Debbie's. Justin's making breakfast, and what looks like waffles and eggs and bacon for, like, thirty. Justin asks Vic, sitting at the table, how he wants his waffles: "In peaches and grand Marnier, or with cherries and rum?" Vic grins, "Better yet, Wolfgang, why don't you save the waffles and just serve the sauce. Straight up." I love me some Vic. Brian walks in, hauling "Gus" in his car seat, and grumbles that the baby just puked all over his leather jacket. Vic snickers, "A fashion critic already!" God help us if he gets a look at Emmett, then. Debbie walks in and asks whether she may hold him, and Brian snorts, "Yeah. Be my guest." "Gus" looks like he's about to crack up at all her cooing and fawning. And, seriously, with that wig of hers, who can blame him? Debbie asks the baby how he's doing, and Brian answers, tiredly, "He's aces, but I suspect he misses his mother's touch." Debbie says that she can take care of that, and Brian's warped mind starts to hatch a plan. He saunters up to Debbie and smiles, "You know, if you'd be interested in satisfying your maternal urges for a longer period of time -- recreating the amber hues of Michael's childhood for an entire evening, for instance -- that could be arranged." Debbie, giggling, and still talking in a baby voice, asks, "You want to go to the lea-ther ba-all, huh?" Busted! Unfortunately for Brian, Debbie's working graveyard at the Diner. Vic rummages through his arsenal of drugs, throws down an empty bottle, and excuses himself. Debbie tells him to wash his pills down with bottled water: "None of that shit from the Susquehanna." Vic's like, yeah, yeah, yeah. "Gus" being the mercurial baby that I fear, falls asleep on Debbie's shoulder. Which means, any moment, he's going to wake up crying. And everyone's going to be running around trying to figure out what the hell's wrong, and all he'll be thinking is, "I'm awake! It startled me!" But enough with my maternal issues.
As Vic walks out, Brian thoughtfully mutters, "It must be tough living with that." Debbie really takes a look at him and realizes something's wrong. She hands the baby to Justin and asks what's up, like, maybe Brian found out he's HIV-positive. Brian shakes his head: he's fine, but his Dad has cancer. Justin's mouth drops open again. Brian says that Pop Kinney came by the night before to tell him. Debbie asks how long he has, and Brian shrugs, casually, fooling absolutely no one -- except maybe "Gus," who's still asleep -- "A couple of months, tops." Brian plops down into an easy chair. Debbie gently says, "Well, then, if you don't mind the free advice, from someone who's known you a lot longer than you've known yourself ["Word." -- Camper], you should tell him." Brian's like, tell him what? Debbie sighs that he knows she's talking about, and that he shouldn't play dumb. But you know, speaking from a historical perspective, I'm not sure he's playing. Anyway, Debbie tells him, "He made a very big gesture in telling you about himself, and I'm saying you should return the favor." Telling his only son -- who, I'm sorry, he does see on a semi-regular basis -- that he has cancer and he's going to die, is like, "a big gesture"? Isn't that pretty standard practice? At any rate, Brian snarls, "No fucking way! My father hasn't known anything about my life for twenty-nine years -- or cared -- why should I bother now?" And also, is anyone still buying this "why should I tell my dad I'm gay? I don't care what he thinks" crap anymore? Because I'm not. That whole line has "fear of rejection" written all over it, okay? Debbie says that it'll be good for him. Brian: "To tell a dying man that I'm queer?" Debbie: "To be honest." Brian: "I'm always honest." Debbie: "You think you are." Triple word score for the P-FLAG mom. Frankness and honesty are not even the same thing. Neither are boldness and honesty. Or boldness and frankness. Or any of those other things that Brian is that he thinks are "honest," but are really just one big, annoying, rude-ass front. Debbie tells him, "How honest is it to let your father go to his grave without ever really knowing who his son is, honey?" That gets Brian out of the chair and across the room. Debbie rolls her eyes and follows him: "Look, I know you think he never loved you, but it might be a way to get through to him. For whatever it's worth. Before it's too late." Brian doesn't respond to that, but tries to re-erect The Front: "If I wanted a therapist, I'd look in the fucking yellow pages." Debbie snorts, "Yeah, but I'm a lot cheaper, and I don't take off August." Brian pretends to ignore her, and goes back into the kitchen with Justin and the baby. As predicted, "Gus" has woken up, and is making unhappy noises. Justin guesses that he's hungry, and asks if he can feed him. Brian's eyes light up with another evil little plot is born. He asks Justin, "What are you doing tonight?" Justin's going to be severely disappointed at the offer coming up, I bet.
David, Michael, and Hank walk out of the aquarium over a bridge. It looks way cold, man, and they're all bundled up to hell and gone. David cheerfully exclaims, "Man, isn't that aquarium incredible? Man, I could stare at those fish tanks forever!" Mike checks his watch and notes that it wasn't quite forever, just five hours. Five hours?! I told you: Fun + David = Death on a Stick. David gushes, "This is so great! I love being here together, just you, me, and Michael." Hank agrees, like someone's slipping him money underneath the table to do it. Then he scowls once David looks away. Mike asks whether they're going to get some lunch soon -- "All those fish made me hungry for chicken" -- but no! They have to get to the museum to see the dinosaur exhibit. Hank says that he hasn't been to see dinosaurs since he was in third grade; but in a tone that could be mistaken for enthusiasm, and that's how David chooses to take it. "Ha!" he chortles, "I love dinosaurs. Nice to know there's a creature actually older than me." Mike laughs, like a good indentured servant...uh, "domestic partner." And it's what, one or two by now? Boy needs to eat. Boy also needs to be asked what he'd like to do with his father, not to be handed playtime marching orders. I'm having trouble breathing just watching the poor bastard. David says that after they go to the museum, they have to go to the batting cage, and then afterward, there's an arcade he wants to check out that's supposed to be pretty cool, but that he doesn't say anything about hauling lover and son home on his shoulders once they've dropped dead from exhaustion. Mike pauses for a second, grits his teeth, and shovels after his companions.