"I'm all decked out like you now," Sam says.

"Now we're both studs in chairs," Artie says, looking at Sam's chair critically. "You're going to need lights though. The dudes and ladies dig the lights."

As their daughter rolls Sam over closer to Artie, Sam hits him gently on the arm.

"Who have you been picking up?" Sam asks.

He coughs a couple times.

"You," Artie says, rubbing Sam's back through the coughing fit. "And you've been stealing my swag for years."

"I've been improving upon your swag for years, you mean," Sam says when he's through.

"Well at first I thought the glasses were a coincidence. Then you copied the 'grandpa sweaters' as you so nicely called them when I was sixteen-"

"Well, we're grandpas now! We can wear grandpa sweaters. You weren't a grandpa when you were sixteen," Sam says.

Artie clears his throat.

"Not as far as you know anyway. Humph. As I was saying, stealing my swag once was a coincidence, twice is starting to get suspicious, but this third time? Now you're just plain old ripping me off. I started this whole wheelchair fad when I was eight, dagnabbit," Artie complains.

"Dagnabbit? Really Artie?" Sam says, laughing.

Artie crosses his arms.

"Yes really. Like you pointed out we're old men. This means I get to say dagnabbit when I want to," Artie pouts.

Sam laughs at him. He leans in for a kiss and Artie reaches up to cup his cheek.

Their youngest grandson runs into the room right then. Charlie squeals in disgust.

"What are you doing Grandpas?" he says.

They break apart. Artie pulls Charlie up into his lap.

"What do you think of Grandpa Sam's new wheels?" Artie says to Charlie.

"Now you're both Transformers!" he says.

Artie ruffles his hair.

"Yes we are," Sam says with a fond smile over at Artie.