A deleted scene from Aesop, taking place between Rescue and the Epilogue.


"How is she? Is she okay?" Penelope Garcia bustled down the hallway of the hospital, heels clicking on the linoleum floor, worry spanning every inch of her expression.

"She's resting." Spencer nodded as he stood outside the door to Avery's room, finding himself unable to follow her advice to get some sleep.

"How are you?" Garcia asked.

The agent's mouth tensed, and he looked down. Despite the relief, the past, with all its guilt and sadness, had begun to creep in.

"You can't blame yourself, Reid." Penelope offered.

"Like 'ell he can't!"

The thick Manchester accent interrupted the pair and they turned to see a stout man in his sixties standing in the middle of the hall.

"Mr. Mitchell -" Spencer began.

"I knew I was right not to trust you." Geoffrey Mitchell snapped gruffly. "She coulda been killed 'cause of you."

"Mr. Mitchell, Avery's resting. She's going to be fine." Spencer said quickly.

"By whose definition?" The older man retorted scornfully. "I'm goin' to see my daughter."

"She should rest." Spencer shifted to the side, ever so slightly blocking Geoffrey Mitchell's way. The man picked up the motion, stopping in his tracks.

"You goin' to stop me?" He growled.

"Sir," Garcia began quietly. Geoffrey Mitchell looked at her sharply.

"Who are you?" Mr. Mitchell demanded.

"I'm..." Garcia took a breath. "Penelope Garcia. I'm a friend of Avery's... and Reid's. And I think you're being unfair." She looked surprised by her own boldness.

"Unfair?" Mitchell scoffed indignantly. "That's my little girl in there. Lyin' in that hospital bed. Because of you." He glared at Spencer, who avoided his gaze.

"I sat up with her when she was sick. I kept her safe." He continued.

"Mr. Mitchell, you know I want Avery to be safe -" The young man began meekly.

"Then stay away from her." Geoffrey spat. "You're just as like to kill her as not."

Reid barely registered the thud against his shoulder as Geoffrey Mitchell shoved past him into Avery's room.

Penelope breathed a sharp sigh of relief.

"Avery's dad is British..." She said, slightly surprised. "And maaad."

"No, but he's right." Spencer's voice broke. He swallowed, trying to clear the lump from his throat.

"Oh, no, Reid," Her voice was almost pleading. "No, he's not. You... you can't go down that road."

He said nothing, instead turning on his heel and walking briskly in the opposite direction, leaving Garcia standing alone outside Avery's hospital room.


Spencer sat silently in the cold plastic chair. The hospital cafeteria was nearly empty at this hour. Still, he had opted for a remote corner, shielded on three sides by half-walls topped with potted plants.

The cup of coffee in front of him remained untouched. He stared, seeing nothing, volleying between forcing himself not to think and forcing himself not to feel, unable to find a satisfactory combination of both.

He was only vaguely aware of the black suited figure who approached him, standing next to the empty seat on the opposite side of the table.

"Mind if I sit?" Aaron Hotchner asked. The younger agent glanced up at him momentarily in answer. Hotchner sat, fixing Reid with a stoic look and waiting a moment for him to speak first. He didn't.

"Garcia called me at the office." Hotchner said casually.

Nothing.

"Avery's alive because of you." He said.

"She almost died because of me." Reid answered quietly, his voice weak and broken, as though he had been crying, or trying not to cry, for a while.

"Because of Weston." Hotchner corrected. "Not you." He leaned in. "You saved her life."

"But I couldn't save Maeve." He looked up at Hotchner, only just seeing him. His expression was a miserable mix of regret and heartbreak, exhaustion and guilt. "And... And I see Avery lying there, and I just remember..." He trailed off.

"I wish I could tell you that the regret goes away." Hotchner began slowly. "But I think you just come to live with it."

"It still hurts."

"Yeah." Hotchner agreed, his own thoughts growing distant.

The men sat in silence a moment, an unspoken solidarity between them.

"Avery got a job offer in London." Spencer admitted after some time. "I saw a letter at her apartment two weeks ago. The British Museum wants her for restoration work."

Hotchner listened, saying nothing.

"She'd do well," Reid rationalized to himself "in London... She'd be safe."

"Does she want to go?" Hotchner asked.

"She hasn't mentioned it." Spencer said. "I only saw the letter by accident."

Aaron Hotchner thought a moment.

"Avery Mitchell has always struck me as a woman who knows her own mind." He stood, buttoning his suit coat. "If she hasn't said anything about it... I think you have your answer." He looked down at the man who still sat staring at a now cold cup of coffee.

"Grief isn't penance, Reid. Don't let it rule you."

He walked away, leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts.


The light rap at the door frame started Penelope Garcia, and she tip-toed across the floor, pulling aside the privacy curtain to see Spencer standing in the doorway. Reid looked over her shoulder, glancing around the room.

"It's okay, angry British dad is gone." She half-whispered.

"Avery says he's been like that since Pamela died." He explained.

"He is not in your fan club." Garcia remarked. Her expression turned serious. "How are you?"

"Better." Spencer nodded. "Thanks for staying with her."

"Oh, hey," Garcia shrugged off the thanks "it's what I do. I would have brought her flowers if I'd known her favorite kind."

"Blue orchids." He answered without thinking.

"Right." Garcia made a mental note. "Well, I'll, uh... I'll leave you two."

"Thanks again." Spencer said quietly as she scooted from the room, leaving him alone with the sleeping woman.

He crossed the room quietly, pulling the chair close to the side of the bed. He sat in it, elbows on the side of the bed, knuckles grazing his lips as Aaron Hotchner's words rang in his head. Slowly, exhaustion crept in, displacing guilt and doubt, and sleep settled the poor agent's weary mind.