*smiles a little, now, because you're so damned kind, and if she had been mugged, she'd sleep easier knowing you (six-foot-four and he had her at gunpoint) were on the prowl for the bastard*
*and on the tail end of that smile is a deeper flush and the sudden sting of tears, but she lifts her chin and looks you squarely in the eye, because one thing she is not (and refuses to be), is a victim* He hurt me, yes. It's a hazard of the job. *qualifies unnecessarily* My other job.