It wouldn't have occurred to Rogue to expect him to consider whether she would be afraid of or unable to handle something. She'd worked past that during her early years with the X-Men, and since then she'd become a skilled fighter and pilot and led her own team. Considering her own emotional limitations wasn't something she'd ever done at that, and after Alcatraz, her focus had become thinking of the others first, herself never.

Frowning in concentration, she examined the path he'd laid out, trying and failing to see any other option. Not that she knew about the facility to even make a semi-decent stab at finding one; she had to trust him on this. "You'd have to hold onto my wrist, not my hand," she informed him, moving to zip up the sleeves so her wrist and the palms of her hands were covered the grey material. "I lost my gloves and it's too risky to try touching you while we do this - you could end up incapacitated and then we'd both be in a world of hurt."