Ah. Of course. Miles knows well the cost that comes with the assumptions of others -- how it can be when you know you can't control what they see, but only how they see it. He should have known that had something to do with it, that it couldn't possibly just be neglect or ignorance on Bel''s part. Bel's too smart for that, far too aware. Miles suddenly feels a flicker of shame for having asked.

He doesn't say anything in response to that except a hum of acknowledgment, one he thinks will speak louder than words to Bel. He tugs off Bel's other boot and sets it aside with the other, glancing back up at Bel as he braces one hand against the couch next to Bel to pull himself up -- just as the hem of Bel's undershirt hitches up, just enough to show the strange black scarring underneath.

Miles has seen it before, on Clark's arm, Hiro's face. He knows what it looks like. He goes still where he is, before he can haul himself up, and his hand goes to Bel's hip before he can stop himself, his stomach doing a little flip as his fingers close over it. Acting without thinking -- maple mead, surely. His hand seizes, but he doesn't withdraw it, even after he looks back up at Bel, the easy grin replaced with a look of open concern.

"Bel," Miles says slowly, "what happened?"

He knows what happened. He knows what must have happened. What he wants to know is why Bel didn't tell him, because he totally doesn't have double standards or anything.