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On both a personal and a professional level, Avery Morgan’s life has been going rather well lately. Okay, there’s been a few hiccups here and there, but she’s got a job in paradise, a direct ticket to med school, and two men who would do anything to build a life with her. She’s not typically one to relish in a mere stroke of good luck–that can be rather dangerous, especially when you work in the medical field–but every now and then, she lets herself indulge in the feeling of hope, smiling to herself when she's restocking bandages just to appreciate the way everything’s finally, finally been coming up roses for her lately.
Well, almost everything. Maybe she had gotten a little bit too used to her run of luck, because when Tristan and Max rejected her idea of an understanding between the three of them, it had come as a genuine surprise. The cards had been stacked in her favor, but her winning streak seemingly came to an end in an instant.
Seemingly.
It’s just a gut feeling, but if you ask Avery, something about the situation feels off. She can’t shake the idea that there is something unspoken keeping them from this relationship, something that neither of them had mentioned in their speeches about being a one-woman-man and needing a white picket fence to be happy. Something they were more hesitant to admit they want than marriage and kids.
And yes, she knows how risky it is to go off a gut feeling: you don’t make it all the way to being a nurse practitioner without an infinite list of possible cognitive biases and fallacies being permanently etched into your mind. Which is why she turns to carefully gathered empirical evidence when she says:
It just doesn't make sense.
The list she’d compiled in her head was short, but comprehensive.
Observation number one: she's been kissing both of them, and neither man seems to mind. Surely two people who claim to be as set on monogamy as Max and Tristan would have some issue with that? If anything, their professional rivalry has cooled off since everything happened with the baby, settling into a genuine friendship instead.
Observation two: she has eyes, and can therefore see the way they look at each other, especially when they believe no one is looking. (She is, though.)
Observation three: some.
Their night together had been... Mind-blowing, for lack of a better word. But she had been keenly aware of how Tristan and Max barely touched each other, and when they did, they tried to play it off as accidental. There had been a curiosity there, but not one that either of them had felt free enough to satisfy. At that moment, Avery didn't think twice about it–she would never make them do anything they didn’t want to do–but the past few weeks have made her wonder if the only thing keeping them from crossing that line was their own unnecessary inhibitions.
Well, it’s not really wondering , actually. She’s quite convinced.
As a woman of science, she’s urged to do an experiment, the only real way to verify her observations. She’s got a little bit too much on her plate to be scheming like that, though, and playing with Max and Tristan’s emotions like that feels a bit unethical.
Yet letting it go entirely isn't an option either. She’s tried, but she's found she can shove her feelings on the subject away just as easily as she can ignore her feelings for both men, her desire for each of them woven into one another in a way that wouldn't let her pick just one if she tried. So, she’s made a compromise with herself: she won't push it, but when the opportunity presents itself, she will take advantage of it. Gently nudge them in the right direction. Nothing wrong with that.
( When the opportunity presents itself. Not if . She is on a winning streak, after all.)
⋆★⋆
Tonight, they’re gathered by the poolside, as they usually are on their first day off after a long week of dealing with cruisers and their medical emergencies. The ship is anchored, the parties are over, the confetti and spilled drinks have been wiped off the deck. Now that the music and chatter has faded, the three of them are left with nothing but the quiet rustling of the waves and their own hushed conversation.
She’s grateful that evenings like this can still be enjoyed all the same, despite all that has happened between them. No tension in the medical suite , Max had assured Captain Massey, and he hadn't been lying. No matter what, they were friends first, colleagues second, entangled in a complex romance third.
“I’ve been thinking about next week,” Avery says, sitting on a towel on the edge of their pool. “ Cosplay Week . I’m not sure what to expect.” The sun is almost down, its last few rays making the ocean waves glow a golden orange. The chill of the evening is slowly starting to set in, but for now, the deck is still comfortable enough for the three of them to lounge around on.
“I’ll confess, I had to Google that term,” Max says, on her right. He’s still in his uniform, though the top few buttons of his shirt have come undone. “Lots of synthetic wigs, from what I can gather.”
“Don’t forget the body paint,” Tristan pitches in on her left. There’s a crinkle by his eye as he smiles.
“I just wonder how they’re going to make it work,” Avery says. “I mean, these costumes, they’re expensive . Not to mention usually handmade. Not sure I’d want to bring that anywhere near a chlorine pool.” She dips her fingertips in the water, sending ripples down the surface. “Then again, if they can make a whole No-Face costume by hand, they can probably make it waterproof too.”
“A what costume?” Max asks, and both Tristan and Avery turn to him in shock.
“What, you’ve never seen Spirited Away ?” Tristan sounds dismayed.
Max stares back at them, clearly unaware his question was going to cause such a reaction. “Can’t say I have.”
“Avery,” Tristan says, loading every syllable with as much grief as possible.
Avery turns to him, and gives him a look as solemn as she can muster. She places her hand over his. “No, you’re right. It’s just as I suspected, Nurse Silva. He’s beyond saving.”
“Oh, screw you two,” Max cuts in, splashing them with a few drops of water from the pool. Avery squawks, and both her and Tristan burst out laughing.
She tries to wipe off some of the droplets from her arm, really only tracing them further down her skin. “No, but seriously, you need to watch Spirited Away . It’s really good,” Avery says, to which Tristan nods in agreement. “Preferably before next week starts, so you don’t offend any of our cruisers. Speaking of, are we stocked up on everything we need?”
Max nods. “Painkillers, emesis bags, ORS, banana bags, all the usual stuff.”
“...And the less usual stuff?” Avery asks, cocking her head. “Surely by now you’ve learned to expect the unexpected on the Odyssey. Like, I don't know. If we’re going to have people walking around in heavy synthetic clothes, stocking up on Myers’ cocktails for dehydration seems like a good idea.”
Max blinks in surprise. “Right, of course. Can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”
“Oh, and bacitracin for topical burn treatment,” Tristan pitches in. “If Gay Week taught me anything, it’s that those wigs are way too flammable.”
“Good call, Tristan,” Avery says, which earns her that bright look she always gets from him whenever he’s met with praise. For someone who typically walks around with his head held high, he’s very eager to please.
“Cetirizine, for any allergic reactions to body paint and fabrics,” Max suggests. He looks at Avery when he says it, like he’s not the one with the highest credentials of the three of them.
“Cortizone, too,” Tristan adds. Both Avery and Max look at him. He shrugs. “I mean. We might as well be safe, you know.”
Max nods. “Good call.”
They both look at Avery expectantly. “Good call,” she echoes.
They’re always like this, she thinks, always trying to show they’re worth her affections through parallel play. It's almost funny. Both Tristan and Max want to build a monogamous future with her, yet neither of them have ever considered taking down the competition to get closer to that goal. They’re willing to fight for her love, but never each other.
She’s really not crazy for seeing what she sees between them. The air is thick with it, especially tonight, and Avery can’t help but want to breathe it in.
"I'm getting chilly," she announces, wrapping her blouse tighter around her body. It’s not a lie; the evening winds are sending chills down her spine.
"Perhaps we should take this conversation to the doctor's massive cabin," Tristan suggests, like it's another answer he's trying to get right.
Avery smiles, because it is.
"Let's do that," she agrees, and the three of them get up from the poolside.
⋆★⋆
“What exactly is the difference between a mocktail and a regular old fizzy drink?” Tristan asks, inspecting his already half-drunk glass of pink liquid. He’s on Max’s couch, taking up about half the space by lounging into the corner. Sitting opposite to him, in one of Max’s plush chairs, Avery savors her matching one. She’s not sure what he put in them, but it’s good.
“Typically? The price tag,” Max says, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. Avery can’t help but notice the intentional space between them. “Also, I still think the term ‘fizzy drink’ is absolutely ridiculous.”
“Agreed,” Avery says.
Tristan’s brow furrows. “Okay. What would you like me to call it, then?”
“Pop,” Max says, at the same time that Avery says, “Soda.”
Tristan nods. “Noted. Thank you two for your sage American advice.”
“You’re very welcome,” Avery says. She sits up in her chair. “Okay, I have a question for you guys.”
“Do tell,” Max says.
She sips her drink. “If you had to pick a costume for next week, who would you pick?”
“Easy,” Tristan says, pointing at her. “George Clooney, Ocean’s Eleven.”
Avery and Max groan in unison. “What? It would be spot on! I have been told I look just like him.”
“Have you, now,” Max says dryly. “You’ve never mentioned it before.”
“It’s fine, I’ll take it,” Avery says. She points at Max with her toe, her shoe long discarded somewhere on the floor. “Your turn, Max.”
Max frowns. “I don’t know, Count Dracula?” he says. “Dracula was fine.”
“You can’t just recycle your Halloween costume,” Tristan says. “And don’t try and sell it as being sustainable, you literally live on a cruise ship.”
“Oh my god, you guys are terrible at this,” Avery sighs. “Come on. It’s not about who you already are, it’s about who you wish you could be.”
“Well, Avery,” Max says. “Who would you be, then?”
“Well,” she says, giving it thought. “Someone self-assured, competent, clever… Ambitious.” She tilts her head. “Sexy.” She’s aware of the two pairs of eyes trying hard not to trace the shape of her body. “Maybe Christina Yang from Grey’s . Or Zendaya in Challengers .”
Tristan’s eyes flick to Max, and they share a look. Subtle, but unmistakable. Tristan is the one who speaks, voicing what’s clearly a shared thought. “With all due respect Aves, I don’t think you need to be in costume for any of that.”
She smiles, then shrugs. “Guess we’re all terrible at this, then.”
“Not that it really matters,” Tristan says, putting his drink down. “Thanks to our boring policies, we can’t dress up anyway, since we have to be in uniform.”
Avery swirls her glass. “Yeah, guess so.”
“Not technically true,” Max says. Avery and Tristan stare at him blankly, waiting for him to elaborate. “Both of you wear the exact same outfit. You could always just… Cosplay each other.”
“Huh,” Avery says. “I guess you're right.”
“And I do check all your boxes, Aves,” Tristan says. “Competent, clever, gorgeous… I think you might be onto something.”
Avery shares a look with Max, and he shakes his head, though he doesn’t bother constraining his smile.
“You'd really want to be me for a week?” Avery asks, raising her eyebrows.
“Sure,” Tristan says. “Who wouldn't want to be you?”
“Someone who doesn't want to learn several competencies overnight?” Max suggests.
Tristan shrugs. “Added professional duties which would get me into legal trouble aside, I don't think there's much you do that I don't already do myself.”
“You know, you would actually have to stay on top of your follow-ups,” Max says. “Since Avery has never been known to put off paperwork.”
“Actually,” Tristan says, straightening in his seat, finger in the air for emphasis, “I've already wrapped everything up for this week. So clearly, I'd be just fine.”
“Mm, I don’t know,” Avery says. “You'd have to show up to the captain's dinner in a shimmery gown.”
“Make it a jumpsuit and we have a deal.”
“You’d have to get your ears pierced, too,” Max says, pointing in the general direction of Tristan's earlobes. “Plenty of needles and disinfectant on board, if you're interested.”
“Uh… Clip-ons?” Tristan tries.
“Some cosplayers just glue them on with cosmetic glue, too,” Max says. Both Avery and Tristan look at him. He shrugs. “I learned that on Google.”
Tristan leans back against the couch. “You know, aside from the physical appearance, and a few nurse practitioner duties, there really isn't much I can think of that you do, which I don't already do myself,” Tristan says to Avery. “Being you would come very easy to me, I’m afraid.”
“I mean,” Avery says. “There's one thing I can think of.”
Both Max and Tristan look at her to elaborate.
“Which is…?” Tristan asks.
She smiles. “Kissing Doctor Max Bankman, of course.”
They could have easily passed it off as a joke. If either of them had laughed at her suggestion, maybe even just rolled their eyes and said ‘ Good one, Aves’, that would’ve been it, and they could have merrily moved on to the next topic of conversation. Instead, there’s a beat, and two seconds of silence say more than any words ever could. The small window they’d had to laugh at the notion has passed, and it’s obvious, now, that this isn’t a joke to either of them.
Avery had been right: they've been thinking about it. Or are currently thinking about it, at least.
Tristan is the one to break the silence. “I mean…” His eyes shift around. He clears his throat. “I mean, I already had a threesome with the guy. So.” He doesn’t look at Max when he says it, eyes flicking between Avery and the ground.
“So… What?” Max says, turning towards Tristan. He clearly knows what Tristan is trying to say; he just needs to hear him say it out loud.
Tristan shrugs. He slowly dares to look at Max, anxious to see what expression the other man is holding. It's not disgust, or ridicule, or anything else Tristan might have feared: instead, Max is looking at him with open curiosity. Like somehow, he had not considered this option before.
Max looks from Tristan to Avery, asking for–permission? Encouragement?
Approval , she thinks. It's the same look he had given her by the poolside. Like he needs her to confirm that he’s thinking of the right thing, no matter how irrational that desire for affirmation might be.
“Go on, then,” she says.
Max slides towards Tristan, slowly, carefully. He’s testing it out, and when Tristan doesn't jerk back, he moves until their legs barely touch, fully breaching the careful distance they had kept between them.
Tristan looks to Avery, then Max, and the other man places a hand on the side of his jaw. It’s like the touch sends a current through Tristan: one moment, he’s still, and the next, Avery watches as he eagerly meets Max halfway.
The kiss starts soft, testing, a press of lips against lips and not much else. They break apart for just a second, computing, and then go back in with all the force of a hurricane.
Any inhibitions either of them had before vanish completely. Within seconds the kiss becomes heavy, the dimness of the room doing nothing to hide the obscene open-mouthedness of it. Max's hand twists up into Tristan's hair, and Avery can hear the way it makes Tristan's breath hitch. He responds by sliding his tongue over Max’s bottom lip, then back into his mouth. It’s completely unconstrained, sloppy, even, and witnessing it sends a warm tide all the way though Avery’s body until it collects and pools low in her stomach.
They break apart briefly, still barely a breath away from one another. Tristan opens his eyes, making direct contact with Avery’s, and then he pulls Max back into the kiss by the back of his neck. Avery bites her lip, and he groans, a low sound of desire. His eyes flutter shut, and he lets himself drown in Max once again. The older man pushes him back, settling halfway on top of him, knee in between Tristan’s legs. Tristan rewards him by pressing their mouths together hard, and then nudging Max’s face to the side so he can start tracing kisses down his jaw and his neck. It means Max is now turned towards Avery; no doubt intentional on Tristan’s part. He opens his eyes just barely in a heavy-lidded gaze, and he’s half in Tristan’s control, half in hers. She smiles at him; she can’t help it. In response, Max sucks in a breath and twists his fingers deeper into Tristan’s hair. She wonders if her prestigious doctor will have a hickey tomorrow.
Pulling him back into a kiss, Tristan traces his hand over Max’s back, fingertips dancing over the bare strip of skin where the back of his shirt has become untucked. Avery can’t help but wish for him to make his hand disappear under the fabric entirely. She wants to see them up against each other the same way they had each been up against her, two people as close as they can physically be. She briefly considers asking nicely when Tristan finally moves his hand up. Avery swallows hard.
She knows, now, that they’ve reached the point where a decision needs to be made about how the rest of the evening will transpire. She also knows that whatever she decides, will be: if they’ve proven anything to her tonight, it’s that she’s got them both eating out the palm of her hand. (She could have them eating out other things too, probably, if she asked.)
It’s tempting. It almost feels like a betrayal to her own desire not to take the opportunity that is so clearly presenting itself. But they’ve done this before, or something close to it, at least, and she knows how tomorrow will go if she gives in. They’ll pass it off as yet another fleeting moment of desire, and move on like nothing ever happened, like it doesn’t hang thick in the air whenever the three of them are alone.
She lets herself take in the sight for a few more seconds, just to indulge: Tristan and Max, half undone in each other’s arms, kissing up a storm. Max’s hand on Tristan’s face, clinging on to him like he’s his lifeline, Tristan’s hand up Max’s shirt like he’s ready for them to go down together. She tries to memorize the lines of their bodies, the way they fit against each other, for when she’s all alone in her bed later. When she feels like she’s got it down, traced over the image enough times in her mind she couldn’t forget it if she tried, she speaks.
“Alright.”
She stands up from her chair. Tristan and Max break the kiss, and turn their heads towards her with twin expressions of utter confusion.
She holds in her laugh just barely, offering them a loving smile instead. “I’m off to bed. I hope you two enjoy each other tonight,” she says, and hopes they’ll latch onto that statement like they did with everything else that left her mouth tonight.
“Avery?” Max says, still in his compromised position. She picks up the shoes she had kicked off. “Goodnight,” she says, and slips through the cabin door.
⋆★⋆
She waits, of course. Not for long, just long enough to know if Tristan comes barging through the door right after her. She’s not actually sure what her course of action would be in that case. Ask him what’s wrong? Leave it be? Leave together? Go back in?
It doesn’t matter, anyway, because the door stays shut.
She doesn’t bother fighting the self-satisfied smile forming on her lips. She sighs, then turns on a single heel, gleefully marching off into the quiet hallway. Guess she’s still on a winning streak after all.