"Looks better curly," Modomnoc insists. Never mind that he hasn't technically seen it that way, or that his compound eyes don't give him the most hi-res view of the world under the best lighting conditions, let alone the current, terrible ones. He just knows it to be true because she knows it, and if there were ever any doubts that this bee is connected to her on levels she doesn't even want to plumb, this whole… interaction… pretty much puts those to rest.

She makes a soft sound at Spike's offer, a sort of hoot, strangled and incredulous. The funny-not-ha-ha thing is that it should worry her, but it doesn't. And she isn't especially surprised when Modomnoc only hesitates for a moment before crawling onto Spike's hand. The same hand that smacked him across a room last time, but uh, bygones, apparently. The ache intensifies a little, but so does the warmth - it's okay, she's okay, they're okay. More than okay. They're… safe.

Her grip on Spike's shirt relaxes, finally, though she's left two little wrinkled patches in the fabric. Her heart still feels like it's going to hammer its way out of her chest, and she's pretty sure she'd look crimson in any decent lighting, but she's breathing, and she's only trembling a little. A moment later, there's the familiar prickle of Dom's little legs on her head, and the world shifts back into its normal dimensions. She pulls back a little so she can look at Spike properly, her hands drifting up to cup his face as if seeing him for the first time in years.

"Gods," she says breathlessly, pulling him down so she can rest her forehead against his. "That… was something."