She knows. She knows what losing his memory means to him. But Rogue also knew what it was like to have the memory of being yourself-and-not-yourself, cravings that you couldn't shake, another person who had been you stuffed inside your head. Both ways were bad. But she was kind of glad he couldn't recall the need to chew human flesh.

She shifted a little uncomfortably, took another sip of whiskey, "Yeah?"