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Martin can’t remember what dying felt like.
He remembers being alive just fine, but between walking to the park and waking up to a soothing hum and a quiet stream of love you keep you love you so much forever love you love you love you it’s just… empty.
It’s fine, though, he doesn’t mind not remembering. Dying sounds nasty anyway. Not as nasty as being inhabited by worms, maybe, but he’s lucky enough to not have gone all wormy.
The possibilities of rejection, or worse, hurting someone, terrified Martin the first time he went back to the Institute. He couldn’t see any worms, but there were holes in his skin, a big gash in his stomach, and the feeling of hundreds of small moving things inside him. That the Corruption almost — had? — killed him frightened Martin much less than the possibility that he’d be another violent and destructive Prentiss.
Instead, they’d welcomed him back and had been very careful not to touch him. Jon had made him take off his shirt and gotten a corkscrew. When Jon pulled apart the skin and looked inside, he’d gasped. Didn’t scream, or scramble away, just a sharp exhale and violent flinch.
Melanie took a picture to show Martin. The quality was poor, blurry and dark even with the flash on, but it was obvious what was inside Martin.
Bees. Hundreds of them, taking up the space where his organs used to be, a humming mass that was already building honeycomb in his chest where his heart should have been.
*****
Funny enough, Martin used to be allergic to bees. Had to keep a shot of epinephrine on him at all times, watch what kind of honey he ate, that sort of thing.
Martin loves his bees once he gets used to them. They’re golden and small and leave to see and do things but always come back because they love him, they love him so much. They’re a constant hum and movement in his chest and it feels more alive than being human did. It’s a family, a community of lives that all care so much. The queen for a mother, singing about love and acceptance and the knowledge that they would all kill for each other or die for each other.
Jon might like Martin and his hive, but he doesn’t want one. The part of Martin that could empathize or sympathize with that is dead, but he understands it academically. Having a hive is so much better, though. You’re never alone, and you’re loved in a way that’s impossible to put into words. Jon deserves that, but he doesn’t want the living moving things in Martin to take up residence in his chest as well, so Martin decides he will love Jon enough to make up for everything else.
(He’d already loved Jon like that—overwhelming and consuming—before he died, anyway. Martin really didn’t change much. Now, he’s just got his mother-queen whispering how loved he is, that he’s enough, worthy, amazing. No wonder he’s a little more confident now. Telling Jon he loves him isn’t as scary.)
The bees don’t try to make a hive out of Jon, since that would upset him and they want him happy and safe, but they do like to go out and walk all over him.
Martin adores Jon so the bees adore Jon, and once he gets over the initial caution, he likes them too. They’d never hurt him, so he’s free to examine them and study them and watch them crawl all over his arms and hands. When Jon stops wearing dark colors around them for the first time, the bees go crazy, swarming over Jon without the instinct to avoid the potential predator inhibiting them. He looks like he’s wearing a yellowy sweater, for a minute, made of hundreds of little moving creatures who Martin can hear singing about love and dedication and closeness.
He learns about beekeeping, for them. Properly learns, does his research instead of just Knowing things.
“They’re Cordovan bees, I think,” Jon says, twisting their joined hands back and forth to follow the movement of one of Martin’s bees over their knuckles. “Subspecies of Italian honeybees. They’re known for being very gentle, and the paler color. Not too good in cold weather, unfortunately. You’ll have to layer up.”
“Maybe we can travel,” Martin responds. “I’ve always sort of wanted to go to Italy. Maybe I’ll fit in better now.”
Jon makes a face at Martin’s bad joke. It’s adorable, and Martin can’t resist bringing Jon’s knuckles to his mouth and gently kissing the back of his hand.
*****
They go on lots of dates outside. Martin feels bad about using public transportation, most days, since even one bee on the train causes a fair amount of panic. He can’t eat, either, with no stomach to digest or store food, which is really disappointing and knocks dinner or coffee dates off the table.
Just wandering outside is nice, though. Martin’s bees get to forage for food and Jon gets some sun, for once. They sit down on park benches and talk or sit in silence.
The bees like to wander over Jon’s face. He sputters when they walk on his lips and sneezes when their legs or wings tickle his nose, shuts his eyes tightly when they get too close, and always, always turns pink. It’s adorable, and Martin can never resist kissing Jon’s blushing cheeks.
Jon’s talking about a statement when Martin realizes something. He can’t help laughing, and laughing harder when Jon looks at him, clearly offended.
“I’m sorry, it’s not- not the statement, just,” Martin manages. “We make a strange pair, y'know? Two spooky creatures on a park date.”
Jon looks even more outraged at being called a spooky creature. “We are! We both regularly terrify innocent strangers!”
“You don’t terrify people! You’re Martin! ”
“I do!” Martin’s still laughing, a bit. “Even just the bees scare people! You saw that poor old woman when one came out of my mouth earlier.”
“I- well, that’s just the once.” Jon says, determined to win this silly argument.
“In the archives, then. Half the statement givers almost run on their way out of the archives.” Martin responds, because he does scare people now and has proof to back it up.
Jon frowns, trying to grasp for a good rebuttal, but he can’t, because he Knows that Martin is right. “Fine, alright, we’re both scary. At least you don’t give people nightmares.”
He leans into Martin and resentfully mutters, “Spooky creatures....”
The warmth in Martin’s chest grows to an almost painful degree.
*****
Martin yells at Jon when he comes out of the Buried, bruised and dragging Daisy up behind him.
The bees had led him to Jon’s desk, when he’d arrived at the Archives three mornings ago, and clustered around one of the drawers. When Martin opened it, there’d been a rib lying there, still pink and moist, starting to stink and stain the wood underneath it. Next to the rib sat a tape.
He listened to it. Nearly threw it across the room when the coffin slammed shut. Martin realized with a jolt that the bees that stayed with Jon – he sort of lets them float out of his awareness most of the time – are no longer linked with the hive. But not dead. Just- cut off for now. It’s enough for him to hold onto to keep from breaking down.
When Basira came in he told her what Jon had done, and she turned a frightening shade of grey.
They’d waited.
Melanie joined them, occasionally, came in and out of the room several times over the course of each day. She never stayed for more than half an hour, though.
Basira left to sleep and eat but Martin doesn't need to anymore so he’d stayed. The bees have enough honey stored up to last a good while, so they don’t try to leave and forage.
He doesn't know what he can do so he just sits. The bees mostly stay inside him, but he can feel them swarming around his nose and mouth and the opening in his side they like to use, especially when he forgets to breathe. They sing to him about comfort and not-alone, but they’re worried about Jon too. Some bees go to the coffin, even, squeeze into the crack in the lid and disappear from Martin’s awareness. He wants to follow Jon just as much, but he doesn't know how to find him, so he stays.
It’s over three days, by the time the coffin opens.
Martin had finally decided just to do something , so now there’s tapes on every available surface, running a dozen statements. It was a weird impulse, but the coffin had sort of- shuddered? He and Basira both stared at it. The bees had swarmed over all the cracks in the lid when it moved, excited for something to happen. And then, a minute or two later, the lid opens.
First, Martin realizes he can sense all the bees he’d lost again. He’s not quite sure he can move, frozen by anxiety about what might crawl out of the Buried.
Jon pulls himself out, covered in scrapes and dirt. Bees crowd over him immediately, and he carefully brushes them off of one hand to reach behind him and pull someone out after him. Basira is already yelling at Jon about how stupid he’s been, but she stops talking as soon as she sees who comes out.
“Hi.”
Daisy looks terrible. She’s pale and thin, with dark circles under her eyes and dirt ground deeply into every crevice in her skin. Her legs shake as she steps out of the coffin, and Basira lunges forwards to catch her in a tight hug.
Something about the sudden motion snaps Martin back into his body, and he’s moving forwards too, walking until he’s standing right in front of Jon and he can hear himself yelling. Martin is so angry, and relieved, and he doesn't quite know what he’s saying but Jon seems safe and whole and the bees are crowding around him, going over every inch of skin they can manage. He trails off, eventually, and just stands there, staring at his stupid, stupid boyfriend, unsure of what to do or say.
Jon smiles at him, eyes tired, and he pulls out a hard plastic water bottle. The top is covered in cheesecloth and it’s a bit crushed. He lets the bees inside out, and they crawl easily into his hands and then Martin’s, too exhausted to fly. Jon’s exhausted too, and he leans against Martin, cold hands finding their way into his sweater to warm up against his skin. He shudders a bit when Martin hugs him and presses his forehead harder against Martin’s chest.
“I’m sorry. I just-” Jon takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
It’s not alright. Martin’s still angry and Jon needs to trust them, both to help and to not get hurt. Jon keeps making impulsive, dangerous decisions, and it has to stop.
They’re going to have to talk about it later, but right now, Martin just holds Jon close and presses a kiss into his dusty hair.
*****
A few months after Martin changes, he starts getting sticky. First, it’s just propolis, sealing cuts in his skin and preventing any infection or decay. Then, the amount of honey in his hive grows enough to contribute to his problem. The comb keeps most of the honey contained, but Martin is a moving person and not a tree, so sometimes the wax splits and honey drips. His bees mend the tears in the comb and his skin, but there’s still some honey that gets missed.
Jon likes the smell, the warm wax and sweet honey. Martin gets to hold him close while Jon buries his face in his neck and just breathes. Once, Jon gets curious and licks a bit of honey dripping on Martin’s hand, when they’re lying on the couch one night. Nothing bad happens, and it tickles.
He can’t do his job easily, though, since his hands stick on the pages. Peter talks to him, and he’s just as smug and annoying as he was before Martin changed, but he’s not intimidating in the same way. Plus, he flinches away from the bees, like Martin can infect him and steal his Loneliness, which is entertaining. Martin gets to keep working at the archives, but a box of single-use gloves becomes an office necessity.
Working at the archives is a good constant, something normal in his life Martin gets to count on. Well, not normal, since the Institute is still a stronghold of the Beholding and researches the supernatural, but close enough. Basira, Daisy, and Helen don’t seem to care about the bees as long as nobody gets stung, so in that aspect the bee-people relations are fine. Sometimes Daisy snaps at him to go away if the buzzing gets on her nerves but that’s reasonable, like asking someone to stop tapping a pen, so Martin doesn’t think it counts. Melanie, though, gets into the bad habit of smashing bees when she’s pissed off at him. The little sharp points of pain against his awareness of the hive hurt like a static shock. He doesn’t let them sting her, but it’s tempting.
In spite of Melanie’s violent outbursts, Martin doesn't want to have to leave, especially not for something mundane as sticky hands. He could cope with it if the bees themselves were the problem. Instead, it’s honey that’s the issue.
The bees listen to him, most of the time, but they don’t slow down their production of comb (although the broodcomb is always near the old location of his heart). It breaks, and drips, and it’s annoying, because the bees always get worked up about it. Martin would like to move, though, so instead he suffers through stress and progressive exhaustion while the bees focus on repairing the comb.
Jon might not be observant, but when Martin gets dark circles and starts snapping at him, he notices, and asks what’s going on.
“I just, I can’t move without breaking the comb, and it’s, it’s exhausting, because the bees are spending so much time trying to fix the comb and then I move again and it starts all over, so I’m just. Really tired.” Martin buries his face in his hands and folds into the corner of Jon’s couch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it, I’m just- tired.”
“How much comb do you have where it isn’t an issue?” Jon asks, his eyes sharp in a way that means he has an idea. Martin sort of hates that look because it’s the precursor to some of the stupider decisions Jon has made in the past few years. He answers anyway.
“I mean, it’s not a problem in my chest, ‘cause there isn’t too much motion there, it’s just grown into my stomach, and the ribs aren’t there to keep my sides and stuff from smashing the comb if I walk or bend over or something. There's not… a ton of comb there? I can’t really tell, I just noticed when it started getting broken, since it takes up so much energy to fix.”
“Why not just cut it out? If you’ve got enough comb in your chest to maintain the hive, it should be fine.”
Martin stares at Jon for a long moment. “So you want to, to what? Cut me open and carve out a big piece of honeycomb?”
“Well, if you’re going to put it like that, it sounds cruel.” Jon’s a bit snippy, now, when he adds, “It wouldn’t hurt you, would it?”
“I- well, yeah, the cutting into me part would hurt! I’m missing my guts, not my nerve endings!” Martin can hear how shrill his own voice is getting from the idea of how that would feel. But Jon is, unfortunately, right. “It’s not. It’s not a bad idea, though.”
*****
A week later, they’re ready for their fun D.I.Y. supernatural surgery.
Basira helps them get the anaesthetic, same as she did for Melanie, and they put down a plastic tablecloth on one of the tables in the archives. Jon wears gloves, the big thick kind for cleaning, to avoid getting stung (which is stupid, none of the bees would sting him) or getting honey all over himself. He fiddles with the tools they have sitting on the edge of the table: a scalpel, a few clamps to keep skin open, and a knife to carve out the honeycomb. On the floor, there’s a bucket to put the comb in.
While Martin climbs onto the table and lies down, the others gather around. Basira’s checking the dosage on the local anaesthetic, while Daisy and Melanie are just there to watch, for the most part. Jon is practically twitching with nerves, but he’s got a look in his eye like he has to Know what Martin looks like, inside and out. Maybe it should be unsettling.
The sting of the needle piercing his skin is uncomfortable each time Jon administers the anaesthetic. The incision has to be long, so there are more injections than Martin’s comfortable with. After the nerve block starts working, Jon cuts into his stomach, lips tight and face pale, with just an unpleasant tugging feeling. Martin decides he regrets being awake for this. Seeing his stomach sliced open is more disturbing than he would have thought, given some of the more alarming things that have happened to him in the past few years. There’s no blood, and he isn’t sure if that’s because of the location of the incision or if he just doesn’t bleed anymore.
They’d almost used smoke for this part, but after a little bit of research it seemed silly since smoke primarily masks alarm pheromones. Instead, Martin just gently directs all the bees away from the comb they’re cutting out, waiting until each little point of awareness settles either outside of him, or far up inside his chest, around the broodcomb. After a couple minutes, there’s a few on Jon’s gloves — he has to nudge one away from crawling inside and risking a rubbery death by squishing — but none in or on the comb that’s getting removed.
Basira and Jon work in tandem to secure the incision open, then Basira turns on the desk lamp and gets out a flashlight to help with visibility even more. Basira takes a few photos, to send in to research, in digital and on film. Jon cuts a chunk of honeycomb out without any issues. It doesn't hurt or feel like a loss to Martin; it’s no more a part of him than his hair or nails. However, seeing yellow comb come out of him, clearly repaired in places and dripping with honey, is a deeply weird experience, even though Martin had known, logically, that’s what was inside him. The comb drops into the bucket with a thump.
The process repeats a few times. Cut off a section of comb, manoeuvre it outside of Martin, drop it in the bucket.
Once all the excess honeycomb is out of the way, Jon leans in close, face nearly inside Martin, which, gross, and examines his insides. He even reaches a tentative hand in, and brushes it gently against the bees crawling cheerfully inside Martin’s chest. The back of the glove brushes against the inside of Martin’s ribcage, and he shudders, because it feels wrong to have anything other than his bees touching that. Jon jerks away like one of the bees just stung him, and for a moment Martin is concerned before realizing Jon isn’t hurt.
The bees are still singing, though, calm as ever. Just that steady stream of love and family and hive , the thread of hello hello you’re ours we love you hello that always picks up around Jon clear through their song.
Jon backs off to let Basira take more pictures of Martin’s chest cavity and the hive that lives inside him. He starts opening the zip-stitches, and when Basira is done, uses them to close the gash in Martin’s stomach. Martin sits up, after everything is sealed up, and wonders at how much easier movement is without the resistance of the comb.
*****
Basira eventually points out that, hey, Martin is a willing, non-murderous supernatural subject. If the Institute's scientists got excited over Prentiss’ worms, they’re going to love working with a cooperative version.
He’s sceptical at first, since any research on him won’t really be bound by strict ethical codes due to the dubious nature of his 1)humanity and 2)status as a living creature. He eventually capitulates to Jon and Basira’s obvious curiosity as to what the researchers could figure out, though. They want to know so bad . Martin is both a pushover and someone who likes to make people he cares about happy, so he heads up to research and submits himself for study.
The researchers are much nicer than Martin would have thought. Nobody grabs at him without warning or ignores his opinions, and everyone is very respectful of him. The bees get treated well, too. One grad student even takes to petting the bees when they land near her, stroking gently over their abdomens. The vibrations feel weird in Martin’s awareness of the bees, but in a nice way.
For the most part, tests are non-invasive. They take Martin’s temperature, which is about 2 degrees below human normal and just at beehive normal. They observe the bees, cataloging their physical appearance and behaviors, and check them for any pests.
Apparently the honey is safe, and the only property they’ve pinned down is that it’s about three times stickier than the control samples. The mice they fed it to are doing fine though, and Claudia says she doesn't feel any different after eating a little.
Martin does not consent to letting them actually look inside him, since they’ve got access to the photos. They’re pretty bland, honestly. Just an unremarkable beehive that happens to be in his hollowed-out chest cavity.
He does let them dissect the bees on the condition the bees die naturally first. The worker bees seem normal, they go through the same life cycle as regular bees and die in 4-5 months. They’re paler than most honeybees, but it turns out that Jon’s assumption they’re Cordovan bees was right. The only thing that seems unusual about them is the connection they have with Martin and the queen.
That is, until they finally test the sting. It takes nearly an hour for the scientists to convince Martin to have a bee sting a lab mouse. Sacrificing a bee isn’t that bad, like yanking out a hair at the root, but Martin uses one of the oldest bees to sting the mouse. The reaction seems normal at first, but then the swelling grows and grows until the mouse is dead, and then keeps growing. The scientists are transfixed, staring at the tiny corpse, twisted and corrupted with the toxins Martin killed it with.
Martin doesn’t throw up. He tries, retches and heaves over a toilet bowl until one of the researchers call up Daisy to escort him back to the archives. Instead of vomit, he just coughs and chokes up warm, wet air and watery honey and the occasional bee. When Daisy comes into the bathroom to collect him, she’s imposing, wearing a sharpness he hasn’t seen since she pulled herself out of the coffin. She seems to fold into herself when he looks at her, spit and honey dripping down his chin and tears smeared on his face. On their way back to the archives, she grips his hand and his shoulder in a tight, centering hold.
Jon’s on them as soon as they walk through the door, and Martin collapses into his arms. He can hear Basira swear, but it feels distant, and so does the blanket someone wraps around him.
Jon’s a small man, thin from stress and too many missed meals, but his arms are firm around Martin. Martin feels safer than he has for years and can’t stop himself from sobbing into Jon’s sharp shoulder. The bees cluster over both of them, crawling under and over clothes in a living barrier to everything else. Time goes funny, and he can’t track how long he’s crying, but when his mind finally clears up, they’re kneeling on the floor. Jon’s making little, soothing sounds, and Martin’s clutching the back of his sweater like he can keep Jon close forever. They stay like that until Martin’s breathing is mostly regular, and Martin slowly lifts his head and unclenches his fists.
“Sorry,” Martin says. It feels inadequate. “Thank you.”
Jon’s sweater is soaked with honey and tears. Martin apologizes again, then a third time.
His queen is still anxious, and the normal litany of love you is interspersed with questions and worry. The bees are trying to calm him down, but they’re stressed out because he’s stressed out, and it’s making an awful feedback loop. Martin opens his mouth and finds himself telling Jon everything before he can even ask.
“It was. It was just a mouse, but it was so bad, and it was my fault, I really am a monster.” Martin uses his sleeve to violently scrub at his eyes. “I mean, I’ve got bees living inside me, I knew I was a monster. But I didn’t know I could hurt people? And it was just all too much. So, yeah. Thank you.”
The bees are singing to him, trying to calm him down, and it should work, it normally works, but. Well. He’d just seen what he can do with them.
“It’s alright, Martin. I don’t mind.” Jon’s always been a terrible liar, but he wouldn’t say that if he wasn’t willing to do it again. It’s a comforting thought, that even though Martin’s a monster, people still care about him.
Basira tries to break the tension, when there’s an awkward stretch of silence. She clears her throat, and says, “If Martin is bees, does this make Jon a bee-holding avatar?”
Jon huffs in amusement because his sense of humor is really that awful. Daisy groans and throws a pen at her, but it works. Martin lets out a watery laugh, and feels like everything might be fine.
*****
Martin and Jon move in together. It’s out of convenience as much as anything — Martin’s landlord is getting suspicious about the bees, and Jon rarely bothers to go back to his flat for anything more than a shower and fresh change of clothes.
Their new place is on the top floor, and the building’s owner said they could keep a beehive on the roof. Martin sets one up, for appearances. It might even get used, in a year or two, if his colony gets too big and needs to split into another hive. Better to have bee boxes than make more corruption avatars.
Their bedroom isn’t used often as it should be, because Martin doesn't really need sleep anymore and Jon is as likely to sleep in the archives as at home. The floors get sticky fast, even though they get scrubbed every week, and there’s a thin layer of fuzz from socks in all the heavily-used areas. The linen closet has a spider that Martin’s named George II that Jon hates but doesn't kill.
It’s got good lighting though, and Martin keeps all the windows open so the bees can come and go as they please. Jon gets window boxes and fills them with a variety of pollinator-friendly flowers, and goes bright red anytime Martin starts thanking him.
Jon agrees not to smoke inside the apartment itself, and gets into the habit of hanging half-out the kitchen window to have a cigarette. It’s sort of hilarious, the few times Martin sees him from outside. He looks like a weedy gargoyle, watching the passerbys with his elbows in the dirt of their window box. The bees start swarming around him as soon as they notice him, so by the time Martin is close enough to see him he’s often already surrounded by an affectionate crowd. Martin wishes he was musically inclined enough to give Jon the hive’s song and show him just how much they love him.
Their routine is simple. Martin is up early, and makes breakfast for Jon, then guilts him into eating it. They go to the archives, do their jobs as normal until around 6, and go back home together. Sometimes one of them stays later working on something, usually Jon, but most of the time they’re both home at least by 8. They get into the habit of curling up on the couch together, Martin normally watching television or reading something light while Jon scowls at his laptop for refusing to show the relevant information on some follow-up. He always puts it away and relaxes eventually, though. The bees like to crawl on his hair and clothes when he falls asleep against Martin. When that happens, Martin picks Jon up and carries him to bed, and curls up around him, even if he’s going to be awake for most of the night. It’s sickenly domestic. Martin has never been so happy.
They’re even discussing getting a cat.
The attitude in the Archives changes, too. Peter Lukas’ influence is less, there, than in the rest of the Institute. Jon thinks it’s because the bees make it difficult to feel alone, but Martin suspects it’s really because they’ve all gotten closer. Basira and Daisy sometimes come over to their apartment, even, and joke about the sticky floors and the propolis building up on the ugly popcorn ceiling. Even Melanie has mostly forgiven Jon now, and the quiet in the archives is companionable rather than cold. Lukas has no right to interfere in a stronghold of Beholding, and certainly not with the Archivist. And Martin certainly isn’t going to let anyone feel any more lonely than they already are, without a hive to sing to them.
Jon’s become a little more the Archivist over the past several months, and Basira tells them how insufferable Elias is about it. He’s still Jon, though, and it’s not like Martin hasn’t become more than just himself recently.
So they’re two not-quite-monsters in love.
Martin and Jon both get the first statements about them.
Martin scolds Jon for harassing that poor lady instead of coming to one of them for a statement. She didn’t deserve it, but she’s the only one they haven’t prevented since the first time it happened. They notice, when he needs a statement, and getting a written statement or sitting down and giving one is easier than dealing with the fallout from Jon’s… snacks. Basira leads the rest of them to ream Jon out for his actions, and they all get a little more careful about making sure the Archivist dosen’t go hunting. He’s fed well enough with statement givers who come voluntarily. A spider waiting in a web, ironic as it is.
The story from that man Martin terrified on the bus — it was an accident, he just had a cough, not his fault his chest is full of curious bees — is morbidly funny, though. Melanie laughs so hard she snorts water up her nose when she hears about it, especially when Martin dryly shares his perspective.
Things still go sideways, sometimes. For the most part it’s just par for the course. The Flesh keep trying to get into the archives, Basira and Jon go to investigate the People’s Church of the Divine Host, et cetera, et cetera. But overall, it’s easier to manage as a group.
Martin has a hard time remembering why he ever tried to go over to the Lonely, now. He can protect his friends much better like this. A hive’s strength is in cooperation, after all.
And Martin is a very good hive.