You're Gonna Need An Ocean
by Dan Spector
Rating: R

Disclaimer: The BtVS characters are owned by Joss Whedon and associated sadists. "Poison Ivy" was written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, but given what the music biz was like in the '50s, they probably don't own one bit of it these days. I don't know who does, but he's not me, okay?
Spoilers: Nothing specific, except a rehashed anecdote from "Killed By Death". It's sometime in Season 3, it's warm outside, and nobody's evil or going to be. Oh, and Cordelia's still rich.
Author's Notes: This is extremely pointless fluff, inspired by Eliza Dushku's appearance on "The Late Show With David Letterman" last night (August 27th, 2002). Eliza was suffering from poison ivy, and Dave asked her about it, inquiring if her throat was "red-hot". Eliza said "It might well *be*, Dave", in a very Faithian way and thus the idea of Faith, suffering from poison ivy, was born.
Other Note: "//////" indicates song lyrics.
Dedication: To Elaine Martin and A1AlyWill for requesting a report on the appearance for benefit of the overseas audience (thus forcing me not to miss it) and to callistosdarkside, to whom I was sending screen caps when the idea for the fic hit. Oh, and to whoever made Eliza's dress (if you've seen it, you know what I mean).

"Fuck, B!" Faith said, "I can't believe this! How the fuck do I end up getting poison ivy in southern California?"

"Well, considering that Dr. Kleingross was sacrificing his patients' frozen embryos to Vendela—" Buffy noted, commiserating with her girlfriend.

"Vondollah," Willow corrected. "Vondollah was the demon. Vendela is a model, I think."

"Sorry, Will. Anyhow, weird tastes in horticulture? Not his highest score on the 'sin' meter, I'm thinking," Buffy finished.

"Yeah, but why the fuck did Von Trapp or whoever have to throw me in that shit? Now I'm burning up all over!" Both Buffy and Willow quirked their eyebrows at the darkhaired Slayer "And not in the good way, either," Faith said, scowling at them. "I mean, I'm really hot," she added, almost daring her fellow slayer and the redhead to take the opening as she shifted around in Buffy's bed.

"Well, part of that is because it's eighty-five degrees and you're wearing all that leather," Willow noted.

"Good point, Will," Buffy enthused. "Faith, I'll have to get you out of that, right away!"

Faith rolled her eyes at the blonde's triteness, and Willow gave a slight smirk. She'd show Buffy, she didn't embarass quite that easily these days.

"And also," Willow continued, unfazed, "you're probably feeling a swelling in the throat, which could account for some of your discomfort. Is your throat red-hot, Faith?" See, she could play this game as well as the Slayers—it's not like she wasn't used to the two of them by now.

"Geez, Red," Faith smirked, "I don't think C would like you asking other girls those kind of questions."

"Relax, Faith," Buffy said, placing her hand where she was pretty sure there was a thigh under the covers, "Willow knows this stuff. She and Xander played Doctor all the time growing up, only she was actually diagnosing him and stuff."

"Yeah, well, at least that's her story NOW," Faith drawled. "But, yeah, I don't feel so great. You'd think the slayer-healing thing would take care of this."

"It will," Willow observed. "Just not instantly. But you'll be better in a couple of days."

"Days??" Faith groaned, exceedingly over-dramatically. "I feel like I'm dying now, I tell ya! B, my throat feels really rotten—feel how lumpy it is."

Ever the obedient girlfriend (and ever eager for the touch of Faith at her fingertips), Buffy reached for the younger girl's pulse point...

"No!" Willow warned, grabbing at Buffy's outstretched hand. "Buffy, she's very contagious now! If you touch the wrong spot, you could have an outbreak, and then you'd both be itchy and hot and...tingling...and you'd have to get ointment...and put it on...each lots of places..." the not-quite-as-shy-as-she-used-to-be redhead noticed the slight panting tone that had crept into her voice and promptly broke off and stood up, primly adjusting her sheer Donna Karan blouse. "Excuse me," she said, "I have to go find Cordelia." Her tight black skirt swishing across the middle of her thighs, Willow strode purposefully from Buffy's bedroom.

Buffy watched Willow go, and Faith watched Buffy watch Willow.

"Hey!" Faith griped. "Girlfriend right here! SICK girlfriend!"

"I was just admiring her outfit," Buffy covered, turning to the other Slayer, who wasn't buying for a second. "I mean, Cordelia really knows how to dress someone up."

"Yeah, well maybe I should start angling for a new wardrobe then," the Bostonian teased. "You wanted some of Red, you had two years to get it—don't go thinking about it now."

Buffy looked into Faith's eyes, rich brown pools of passionate hunger, and idly patted the bedspread again, momentarily distracted to discover that Faith had shifted position and what she was now patting was no longer a thigh.

"No, seriously, I was just thinking about how much Will's changed since I met her," Buffy said. "Believe me, honey, I'm glad I waited for you."

"Really?" Faith asked, a momentary bout of insecurity at still being the outsider (interloper?) in the group flashing across her brow.

"Duh!" Buffy said, blowing the afflicted girl a kiss. "Besides, Will and Cordy have WAY too much history for me to ever think about getting between them. I just never thought they'd end up together—I figured it was more like they'd kill each other first."

"Yeah," Faith nodded her agreement. "I guess an entire childhood of bein' a bitch was just C's idea of really good foreplay, huh? Who knew?"

Buffy inched further up the bed and made a not-very-convincing attempt at a frown. "Yeah, like you'd know about THAT," she teased. "I can remember your ultra-sophisticated attempt at seduction," Buffy said, putting on a less-than-skilled "Bahstahn" accent. "'Geez, B, you're wicked hot! Let's fuck!'"

Faith reached behind her head and grabbed one of Buffy's stuffed animals (but not Mr. Gordo, though—she knew better than that) and threw it—hard—at the giggling blonde, who ducked.

"You are such a goddamn fucking liar, B!" Faith shrieked. "I said 'Let's screw!'," she mock-raged, then fixed Buffy with a smoldering gaze.

"Besides," Faith added, "it worked..."

"That it did," Buffy agreed, and moved in for a kiss.

"Whoa, B, whoa!" Faith yelped, raising a hand. "Didn'tcha hear what Red said, or were ya too busy checking out her ass? Ya start smooching me and you're gonna get this stuff, too, all the itching and burning and all of it."

"So what?" Buffy asked, steely determination in her voice. "That just means we'll burn...together."

Lots of stuff that Joyce Summers tried to pretend didn't happen regularly, happened. Several times.


The next day, in the library, Buffy and Faith constantly fidgeted, shifted their positions and rubbed their forearms hard against each other, trying to quell the itch without scratching at it.

Willow and Cordelia looked at them and gave eerily synchronized displays of rolling their eyes, snorting derisively, and glaring at the twitching slayers. Although to be fair to Willow, she was going for "stern disapproval" as opposed to her girlfriend's "haughty disgust".

Buffy noticed the looks coming across the table and decided that, clothes aside, Cordelia was definitely being a bad influence on the hacker. Then she went back to working on the problem of how much lotion she would have to pick up at the store so that she and Faith could make sure to apply it to ALL of the afflicted areas. Repeatedly.

	She's as pretty as a daisy
	But look out, man, she's crazy
	She'll really do you in
	Now if she gets under your skin

	Poison Ivyyyyy, Poison Ivyyyyyy
	Late at night when you're sleepin'
	Poison Ivy comes a-creepin'

	You're gonna need an ocean of calamine lotion....
	The Coasters, "Poison Ivy" (1959)

The End