He has to tell her. "Over there, on that wall?" Pointing to the other side of the bar, he continues. "There's a door. That door is the only way out, the way back home. I can see it, but you can't. You've been stuck at this place ever since you got here, Faye, and it probably annoys you more than anything else. Except for your partner, Spike, but that's a whole different story and I can't really tell you why he bothers you the way he does; I don't know him very well."

Sure, he can guess, but he doesn't really want to and he won't inflict what's probably his own skewed perspective onto her.

"You don't really remember much of anything, do you." It isn't exactly a question; it's more a confirmation of what he's been suspecting.

"How much do you want me to tell you?" Movement from the corner of his eye tells him the food is here; he takes one plate from the tray and sets it in front of Faye; the other one goes to him. He lets the rat take care of the place settings, though; unwrapping his silverware from inside the rolled-up napkin, he spreads butter over his pancakes and throws on a dollop of syrup.

The whole time, he watches Faye so very carefully. It must be awful not to know what's going on, and he really doesn't want to be the one to tell her that this isn't the first time she's lost her memory.