Naturally the bees tattled.

Right in the middle of their argument she started wheezing, and that immediately put the kibosh on everything they'd been shouting at each other for the last hour. Stinger helped her to a chair in the living room, dropping down next to the arm to keep an eye on her while Gina struggled for breath. Above, a nimbus of bees began circling, creating a breeze around them.

Gina still managed to look annoyed even through her chuffing. She waved him away and leaned back in the chair, taking slow, deep breaths in an attempt to regain some sense of control. Stinger watched her. He noted that she hadn't panicked, which meant she'd been through prior attacks, and that fact worried him. The sheer need to do something drove him to the kitchen and he filled a water glass, bringing it back as quickly as he could.

She took it, grudgingly, and managed a few sips before speaking, her voice now deeper and huskier than ever. "Thank you. This doesn't let you off the hook, though."

"I know," Stinger shrugged, noting how her face stayed pale even as the rattle of her breathing faded. "Better?"

"A little," she admitted quietly, adding, "You shouldn't have done it; that's all. There's nothing TO be done, and I won't waste an Entitled's time looking for a cure for what can't be fixed."

"That's your piece, now here's mine," he replied. "You're my queen and head of this hive. A drone's duty to save his queen."

"A drone's duty is to obey his queen," Gina growled. "And give her a nice snuggle now and again."

Stinger felt his eyebrow go up at this euphemism and his look made Gina giggle in little croaks. "Oh, snuggling is it? We've gone through six sets of sheets I'll have you know."

"Shhh!" Gina blurted, finally blushing. "And that's not the point here."

He leaned over the arm of the chair and kissed her mouth firmly, then pressed light ones up her nose until his lips were against her cool, damp forehead. "I've done my duty as a drone. I'm calling in this favor as a man, Gina. You saw her; it's a trifle with all of her assets and power. If she can help, she will."

Stinger felt her kiss his throat, and it sent a pang of guilty desire through him like a hot needle. He'd become sensually sensitized now, in synch with Gina, susceptible to her touch, her scent. Being aroused now though seemed out of place, and he tried to pull back.

Gina purred against his throat and Stinger stiffened, both metaphorically and physically, caught over the edge of the chair, and all too aware that Gina's hand was now slipping under his shirt.

"You're not well . . ." he tried to begin, but her kiss turned into a nip, and that set matters off right then and there. Stinger had never considered any of the living room furniture as suitable for consorting before, but found that the assumption was wonderfully mistaken. By the time he needed to catch his breath they'd debauched the recliner, the oak coffee table, and had taken terrible, intimate advantage of a hapless ottoman.

"If I'm going out, I'm going out with a bang," Gina wheezed at him, damp curls framing her pink, happy face as they lay clumped on the sofa. Stinger chuffed a little himself, feeling a bit exposed since half his clothing lay strewn about. He ran a hand over his bristly chin and sighed.

"At this rate you'll be the death of me first," he pointed out. "Not that it won't make an impressive tombstone." He waved a vague hand. "Here lies Stinger Apini; he gave his all for hive and queen."

Gina giggled. "Well you're very good at your all, you know."

He would have made some witty reply, but the sound of the truck rumbling up the road made him jump and grab for his trousers even as he shook a finger at Gina, who was busy collecting her own intimate apparel.

She laughed at him, and for one long moment he looked at her framed in the afternoon light, dark curls crowning her head, eyes deep and sweet as she giggled.

The image ran him through, flooding his senses with a rich drug composed of feelings sweeter than adoration, stronger than lust. Stinger stood there, jeans in his hands, stunned.

"Oh for the love of pollen get dressed!" Gina told him in good-natured exasperation. "Kiza's going to walk in at any minute!"

"I love you," he blurted, slightly terrified of the words.

Gina's mouth made a lovely 'O' before she replied, "No, I love you," and threw a cushion at him.

Stinger grinned all the way into the downstairs bathroom.

-oo00oo-

A few weeks passed since nearly getting caught, and he hadn't meant to overhear their conversation, but he'd been standing on the back porch, struggling to scrape mud off his boots when their chat drifted out the kitchen window. It wasn't as if Stinger had planned a sudden late afternoon downpour to leave him with filthy footwear right before dinner. But there it was and there he was, a few feet away in the dark.

"You guys are being, um, careful, right?" His daughter asked. Stinger felt his face go red even as he winced. By rights children weren't supposed to ask that sort of question to the grownups, but then again, he and Gina hadn't been terribly grown up lately.

"I'm Bombini; your father's Apini. We're not biologically compatible," Gina murmured. "Besides, Legionnaires are usually not . . . capable of breeding. That's what I was given to understand anyway."

"Some are, the ones in the program," Kiza persisted.

"Maybe they had a select few back when the Legion Splices were still the vanguard, but not now. And I'm a queen mostly in name around here anyway, so breeding's probably not in the cards—your status as an only princess is safe."

"I don't know," his daughter mused, "might be fun to have a grublet or two around."

He heard Gina chuckle with a hint of sadness to it. "What, and make all the little ladies of the hive jealous?"

"Are you kidding? They'd probably stuff it chock full of bee bread," Kiza replied. "They're already going into overdrive on that, honey, and royal jelly with you around. No, I was just sort of . . . you know, wondering. Not like I could ask dad about it."

Mentally Stinger agreed; one embarrassing birds and bees discussion with his teenage daughter had been enough for him in this lifetime, and any others involving his own love life were off the table. He hadn't considered the current topic much himself, for the same reason of incompatibility that Gina had mentioned.

That, and her own declining health. So far they hadn't told Kiza, but Stinger knew it would have to be soon. For the moment, these halcyon days would have to be enough and he was loathe to spoil it.

"True. But no, I'm fairly sure it's not in the cards for us," Gina murmured. "We've got our hands full with you, anyway."

His daughter made a rude sound, and that gave Stinger the opening he needed; he stomped on the porch and made as much noise as possible before entering the kitchen. The scent of Mulligatawny stew filled the air, making his stomach growl a little in response.

"Wet out," he muttered, trying hard to look casual.

"Been that way all day," Kiza agreed, and moved to set the table. Stinger sidled closer to the stove, lifting the lid from the pot and taking in a whiff of the contents as Gina shot him a sidelong glance.

It told him that his ruse hasn't worked; that she'd known he was on the porch. Defiantly Stinger returned the look with one of his own 'So?' expressions and set the lid down again.

They ate, listening to Kiza prattle on about college and the study group she led ("Honestly, if they'd just read the syllabus they'd know where we're headed!") before finishing the dishes and moving out to the porch. The rain had faded out to a light drizzle and it was cool enough for Gina to wear her black and yellow sweater. Stinger sat beside her in the twilight, neither of them speaking for a while.

"More rain coming," he finally offered up.

"Yep. Good for the garden."

"Might be a good time to clean the hives, too," Stinger pointed out reluctantly. They were overdue, and he didn't relish the job, but on the other hand he'd have thousands of grateful bees and a very pleased queen. Getting himself covered in bee crumble, wax, and dust seemed worth it.

"Yes," Gina agreed, and began to cough. Stinger waited a few seconds and then rubbed her back as she bent forward, trying to stay calm. It abated after a few moments, and when she straightened up, Gina looked tired. "Sorry."

The only answer for that was to wrap his arm around her and pull her close.

-oo00oo—

Within the next few days several things happened, and trying to handle each of them left Stinger feeling like a worker bee at the Rose Bowl Parade. First Gina insisted on going into work, arguing that she needed to begin shutting down her business. Stinger tried to get her to do as much as possible from the farm, and fretted mightily when she did venture out without him. He would have insisted on going along, but Gina just as firmly insisted she could handle matters.

It didn't help that Jupiter had kept her word and was sending help, generally in the form of massive data downloads and delivery of all sorts of drugs, therapies, and 3D specialists. At any given hour Stinger found himself summoned for a conference or signing for deliveries, being pulled away from the hive-cleaning and flowerbed work. Never a patient man to begin with, the constant interruptions put his temper on edge.

Not that it needed much of a push.

So when Gina returned, he stomped out to greet her, only to find blood leaking from the corner of her mouth, and his entire rant died away as he helped her out of the truck. She fought his attempts to carry her, but she did let him slip an arm around her waist and help her into the house. Stinger sat her down on the edge of the bathtub and wiped her lip, and then glared at her until she sighed.

"I may have overdone it a little," Gina admitted in a low voice. "Don't look at me like that, I'm here now."

"You," Stinger muttered, "Will be the death of us both. No need to rush things along, aye?"

"I don't rush anything," she countered, but with only half the energy she would have usually put into a retort. Stinger opened his mouth to argue, but at that point Gina turned slightly green and began waving him out of the bathroom. He left, shooting quick glares at the bees, who were hovering along the doorframe, buzzing with concern.

"Don't push her," Stinger warned them gently, "but don't . . . be too far away, either."

The bees seemed to understand this, and stayed on guard outside the bathroom while he forced himself to go back to the flowerbeds. Stinger's frustration helped him tremendously; he let it guide him through the tilling until he ached in places he'd forgotten he had. When he tried to straighten up it took a while, and he limped when he climbed the porch steps.

Gina took him by the hand and led him back to the bathroom where the tub was already filled and steaming. She stripped him down (that part he didn't mind at all) and motioned for him to get in, then pulled over the little stool from under the sink and sat down next to the tub.

He sighed as the heat sank into his muscles. "This is good; therefore I am suspicious."

"I already said I overdid it, but now so have you," Gina pointed out, giving him a patient look. "Thank you, by the way."

Stinger gave a grunt and closed his eyes, savoring the warmth. When he opened them again, Gina was peeling off her blouse.

He grinned.