Fully aware that awkwardness did exist in the universe, but not terribly familiar with the sensation when experienced firsthand, Shawn couldn't help but squirm in his chair. The motion didn't actually resolve anything; his ears still burned in discomfort and four pairs of eyes still drifted aimlessly among tight quarters.

"Is this what you had in mind for the evening?" The hissed whisper nearly startled him. Shawn was also perturbed to note that his friends tone wasn't one sincerely asking for information. This was the tone of I already know the answer but I want an excuse to use big words and/or useless knowledge specifically designed to impress, annoy or otherwise humiliate you.

"Decidedly not. But thank you, Mr. Morose."

"When is it going to get funner again? I forgot." Point punctuated with the raise of an eyebrow, did little to improve Shawn's mood.

"We need a diversion."

"We need to end this evening while we're ahead."

"Gus, don't be a pessimistic porpoise. We can salvage this."

"We can't salvage this Shawn. You've gone too far this time." Gus' whisper escalated another two notches.

"What do you mean I've gone too far? I seem to recall that you've found your way to Henry's bad side for the first time in…ever." Shawn's eyes challenged Gus to deny it. Gus' eyes had no part of the conversation, but his mouth was surely up to the challenge.

"Don't. Just…don't. You started it Shawn. You were the one who told my mom that she reminds of you Mrs. Huxtable."

"Gus, she reminds everyone of Mrs. Huxtable. Jeez, we've talked about this."

"No, Shawn. You're the only one who sees it. You're the only one who's ever seen it. Twenty years and you still won't let it go. Give it up, man."

Shawn's eyes narrowed at the snippiness in his friend's voice. Gus didn't see the connection because he didn't want to see it. Gus would get his the next time he faced Henry alone. Compare my mom to Cybill Shepherd, will you?

Gus wasn't finished with the argument, of that Shawn was certain. However, he still made a point to change the subject as he usually does. "Besides, our dad's have finally called a truce. We need to leave now before they start in again."

"You may be right about that, but I have a better idea. We'll go back to the house and get the fishing gear. Your dad had his moment in the sun by impressing us all with his boating skills since his boat is bigger, badder and actually works – even if he does refuse to leave the dock. If we give Henry a chance to dazzle us with his fish whispering, then both dad's get a chance to shine and we won't have to hear about it for the next three months. What say you?"

"You're forgetting something in your brilliant plan Shawn."

"Really? I believe I've covered everything."

"My mom."

"Your mom."

"Yes, Shawn. My mom."

"No Gus, you're supposed to say 'your mom'. We've covered this in Remedial Insults 101."

"I'm not trying to insult you, goofus. You've forgotten my mom in your master plan. She's going to be pissed. Correction - she is pissed. She's gonna kill you."

"I admit it. She could be a problem." The solemn nod gave way as Shawn slapped his friend on the back in a gesture that was surely meant to be encouraging. "I have the utmost confidence in your ability to pull her around. Why don't you take her to lunch?"

"Why don't you update your will?"

"That's the spirit. Now, let's go get that fishing gear!" Hard experience had taught Shawn never to give Gus an option. His friend appreciated having the plan laid out for him. He really appreciated it if said plan was instituted immediately. The less time Gus was given to talk himself out of having fun, the better. Shawn was happy to indulge his friend in his quirks. Bouncing out of the chair, mindful of the squeak of new vinyl in his wake and the exacerbated rocking motion of the craft, he grabbed his friend by the elbow and dragged him away from the sputtered protests of the indignant group they were leaving behind.

"We'll be back in a bit, folks. Amuse yourselves as we prepare for the highlight of the evening!" Calling out his assurances over his shoulder, he was quite proud of himself as he envisioned the success of his new plan.

The sharp staccato of homemade specials echoed across the water's surface. With it, the odor of burnt gunpowder carried in the salt air. The 'pre-fireworks' fireworks were just beginning. This was amateur hour, where drunken locals deceived themselves into believing their fireworks tent sale specials could begin to compete with the big dogs. There was still plenty of time before the real show began. He and Gus would be back long before then to put the family chemistry back in order.

This evening would mark a new era of the Spencer-Guster family relationship. He could feel it, and it felt great.