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Finally presented with a few days off at home port with no one – passengers, crew or otherwise – to intrude, The Odyssey’s medical team had acquired themselves a serviced apartment to facilitate some much-needed downtime away from the ship.
After indulging in take-out and some rollicking rounds of Cards Against Humanity (helpfully supplied with the apartment) the three of them piled all the pillows from all the beds onto the King in the master suite, settling in to watch something light-hearted and easy.
At some point, Tristan had fallen asleep. Curled into Avery, with his head dropped to her shoulder and one hand splayed protectively over her belly. She’d nodded off a short time later; breathing softly and evenly as the movie continued to play in the background.
Comfortably propped against the pillows on her right, Max was not so much taking in the film as he was allowing himself to enjoy the relative domesticity of the moment. Things between the three of them were still largely undefined as they attempted to configure the situation they had found themselves in.
When Avery sat them both down and informed them of her intentions to proceed with her pregnancy, both Tristan and Max were committed to provide her with whatever support she needed in whatever capacity she wanted. The two of them had already proven to be attentive, sometimes veering into overbearing (though she typically had no problem pulling either or both up on that whenever it became a problem.)
As Max had somewhat clumsily proposed in the moments after her initial revelation, they proceeded with a NIPP test at 8 weeks’ gestation in order to determine paternity. The results had been received some seven business days later and the three of them sat in his office silent –and triangulated as always – with the unread document taking centre stage on his desk for the best part of an hour.
It had been Tristan that spoke first, in a voice softer than Max typically was used to hearing from him. Eyes darting between Avery, Max and most prominently the carpet, Tristan’s demeanour was a jumble of nerves, hope, excitement and fear.
“I uh… I don’t… I don’t actually think I want to know the results?” his brow creasing as he spoke. “If either or both of you feel differently then I’ll absolutely respect that but… I want to be part of this baby’s life, whether it’s biologically mine or not.”
Under the twin stares of his colleagues, the need to be not-so-serious reared its head, and he continued:
“I mean -regardless of DNA- we were all there when it happened, so…”
Truthfully, Max had been contending with this conundrum himself. While it was far from his not-so-long-ago plans of a nuclear family – of a wife and 2.4 kids and definitely not a second man who may (or may not) be the biological father of those children – he could no longer imagine his future without Avery and her baby also being present. Whether said baby was biologically his, or not.
Refocusing on Avery to gauge her response to this proposition, he had found the corner of her mouth ticking upwards into something between a smile and a smirk. He knew full well there were gears turning in her head and while it wasn’t a bridge he was ready to cross just yet, he found himself revisiting the possibility of that future also featuring Tristan to maybe not be as out of the question as he’d considered it a few weeks earlier.
The three of them had agreed to file the test results with Avery’s medical records, still unread but accounted for should hereditary conditions become something they needed to contend with (Tristan had at least been screened for Huntington’s shortly after his mother’s diagnosis and, thankfully, been given the all-clear on that front.)
In the couple of months since that day, things between all three of them could still only be defined as Vague. Nothing even approaching that life-altering night had come close to reoccurring between any combination of them, let alone all together. He and Tristan worked in tandem to always ensure Avery’s comfort. She was receptive and providing of physical affection towards the two of them in return but never to an extent that could be considered sexual in nature. Max knew she was desperate for the two of them to figure their shit out first.
A sudden movement to his far left snapped him out of reminiscing and drew his attention back to Tristan, who was now staring groggily at his hand, still maintaining its position on Avery. That crease between his brow had made another appearance, before realisation dawned and his eyes widened suddenly
“Max!” it could only be best described as a whisper-yell. “Give me your hand!”
His body had begun to facilitate the motion before his mind had had a chance to catch up, and Max found his hand gently but rapidly pulled to the same spot on Avery’s belly that Tristan had been occupying only a moment earlier.
“Do you feel it?” a more conventional whisper this time.
Under the gentle pressure of his palm, he gradually noticed intermittent flutters beneath the surface of her skin. Avery had been aware of movement for some weeks but until now, neither of them had been successful in sharing the sensation from the outside.
Feeling the persistent stare of dark eyes awaiting his reaction, Max lifted his own gaze to meet Tristan’s. There he found a beaming grin that he realised mirrored his own, and Tristan’s hand gently nudged back in alongside his as Avery continued her slumber.
Max wasn’t sure how long they sat like that -only that his cheeks were beginning to ache ever so slightly- before their mutual dopamine rush finally brought about the end of their status quo.
Genuinely not sure which of them made the move, he suddenly found his lips pressed against Tristan’s. It was not remotely salacious, probably bordering more on chaste if he were completely honest, but it was a step in a direction they’d been tiptoeing around for months.
Four steamboats, five steamboats later, Max pulled back slightly. He could feel the slight blush colouring his cheeks as he quickly tried to take inventory of his feelings about this new development. Uncertainty had been his constant companion since he landed himself in bed (and couch. And shower.) with the two of them that night in November, but he was pleasantly surprised to find a feeling of warmth blooming in his body in response to the present and also what the future may hold. Him and Avery and the baby and Tristan. Together.
He saw reflected back at him in the other man’s gaze a fondness and affection and-
“Loathe as I am to interrupt this moment,” Avery’s voice was borderline monotone in what Max suspected was an attempt to disguise the extent of her enthusiasm pertaining to this recent development – he wasn’t sure exactly when she’d woken. “But being that our kid is currently perched directly on my bladder: I’m going to need one of you to shift before I pee right where we’re all sitting.”
Heart full now to practically bursting (our kid!), Max made way for her dash to the bathroom before flopping back onto the pillows beside Tristan. Face aching in earnest now, he chuckled and raised his fist to bump Tristan’s in a move reminiscent of their early days on the ship all together. There was still work to be done in overcoming his hangups and establishing what this all was, but that future was looking bright.