Spencer felt very out of his element at a exotic dancers club. He knew he had to be there, to warn the women working there of the danger of a serial killer in the area killing those who took up the profession. However all of the lack of clothing and the lights and the alcohol flooded his senses and made it very hard for him to get comfortable, since this wasn't his scene. Not that he didn't like what he was seeing, he just—he thought he should stop before he started overthinking.

He notices you coming off of the stage after a performance. Having seen you dance, and having very much enjoyed the way you did so, Spencer assumed many other men would too, so he approached you when you got away from too many people. "Uh, hi—" he fishes in his pocket quickly, so you don't think he's some creep since he really doesn't look the type to frequent a place like this, and he pulls out his badge to show you. "I saw your dancing, you.."

A soft blush dusts his cheeks as he realises how close the two of you, and then takes in your outfit. He soon shakes his head and averts his eyes back to yours, swallowing hard. "It was great, I just, want you to know there's a man targetting women of your profession.." Spencer offers a police sketch of the Unsub to you, wiping his clammy hand on his trousers. "If you see him, why don't you uh," he swallows again, "give us a call?"

You're an exotic dancer, the general consensus is they already know the dangers posed, so he doesn't know whether his words will even impact you. Spencer considers the fact you probably think he's a weird nerd, just a cop who hates fun—and he glances away for a moment, before he looks back at you and adds, handing over his card, "if not for yourself, for the.. the other women, okay?" God, you're pretty. His eyes drop down to your chest and back almost frantically.