She knew that she'd pushed Scott too far when he swore darkly under his breath and grabbed her arm in a grip that was nearly bruising in force. As he dragged her toward the door of the bar, she defiantly turned and blew a kiss at Dominic over her shoulder.

Rogue knew she was in for the lecture of her life. For some reason she didn't quite grasp, it didn't matter that she was way too old to need Scott playing protector for her and censoring her actions. Strangely enough, she was almost looking forward to the upcoming rampage. She'd gotten used to these post-misbehavior lectures, and in a very odd twist of fate's bad sense of humor, she now accepted the lectures she should revolt against the way she had when she was younger and usually deserved them.

It suddenly occurred to Rogue to wonder why that was -- had she regressed to the childish philosophy that any attention was good attention? That she had a deeper need for twisted masochism than she'd previously believed? She needed the reassurance that someone cared if she lived or died?

As Scott towed her across the street toward the entrance of an all night parking garage, Rogue decided that she should probably leave philosophizing for when she was sober.