Reid is prompt, because of course he is. He's trained extensively in de-escalation, negotiation, empathy-- things that are overkill in the average conversation, but that he employs instinctively when dealing with someone dangerous, no matter how well-contained. He doesn't truly judge himself to be in any danger or he'd never have come (he's not as reckless as his teammates say he is, honestly), but he's been on the job long enough now that it's just instinct. It helps that it's motivated primarily by compassion, and not fear.

For someone as tall, lanky, and, well, reedy as he is, he's remarkably unafraid. That doesn't mean he isn't nervous. It's just a more normal sort of social nerves. Reid has a loose cardigan on over a patterned button-up and a thin tie, and except for the pistol in a front holster, he could be ten years younger than he really is and wandering around some campus. Spencer gives a characteristic wave when Frank opens the door, smiling back with less reservation.

He really is excited. He has an old-school yellow flip-top notepad in his messenger bag, ready for notes.

"Hi. Thank you for having me-- and agreeing to this-- again." He reminds himself not to just lurch into twenty questions the second the door opens, which is really progress, for Spencer. "You really didn't have to."

That's high on his list of questions: why had he? The human urge to unburden himself, to share? Spencer would believe it of anyone.