Hey, everyone! Sorry for the slightly long wait for the update. Once again, I have to say that I am shocked over the response to this story. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to review, or add this story to their favourites and/or alerts. It really does mean a lot, no matter how cliché that may sound.

Disclaimer- I do not own anything to do with Criminal Minds, and I probably never will.

Enjoy!

Hotch slowly walked out of Reid's hospital room, a sigh escaping his lips. As much as he didn't want to tell the team, he knew that he couldn't deny Reid this. The boy already had far too much on his plate.

Before he'd joined the FBI, Hotch had thought that the hardest part of the job would be keeping a good outlook on life when he'd constantly be seeing the evil side of people, especially when he'd moved up to the unit chief position. But no, the hardest part was this. Breaking bad news to his teammates‒ his family‒ about one of their one, trying to reassure them all. He'd experienced it more than once, and Hotch sincerely hoped that this was the last time he'd have to, knowing that it wouldn't be. The weight of being unit chief was heavier on his shoulders than ever, and he didn't know how to relieve it.

Hotch saw the rest of the team sitting in the small hospital waiting room that they had originally been lead to. His eyes briefly met Rossi's as he walked over to join the group.

The unit chief sat down in one of the uncomfortable white hospital chairs and leaned forward.

"What was that?" Morgan asked after a moment. "What did the doctor say?"

Hotch sighed. "He told me that they had an idea of what caused the seizure. Glioblastoma," he told them in the voice he usually reserved for the office.

He received concerned looks in return. "What the Hell is that?" Morgan demanded.

Hotch took another deep breath. Here it goes. . . "A brain tumour."

"What?" JJ asked, a hand over her mouth.

"But. . . they just said it was an idea, right?" Garcia asked, concern written all over her face. "They don't know do they?"

Rossi and Prentiss stayed silent, obviously deep in thought.

"No, they don't. Reid got an MRI earlier‒" Hotch was cut off by Morgan, who had a look of betrayal plastered onto his face.

"An MRI? And he didn't tell us?" Morgan put his head in his hands. "Is this really happening, Hotch?"

There it was again. The obligation to reassure this group of people, to protect them from bad news and tragedy. Could they not see that he didn't have all the answers? But this was his duty, and Hotch knew that he had to do this.

"Honestly, I don't know. The results will be back by the end of the day," Hotch said.

Morgan stood up suddenly, and walked away, heading down the hallway

"I'll go after him," Prentiss reassured them, and followed the upset man.

"I think we should all get some air," Hotch told the others.

JJ and Garcia headed to the women's washroom, probably to wipe away the tears in their eyes.

Rossi remained. He looked Hotch in the eye. "Are you all right, Aaron? This must be hard for you."

"I'm as fine as I can be," the younger man replied honestly. "We don't know anything for sure, Dave."

Rossi nodded, "want to get some coffee?"

Hotch nodded, and the pair sighed and stood up.

Reid jumped a little when the door opened, and Dr. Collins stepped in. A few hours had passed since he'd last seen the man. The team had been in a many more times to check on him, but he'd sent them away each time after only a few minutes. Reid knew that it wasn't fair to them, that they were only trying to help him, but he really couldn't deal with all the attention at the moment.

"Hello, Spencer," the man greeted him. "How are you feeling?" And, after a shrug in response from Reid, he commented, "I see you didn't eat the food that was brought to you," and gestured to the untouched plate of food that one of the many nurses had brought in a couple of hours earlier.

"Not hungry," Reid told him, and nervousness overcame him. "Did you get the test results back?"

Dr. Collins sat down in the chair next to the bed. Reid inwardly sighed. He could tell from the man's behaviour that he didn't want to overwhelm his patient any more by standing over him, and that pointed to bad news. "Yes, we did. Spencer. . . I'm very sorry to tell you this. . ." Oh, God, no, Reid thought. No! This isn't happening. Thoughts kept crowding in Reid's head. Get it together, Spencer. It's not like you can control this . . . but maybe if you had just been normal . . . no, stop. "But your tests showed an obvious brain tumour. Now . . ."

Reid zoned out for a moment, his own thoughts and worries attacking him. 40% of all people diagnosed with a brain tumour live for at least a year. 19% live for at least 5 years. 14% live for at least 10 years . . . The genius snapped out of his faze.

". . . You said you already knew a lot about brain tumours. The follow-up is a biopsy," Dr. Collins told him. "We have to figure out what type of tumour it is. Are you all right, Spencer?"

Of course not! Was what Reid desperately wanted to shout. Did doctors have no sympathy? Instead, Reid decided to say meekly, "go on."

The doctor nodded. "We'll perform the biopsy tomorrow morning. You will be unconscious for the procedure. Is that okay?"

Again, Reid wanted to say no, that he wasn't comfortable with people working on his precious brain‒ his only weapon‒ while he was unconscious. "Yes. I know how the procedure goes, doctor," Reid told the man stiffly. "Are we done?"

Dr. Collins nodded. "There's a pretty good chance that it's a low-grade tumour, and no matter how stupid this may sound, try not to worry about it too much, Spencer."

"It's Dr. Reid," Reid told him, and the older man nodded.

Dr. Collins left the room and Reid to his thoughts.

"Reid" and review, please!

(I found this chapter kind of dull and somewhat boring. . .)