If he'd stopped to think, Sam wouldn't have asked at all. He would have realized that the topic hadn't come up before for a reason, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, like an accidentally discharged bullet.

Those words hung in the air and he watched her swallow hard, a French fry paused halfway to her mouth.

If he'd been smart, he would have asked her some night just before they fell asleep. She could have let the darkness cover the unease written on her face. She would have kept her voice steady while she answered, but both her calm and the words would have been a lie. It would have been a dignified lie, though, rather than the messy, uncomfortable truth that daylight demands.

Sam wasn't smart, though, and he'd just asked Jules about the scar on her wrist in Maggie's Delightful Donuts Diner. In doing so, he'd ruined what up until that moment was a fantastic lunch with the woman he loved, whose lips were now pressed together in a thin, tense line.

Jules Callaghan placed the fry on the edge of her plate like it had suddenly grown mold, then took a very long swig of her coffee.

"How many women have you slept with?" she asked suddenly, and all his thoughts of her scar and the deep trouble he was in were forgotten.

"I… could ask you the same question."

She laughed. He loved the way her teeth showed when she laughed and he felt the metaphorical noose around his neck beginning to loosen. He started to hope that maybe they could share a piece of key lime pie and forget that he'd brought it up at all.

"Two. Your turn."

He should have known that she'd shoot the question right back at him. He blushed and ran his fingers through his short, blonde hair.

"A lot more than two." He focused on his strawberry milkshake and wondered how he'd dig himself out of this one. "Only two, really? You've only slept with one guy other than me?"

"You didn't ask how many guys I've slept with."

An awkward, staccato laugh burst from his throat as his brain struggled to make sense of what she'd just implied. Jules was smiling at him, completely unflappable, watching as his train of thought screeched to a halt in the station.

"You…"

She was enjoying seeing him twist in the wind. His mouth opened and closed several times and she giggled, being reminded of the motions a fish makes trying to breathe on land.

"I…?" Jules prompted as she reached for Sam's milkshake, gently loosening his clenched fingers from around the base of the tall glass. She ran her tongue along her upper lip before closing her mouth around the straw, finishing the last of the sugary drink before Sam even thought to object. She pushed the empty glass back toward him and grinned.

"You okay, Samtastic?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine." He carefully searched her face and body language for any indication that she was pulling his leg, but found none. "So… you've slept with two women and you didn't think to tell me?"

"You never asked." She leaned over the table toward him, offering a French fry. When he didn't take it, she popped it into her own mouth and chewed with gusto. "Sam, when you ask a question, you run the risk of getting an answer you're not expecting. Sometimes the answer is one you want to hear, but sometimes it isn't. Either way, you've got to be ready to hear it."

Sam rubbed his face and groaned, realizing her point. "I'm sorry I asked about the scar, Jules."

Her face softened. She reached for one of his hands, covering it with both of her own.

"It's okay. I just wanted to warn you that there are things… once you know them, you can't forget, no matter how much you might want to." Jules spoke so softly he had to strain to hear her over the clattering of the diner lunch rush.

Sam took her hands and turned them palms-up, running his fingers along the thickened tissue that began at the base of her right thumb. He gently massaged the edges of the pink scar, back and forth as if he were memorizing it with his hands.

"Jules, you don't have to tell me. But there is nothing I could learn about you that I'd want to forget. I love every piece of you, including this one," he said, pulling her hand to his lips and gently kissing the angry patch of skin.

Jules blushed. Leave it to his Jules, Sam thought, to hint at secret Sapphic trysts without batting an eyelash but to blush at such a simple gesture.

"You could tell me that this scar is from a subject with a knife who got you when you guard was down or a wild bear you wrestled in the woods. It would just be further proof to me that you're the toughest chick I've ever met. You could tell me that it's a bite from a piranha from the time you hiked through the Amazon and I'd ask you when we can go back. Tell me it's from the car accident that killed your first true love Amanda-" at this, she finally cracked a smile, "- and I'll secretly thank the universe for getting her out of the way so I could be your second true love."

Sam paused to gather his thoughts before he forged on, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could censor them. "If someone did this to you, I'd be so angry at them, because I never want to see you hurt. Even though I know you can take care of yourself. But if you… if it was something that—"

"Sam." Her fingers curled into the palm of her hand and her lips twitched as she clenched her teeth and Sam was reminded of how complicated his lover was. He searched her face for an indication if he should abandon the conversation and apologize profusely or if he should press on, but her features were inscrutable.

"Jules, it wouldn't matter. Not to me."

She nodded and pulled her hands away from his, cradling the scarred wrist in the crook of her elbow. Sam tried not to see it as a rejection. He knew it wasn't about him, but it still stung that he couldn't find words to convince her that he would never judge her.

"We should get back," she said as she counted out a generous tip and slid it under the ketchup bottle. He nodded and reached for his jacket.

"Jules, I'm sorry I upset you."

"You didn't,," she said, reaching across the table to caress the side of his face with her palm. He knew it was a lie but he knew better than the argue.

They were silent as they left the diner. Jules automatically climbed into the driver's seat of the SUV.

"Jules… that thing, about you, and other women… That was just you making a point, right?"

She turned and flashed a smile at him. "Do you really want to know?"

"Would you ever make out with a chick in front of me?" he asked, as he buckled himself in beside her.

"Would you want me to?"

"Is that a trick question? Yeah, maybe in my fantasies I'd want to see that, but in real life I don't want you to make out with anyone but me."

She nodded and smiled broadly. He watched as shadows of her thoughts flickered across her face, the smile fading as they drove toward HQ. After a long silence, Jules pulled the SUV over and put it in park.

"It's a burn," she said, holding her wrist out toward him. She seemed about to continue, but then pulled back out onto the road. They drove the rest of the way to HQ without speaking.

"Jules?" Sam asked as they walked toward the building.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For lunch."

She smiled and nodded, unconsciously rubbing at the pink mark on her wrist. She paused to press a kiss to his cheek before they went inside.

"You're welcome. C'mon, let's keep the peace."