossi said, listening to his Italian leather shoes squeaking on the linoleum floors. He was nearing the cafeteria and could smell the feast awaiting him. On the other end of the line was Spencer Reid, who was worried and struggling with how to show it.

"I disagree. He's got meningitis, Rossi, he's definitely not fine. He could have serious complications, long lasting side effects, a relapse…"

"Hey, Reid, you need to slow down. I'll say it again – he is doing just fine. He's showing no signs of complications, his bloodwork was good, he'll probably be getting some scans tomorrow, they're watching him closely."

Reid sighed and tugged at a lock of hair that had fallen in his face as he paced through his den. He had medical books strewn about, all open to pages highlighting cases on meningitis. He had hoped to help with his information, but all it was doing was making it worse inside his own head as usual.

"Can we see him?" the young man asked, though he knew the answer. "I'd feel better if I could just see him."

"Kid, you wouldn't feel better if you saw him now. Believe me. When he's feeling better, I'll see if he's up for a video chat or something…maybe Garcia can help us set something up. He will be here a while, but we can try to make something happen."

"That would be nice," Spencer began. "I'd like that. I think everyone would. Not knowing, not being able to go see him…it just…it sucks, Rossi."

Rossi chuckled knowingly and sat on a small bench outside the cafeteria and leaning back against the wall. "I get it, kid. I do. But he's extremely contagious for a few more days, and…"

"But, that's the thing, Rossi, you don't get it. You're there." Reid cut the older man off, tugging now at his hair. He was frustrated and obsessively focused on Hotch, he couldn't do or think of anything else. He was desperately searching for relief, but he knew there wouldn't be any until his boss and friend returned to the BAU: crisp suit, cropped hair and furrowed brow. It was his safe space, and right now he felt like the Earth was spinning off its axis.

"I'm sorry, you're right. You're right," the older man conceded, sighing. "As soon as I can find a way for you to talk to him or see him, I will. You have my word. Right now, I'm going to find something edible in this cafeteria and try to choke it down before he wakes up. As of right now, he's sleeping peacefully, which is the best thing he can be doing. The minute anything changes, if it does, I'll let you all know."

"Thanks, Rossi."