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Max suppresses his sigh as he walks into the infirmary to the sight of Tristan alone in the bay. It’s become so stilted between them, Max doesn’t know how to act around him for the first time in two months and it seems like Tristan is having the same problem.
He misses Tristan more than he expected. He misses the easy way that Tristan would lean into him, misses the way that they always had easy conversations, misses the way they could spend hours together without getting tired of each other’s company, misses the seamless way they would work together, be it in the infirmary or out in the ship somewhere or out in the boundless waters.
As of a week ago, Max would have liked to say that him and Tristan were becoming pretty good friends.
So far this season, they’ve been spending quite a bit of time off together. Off days where they binge TV from a hotel room, off days where they laze around the ship, off days where they inadvertently end up hanging around together in the different cities that they dock in.
In that time, Max has learnt that Tristan’s bravado is an effective coverup for the heart he wears on his sleeve, if you don’t bother to look for more than two seconds. Now that Max has effectively worked his way past that bravado, Tristan’s emotions seem so close to the surface.
Even when they were fighting over Avery, bouncing between truces and clandestine affairs that they hoped the other didn’t know about, they were always able to function as a team in the infirmary. Not anymore.
Just this morning, they had another simple case of extreme sunburn, but Tristan and Max kept bumping into each other. They fumbled when passing each other gauze and aloe, they barely even looked at each other in the eye the entire time they were with the patient. The fluidity that they used to work with was a distant memory.
Maybe this whole experience was a good warning sign for Max, just a sign that all three of them were getting too close.
Max was used to close quarters and extenuating circumstances, he worked long hours with his fellow doctors in war torn countries and villages with populations that barely reached a hundred, for god’s sake.
But this is something else entirely.
He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to stay professional while spending all his time with them.
His track record of that already isn’t great. The first time they docked, Max couldn’t help but kiss Avery on that beach, regardless of if it was in front of all of their coworkers. And that was just his second day on the job.
He’s pretty sure committed relationship with both of his subordinates ranks quite a bit higher than one-time kiss while day-drunk in terms of professional reproach, according to the cruise line’s HR policy.
But still. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to deal with the way that both of them seem in constant need of medical attention, how he’s supposed to deal with making sure they stay alive. How he’s supposed to deal with the way they’re always close by, always together, always in this Avery-Tristan-Max triangle that seems to consume them.
How somedays, it feels like they’re all alone in the world. Like it’s just the three of them and the open oceans, millions of miles away from shore.
Max likes to think he’s a pretty no-nonsense guy. He was okay with one night of pleasure, one night of everything he’s wanted for the past two months. But having to examine his desires in the daylight? Having to talk about what he wants and feels with Avery and Tristan? He’s not strong enough for that.
He could handle one night of wanting and having. But having them and losing them? No, thank you.
Tristan looks up as he hears the infirmary doors swing open, and even from twenty feet away, Max sees his open expression shutter.
“Hey, Doc,” Tristan says, forcing cheer into his voice.
“Tristan!” Max greets. “How was your lunch?” he asked, trying not to think too hard about why he was annoyed at Tristan for having lunch with Vivian, instead of joining him and Avery, like he usually does.
“Great! She made this incredible dish where–“ Max nods along, forcing himself to pay attention as his mind drifts away.
Max was aware that he was interested in them from the start. How could he not be? But until their night together, he had no idea that it was more than physical for him.
The morning after, it was like Max was looking back on his past two months with new eyes. He was totally out of his comfort zone already: learning how to be okay with wanting things, and then going after them. In his opinion, he’s fulfilled his quota of going after things he wants; signing up for this job covers about twenty years for him.
Avery doesn’t seem to see it that way. Not from the way she’s been cornering the two of them to talk, not from the way she covered for Tristan as he wiped at his watering eyes. She’s been working at them, not that they’ve helped her out. Max wonders if it’s time to start trying.
~
Avery rolls her eyes at the scene she walks in on. It feels odd to see Max and Tristan standing so far away from each other, talking to each other like they’re co-workers that bumped into each other on the street, instead of the friends that they've become for each other.
Avery felt like this had been building between the three of them for some time now. From the way that Tristan and Max watched each other when the other wasn’t looking. From the way that they gazed at each other when the other was looking back at them. From the balancing act that the three of them have been performing for the past two months. She knows that they’ve accepted what they both feel for her. It’s just that last step to accept what’s going on between the two of them that they’re having trouble with.
If you had told her at the beginning of the season that Avery would be longing to be in a relationship with the ship’s doctor and her fellow nurse, she’d have called you crazy and then sent you straight to HR. Partly because Dr. Campbell was seventy years old and always seemed like two heartbeats away from death. But mainly because she was certain that what Tristan felt for her was just puppy love; the result of long hours together after three years at sea.
But seeing them now, as the awkward mess they’ve become, Avery wasn’t sure how to fix it.
The mess that they’re in now is kinda her fault if you think about it, which Avery has spent the past week doing. It’s become common practice for her to lay awake at night and examine the events of the day, to try and see if the tense energy between Tristan and Max is loosening up any. To try and come up with new ways to get them to admit that they feel for each other what they feel for her.
She hasn’t been successful so far, and now she’s starting to wonder if she should take her foot off the gas a little.
Maybe giving them some space would be a better strategy.
~
Late that night, Tristan finds himself on the pool deck. The warm air caresses his skin as he lies back on a lounge chair, his shirt discarded on a table a few feet away.
He watches the light dance across the neon blue pool and tries not to think about the last time he was here. About who he was here with.
Tristan was pretty used to allowing himself pleasure, for basking in it.
He has to admit, though, that he’s completely out of his wheelhouse here. All this while, Avery has been the one taking charge. Taking charge during their threesome, taking charge as she forces them to talk about what they all want.
He’s never learnt how to be okay with wanting something that isn’t reciprocated. Sure, he has lots of experience in being unwanted, especially with the childhood he had. But as he's come into adulthood, he's tried to limit just how much time he spends being unwelcome. A month ago, when he thought he was losing Avery to Max, he felt himself getting out of hand. And that’s not even considering poor Vivian getting caught up in their mess.
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, gently sighing out as he tries to lose himself in the silence.
Distantly, he hears footsteps approach.
“Tristan? Are you okay?” he hears Max ask from above him, stubbornly refusing to open his eyes.
Perfect. Just who I needed to show up, he thinks to himself.
“I’m swell, Doc. And you?” Tristan finally opens his eyes to see Max’s face, concerned, with a furrow in his brow.
“Can I join you?” Max asks, sidestepping the question.
Tristan gestures at all of the free seats beside him and lets out a frustrated breath as Max stubbornly sits by Tristan’s legs on his lounge chair.
“I think we should talk,” Max says.
“I’d really rather not,” Tristan replies.
“Well, we can’t work like this anymore, so it’s kind of non-negotiable,” Max says, refusing to budge.
“Ah, did Avery come after you, too?” Tristan asks with a small huff of a laugh.
“No, I’m here of my own free will,” Max replies.
He feels Max’s warm hand on his arm and tenses up.
“Sorry, Doc. I’m off the clock. I’ll be available at the start of business hours,” Tristan says, shooting Max a pale imitation of the grin he used to have aimed at him.
“Fine. We’ll just sit here, then.”
Minutes continue to pass, as the night cools down. Tristan feels Max’s hand on his arm like a brand, searing his skin. Tristan can’t help but lean into Max’s body, chasing the addictive feeling.
Maybe Tristan can learn to let himself trust something good. Maybe the three of them can be more than co-workers with an ill-advised three-way in the past. Maybe they can trust themselves to work this out.
Eventually, Tristan shifts over so that his body is draped across Max’s back and feels himself finally relax.
Tristan breaths in the salty ocean air and feels Max doing the same under his body.
With the stars shining bright overhead, Max turns to face him. Tristan feels Max’s warm body along his own. Feels Max’s lips on his, thinks this can’t possibly be a good idea, feels himself sighing into their kiss, and finally lets himself go.