"For the last time, it wasn't my fault!"
Hobbes shook his head as he helped himself to another cookie from the table. "You just keep telling yourself that, Fawkes."
Rolling his eyes, Darien grabbed his drink and dropped down into a nearby chair. "You're the one who lost the keys in the first place," he muttered. "And you're the one who told me break into your apartment since we couldn't get in any other way. So mind telling me why you're blaming me?"
"I figured you'd use those criminal talents of yours to get in," Hobbes shot back. "How was I supposed to know that you'd break a window? Hell, I could have done that on my own."
"I tried picking the lock," Darien said, taking a swig of his drink. "It's not my fault that it didn't work."
Hobbes glared at him for a second before picking up his own drink. "You didn't try very hard," he grumbled.
Although Darien didn't say a word, the smirk on his face confirmed the accusation.
"What did I ever do to you?" Hobbes asked, taking a gulp of his drink as he glanced over at the sheet-covered window. "It's not like I broke any of the windows over at your place."
Darien shot him a pointed look. "You didn't?" he asked, a less than innocent tone in his voice. "Hmm. I must be thinking of my other partner."
Hobbes stared at him. "That was months ago," he protested, raising both of his eyebrows as he stared at the other man. "And I was shooting at a guy who was about to stab you."
"So?" Darien asked, an impish glint in his eyes.
"Are you sure that cure hasn't stopped working?" Hobbes asked, shooting Darien an irritated look. "Because you're acting like a real pain in the ass."
Darien rolled his eyes as he downed the rest of his drink. "Funny, Bobby. Really funny."
Hobbes shot him a warning look. "I'd be glad to call the Keep to tell her that you need to be poked and prodded for the rest of eternity."