"So, um ... what should I call you then? Pet?"
Buffy just looks at him as he leans right up in her face.
Sweetheart? My, uh ... (fondling a piece of her hair) little goldilocks?"
He toys with her hair for a moment with one hand, then the other.
"You know I love this hair. The way it bounces around..."
(Spike-Gone)
I think the thing I love most about her is her hair. The blonde waves that fall softly around her shoulders, that frame the contours of her face. The highlights of gold and amber that perfectly complement the emerald of her eyes. Goldilocks. The endearment is suitable, perfect. She lowers her eyes and pulls away when I call her that. I know deep inside of her somewhere she wants me to call her by these pet names I have for her, but because she is afraid won't let me penetrate this one barrier. God knows, I've penetrated the other walls she has put up. I want to say it was easy, but I know that's not true. Nothing is easy when it comes to her. But I can still touch her hair. Run my fingers through it. Let the strands slip through my fingers like satin. I lift the waves to my nose and inhale. The strands smell like strawberries, like sunshine, like life. I want to wrap that scent around me, put it in a bottle, carry it with me. That is all I have. The one thing I can cling to. Yet she doesn't want to cling to me. She pulls away, slaps my hands, pushes roughly against my chest. I plant my hands on the slim curve of her hips and pull her roughly to me, she gasps, her hair tumbles around her shoulders and the scent hits me again. I can't stop myself, although her half-hearted pleas of 'Spike, please stop' are enough to send me careening to the precipice of insanity. I teeter there for a moment, contemplating whether to let myself fall off with abandon. But I do stop. For the moment. I lift the strands of her hair to my nose again and hear the whimper in her throat and I smile. She likes what I do to her, even though she is afraid. But God, I love her hair.
The long hair that I loved is gone. Saw her tonight, saw what she did and could barely keep my mouth shut. Bloody hell! What she go and do that for? Almost lost the fragile control I have on myself when I'm around her and the scoobies. I wanted to yank her arm, pull her off to somewhere quiet and bawl her out for doing this to me. To me! I hate that the long lengths of satiny silk that used to pool around her slim but strong shoulders is gone. Nothing left of the one thing simple and sweet about a complex woman. I hate that I can see her ears now when she tucks the short strands of hair behind them. I hate that I can study the smooth column of her throat and that the thought of biting her now enters my mind more than it used to. I hate the looks she is shooting me as if taunting me...'ha ha...I cut my hair...you have no hold on me now!' I want to hate her, but God knows I just can't. She can cut her hair shorter if she bloody well wants to, because I know the secret now. I still love her. I will always love her and no matter what games she plays or how much she pushes me away I know I'm in her system now. She says she doesn't love me, but I know that it hasn't happened yet. Soon.
Maybe she'll grow her hair long again...