I'm still not happy with this, but I hope you enjoy it. Special thanks once again to my beta sheepsoup for pulling this thing into shape.

Timeless

"Hurry Grandpa hurry! We have to get away from the evil Olaf! Run before he finds us!"

Eames reached the door, scooping up his granddaughter. Staying in character he whispered, "Ramona, did we lose him?"

Her eyebrows furrowed and her small mouth formed a scowl as she surveyed the area. "No...I don't see him...maybe we finally-"

Ramona let out a loud shriek and Eames looked over his shoulder.

"Put me down Grandpa! He found us! He found us!" He watched with a big grin as the small chestnut-haired child scurried towards the stairs.

As she disappeared out of sight, he turned around to face the terrifying villain.

"Honestly, Olaf. You should really leave those poor children alone."

"Creepy bad men like me never learn," Christopher responded with a smirk.

Eames chuckled. "But really Chris...she really has a great imagination."

His son nodded as though he was assuring himself of the words. "It's really a beautiful thing."

Eames noticing how solemn the mood had become, decided to change the subject.

"But that series...I'm surprised she is able to read it at her age."

He didn't just pull that out of his ass to rescue the conversation. When Ramona had first started going off on about the Baudelaires and Count Olaf, he thought it'd be a good idea to read the novels. They were rather challenging for a six year-old. Hell, they were challenging for some pushing closer to seventy.

Christopher laughed as though he knew what Eames was thinking about. "Yes, it's definitely for an older child."

"That's for sure. You know how many times I had to bug Arthur to explain the vocabulary? In all seriousness Christopher, tell me, has she gotten her Mensa letter yet?"

More laughter. It was nice to see he could still make him smile.

"I admit, she is a smart one for her age, but she gets a little help."

"I agree", Eames responded, "Webster is very useful."

"Yeah it is." Christopher was looking at him now. He looked so much like Arthur. "But a dad who reads it to you every night can be too."

Eames was shocked by what Christopher had admitted, but was elated at the same time.

He remembered fondly reading Christopher stories about wizards and teddy bears. Watching him walk for the first time. Holding him in his arms during a thunderstorm.

And now...he looked at his son. He was older now. He couldn't believe he had grown so fast. It was as though the last thirty or so years had flashed in a second. Christopher now...almost seemed alien, unfamiliar. Was this really the boy he'd carried in his arms?

He noticed Christopher's thumb lightly graze his five-o'clock shadow.

He inwardly sighed.

Time flew by so fast it always left without you.

He put his hand on Christopher's shoulder.

"Has Arthur gotten here yet?"

"Mom? Uh, I think he went out to get some groceries for Phillipa. She ran out of a few things for dinner tonight."

Eames nodded and looked towards the kitchen. "Are you sure she doesn't need-"

"Help? From you? Best not. If she wants someone to start making the casserole, I'll do it."

Eames chuckled. "After all these years you still don't trust me cooking? I'm hurt."

"Go ahead. When you enter a kitchen, you put everyone's life at risk. I'm doing a public service."

"Yeah, yeah. Sure you are-"

"Grandpa!" Eames turned when he heard Ramona's voice. Her brow was furrowed, and her mouth was stuck in her pout.

It may have been the most adorable thing Eames had ever seen.

"Yes, love?"

"Are you okay down here? Did Olaf catch you?"

Oh yeah, Olaf. Eames had gotten lost in his conversation with Christopher that he forgotten his game.

Lifting his chest like a great maestro on stage, he summoned his most valiant aura. "Not without a fight!" he hollered, to his granddaughter's amusement.

"Did you have to wear that?" Arthur grimaced. He had gone on errands for Phillipa so early, he hadn't been home to dress Eames. Maybe he should have taken Christopher on his offer to go for him. This was seriously the ugliest outfit he'd ever seen. Past fifty and the man still couldn't dress himself.

"What?" Eames said, looking at his clothing. Patterned t-shirt, white ankle socks, flip flops. "I'm simply dressing my age." He would have worn just the slippers, but his feet were always cold.

"Just because you aren't in your thirties anymore doesn't mean you can dress like a retiree from Florida who leaves his assisted living once a year."

"Now Arthur that horrible." Eames face had quickly turned stern and serious.

Arthur was a bit put-off by the expression. Had he gone too far? Usually Eames didn't-

"Florida is a lovely place", Eames said, finishing his thought.

Arthur groaned. "What is it with you and delayed punch lines these days?"

Eames chuckled. "Some of it's humor, but I think the rest is simply because I'm going batty."

"Happy 40th Anniversary!"

Arthur blushed. He wasn't used to this attention. And the number. Forty years...that was a long time. He had people coming up to him on marriage advice these days... he didn't know what to say to them. You learn to accept the burnt toast and awful shirts? He couldn't explain it. It was though time had just flown over him or he was put in a time machine. It felt like it'd been a while, but forty years? Surely that hadn't lasted that long. It was still hard for him to fathom.

But the dinner Phillipa had prepared (with the help of everyone except Eames for medical reasons) was truly splendid. It had the grandeur of a Thanksgiving meal.

He watched how Eames greedily cut off a humongous piece of turkey. Seriously, he thought as the man dribbled gravy on the turkey and his ugly shirt, he is really is a child.

Sighing, Arthur grabbed the fork out of Eames' hand.

"Eames", he said as though he was talking to his granddaughter. "You know you can't eat without taking your medicine first."

And they said that you were supposed to grow out of whining.

"Whatever, just know you aren't touching anything without that medicine down your throat." With that, Arthur went to their bedroom to retrieve it.

Medicine, medicine, medicine... Where could it be? Arthur scanned the dresser for the orange bottle until something caught his eye.

How long it been since he had held this?

He looked at the trinket from afar.

It was definitely worn after use, and the edges were rounded and ill-formed. But its vermillion hue remained as virile as ever, timeless.

In all the dark moments of his life this object had carried him through. How many funerals had he attended with this tight in his grasp, as he said goodbye to the countless friends he had lost on the job? There couldn't be a number. When he felt his life had been falling on him like a deck of cards, this had been his life line, his everything. It was the only thing he could trust to know he was still okay.

He hadn't lost his mind.

You could be taught that they weren't life. You could know from experience on the job how unreal they were. Yet every time, dreams-they leave you wondering if they really were metaphysical at all.

After he had left his job to retire, Arthur had wondered if he hadn't left that confusing dream world. Everything he had hoped for his entire life had suddenly blossomed and bore fruit. It wasn't perfect but sometimes when he was deep in thought, totally consumed in his mind, he questioned whether-

"Hurry up Arthur! What is taking so long over there? Were you able to find it? I'm starving!"

Snapped out of his reverie, Arthur quickly located the medicine. He was about to head back into the dining room, but he could brush the question out of his head.

He was so terrified of the answer he dare not say it out loud.

"Arthur! If you aren't here in a minute I will bite into this turkey regardless if I took my pills!"

Without a second thought, Arthur slid his old totem into the nearby wastebasket.

If it was a dream he knew he'd never want to wake up.

Thank you to anyone who read this story all the way through or reviewed. Your comments meant a lot. I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it.