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Samantha stood on the boardwalk outside of her shop and stared out at the waves crashing onto the beach. The sound soothed her like no other, as did standing as she was with the wind whipping at her hair and face. It was another reminder that she was here, she was standing; she wasn't in the hospital, she hadn't been shot.

It was just one of those freaky Siren Cove things she'd been told about. Nothing more, nothing less.

It wasn't, or hadn't been, another enforcer out to remove her from the equation.

Even huddled in her long down parka, Samantha gave a shudder. Parkas were nice, but they didn't protect from this kind of cold. This cold was deep down inside her in a place she'd thought long healed.

When her teeth started to chatter, she gave up her solitary stance and turned back to the shop, locking the door behind her. Tomorrow, she told herself. She'd open tomorrow.

She just needed another day to recover, to get her wits back about her, and get on with living this new life she wanted so badly.

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"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking. And it actually...well, I wanted to ask you a favor. I was going to text you later this afternoon to ask but now you're here. So." She took a breath to steady herself. "Do you know anyone who'd be willing to teach me self-defense? Not the girl classes that show you how to break a hold and get to a whistle or something. I mean..how to fight with the intent of doing damage?" she added with a rueful little smile. "Not that that would have helped with the mummy or the guy that shot me, but I think it'd help me feel a little more confident and a little less like a victim."

She sort of hoped that he could do it, but if he wasn't comfortable with that, she'd take whatever recommendation he could give her.

"I know someone. I know a Krav Maga instructor that would take you on," he said. Roosevelt would have taught her himself but he knew that was a super fast way make her hate him. He probably wouldn't be able to be objective, or he would be and she would resent him for it. Plus there was a time issue.

"It's a martial art and it's meant to disable and disarm an opponent as quickly and efficiently as possible. I think it would be perfect for you. They can teach you but I can help you with it too. I can also help you learn to shoot if you'd like."

Long-honed litigation skills kept her from blurting out an agreement to either. Instead, she thought about his offer, playing out the pros and cons quickly as if she was still a prosecutor weighing out the terms of a plea agreement.

"I'd like to learn that kind of fighting, I think. If you think someone without much going for her in the height department could manage it. I'm not a big, strong man after all," she quipped while her hand reached over to press lightly against his bicep.

"But I know I'd love to learn how to shoot. My aunt was against all types of guns so I wasn't allowed near them. I think mastering what hurt me would do me a world of good. And, yeah, it sounds like fun."

"I've had my ass kicked by women smaller than you using it so I think you'll be just fine," he said with a grin. Roosevelt was glad that he could help a bit. The sort of problem she was having wasn't the sort that you could generally fix in the way that he tended to fix things. It felt good knowing he could do something.

"When you're feeling better we'll go down to the range and you can practice a bit and then see about getting a gun of your own if you'd like."

"Oh really?" Samantha said, finger to her chin as she considered. "I think that's prime motivation to learn right there. I think I'd enjoy kicking your ass, though it would probably take me years to get that competent. I do like the idea of learning how to shoot." She couldn't help the little laugh. "Might not add a screw you to dear old Auntie while I'm slaying a few demons, huh?"

"It would take a while, especially because I wouldn't just let you win," Roosevelt said. Not only did Samantha not seem like the sort to appreciate that it wasn't in Roosevelt's nature. He was far too competitive to allow himself to lose without a really good reason.

"We can set up a target with her name on it if you want," he said with a laugh. "Might be cathartic."

"I'd rather put the name of the guy that shot me and robbed me of six months of my life," Samantha said, all seriousness. "I've moved past most of the crap with my aunt, but I like the idea of giving the slimy shit some of his own, that's for damn sure."

"I'm not entirely sure if that's healthy but since I'm not a shrink then I think we can definitely do that," he said, admiring her spirit. Roosevelt had been shot, he knew how strong the urge was to shoot the other person back, especially to make sure they couldn't do it again.

"You may have a point, but I'm not going to lose a lot of sleep over it. Probably stems from not being there during his trial. Maybe I'll change my mind when it comes down to it?" Samantha raised one shoulder, then lowered it. "But I do like the idea of learning to shoot. A lot."

"As soon as you feel up for it we'll go to the range," Roosevelt said with a nod, admiring her spirit. She may not be into a lot of the things that he was but she had a fire in her that he found incredibly attractive, which was a bit inconvenient considering her current illness. There was enough time to explore that later though.