Poison Ivy Ch. 01

ETA: This is a revised version of the first chapter in this series. So if you're a new reader, a few things won't match up in the following chapters. I'm working on revising them all, and I'll let you know when each of them is updated. Thanks for your patience!

Hello, readers! If you're a loyal follower, welcome to a new series! This one is quite a bit different from Laiyla and Venlen's story. I have a military background, so this story is filled with a lot of military lingo and some very foul language. If cursing offends you, please skip this altogether. I had to take some liberties with a few aspects of this story, I have a Naval background, not an Army one. But I swear, this is really how we talk.

This is an Omegaverse story. If you're not familiar with the Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, you might want to google it before you dive in. So, to recap, lots of military lingo, lots of swearing, lots of references to Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. Enjoy!

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"Quit fucking around, Toad, and get back to work," Ivy snapped, pulling a stack of paperwork from the desk in front of her to settle back down on her fold out seat. Fuck, she hated paperwork. As if taking over as supervisor for the battalion medics, a group of 8 unruly boys who resented being bossed around by a 5-foot, 95-pound girl, wasn't quite enough punishment, they had just thrown about six months' worth of backed up, tedious paperwork on her desk. Pure Fucking Bullshit.

The medics' previous supervisor had been an overweight, sweaty clown who had somehow charmed his way into the role he most certainly had not deserved, and even worse, had managed to hold onto it until he had shattered his ankle in a freak "hunting accident." Ivy had her suspicions about what the peculiar accident might have actually involved, namely, a sex swing and a 6' tall woman named Bruce, but like a good grunt, she knew when to keep her mouth shut.

"Fuck off, Poison," Toad snapped back, but he settled back down and continued to restock their gear bags. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the first folder on her lap. Alpha Injuries: Analyzing the Severity of Frequently Sustained Trauma in the Field. Brilliant. The writers of military literature should really consider branching out into full-length novels. What an exciting Sunday afternoon she had ahead of her.

She hadn't even wanted this shitty job. Had she been blessed with the all-powerful Penis (with a capitol P) that everyone around her seemed to worship so much, maybe the position might have done her career some good. As it was, all the title had given her so far was trouble. The other supervisors resented her for being at Team Leader meetings, her bosses treated her like a scrap of garbage, and nearly everyone in the battalion had accused her at one time or another of sucking dick to get the job. Beta females just weren't supposed to hold leadership positions. It wasn't done. As far as she was concerned, they could take the position and shove it up their goddamn asses if they had such a problem with it. But her Sergeant had noticed her work ethic, and for some godforsaken reason, had put her up for it.

After nearly nine months of running the crew, the one thing she had going for her was the respect of her boys. Eight males, plus herself, made up the crew of the sparsely manned, sparsely supplied med tent. Four soldiers for each shift, with her working swing shift to keep an eye on both days and nights. Her little family.

Before she had taken over, when she had just been one of the grunts, she had worked her ass off to gain their respect, pulling longer shifts, harder jobs, and heavier sacks than any of them to show them she was up for it. As their boss, her physical endurance took a backseat to her mental endurance. Like true, in-the-wild children, her kids had tested her boundaries, tried her patience, and when they came up against a consistent, fair rule at every turn, had finally given her their trust.

Real, bonafide doctors were damn hard to come by out in the wilds of Chid Forest, one of the military's satellite bases for all operations involving the hostile country of Torrin. So as far as she was concerned, the health and safety of the 1,500-ish men in Rico Battalion stuck on this outpost was their responsibility. Resentment or no, she'd be damned if she let a few off-color jokes stop her from making sure the medics were on top of their game.

"Emmerson!" a voice barked from the flimsy screen door at the front of the canvas tent. She looked up, squinting her eyes against the afternoon sun to see Prescott, her immediate supervisor, standing in the doorway. His dark skin was beaded with sweat and his eyes were dangerously narrowed. Serg was always intense, but damn, today he looked pissed.

She jumped to her feet, dropping the stack of folders she'd had on her lap in the process. Renegade papers fluttered out of their assigned positions to create a nice little mess on the floor right in front of her feet.

Fuck.

"Sergeant?" she bit out, opting to pretend she hadn't just done that.

"Officers fifteen out, clean this shithole up."

Shithole? Ivy looked around, taking stock of the nearly spotless tent. Crisp, white sheets were folded with precision over the thin, mass-produced cots lining the walls. Ten in total, five on each side. They had several extras, kept out in the supply shed in the back, for when squads came back bloodied and missing limbs and overtook their little shack. The bedside tables next to each cot had been polished to a shine. Besides the stack of folders she'd been working through, some of which were regrettably in disarray at her feet, and the packs strewn out over the back of the tent being restocked and inspected by her four daytime medics, the tent was immaculate.

Still, she wasn't about to argue. Alpha Officers rarely visited their dinky little outpost, and when they did, it was a really big fucking deal. What the hell are they coming here for? She wondered. She had only ever seen a group of Officers show up to inspect her battalion once, and that visit had been planned for months. As the unit's only female, the Beta males towered over her in formation, creating a noticeable gap, so her squad leader pulled her from the ranks and hid her in the supply shed until the Alphas left.

Not that she had been particularly disappointed. Actually, she had almost died of relief when the sergeant's hand had gripped her arm and hauled her out of sight. Something about the massive, angry looking Alphas had always bothered her, even from a distance. Other Beta females toppled over themselves trying to get into bed with the heavily muscled elite that made up the Officer ranks. Ivy was clearly not one of them.

"Roger," she said, snapping into action. "Kentucky, you and Toad wrap it up and get this crap out of here. Shove it in the shed for now. Keep the best one out in case they want to inspect it. Q, you and Bear take a quick sweep to the floor, best you can. I'll take care of the desk and the supply shelves."

Snarky attitudes shoved aside, her boys sprang into action, following her orders without question. If her heart wasn't about to beat out of her chest, she would have smiled at how far they'd come as a team. It had been like herding fucking cats when she had first taken over.

Ivy rushed to gather the strewn papers together in a disorganized stack and added it to the pile already on her desk. Walking awkwardly with the heap of wasted fucking paper the approximate length of her torso, she dropped the whole thing quite unceremoniously into the top drawer of the filing cabinet. She had to stand on her tip toes to reach that high. This world was made for six-foot men, she thought bitterly, grumbling under her breath.

The work was done quickly and efficiently, and the five of them stood at attention, all ten boots perfectly aligned on the right side of the tent, in front of the cots, with five minutes to spare.

"Poison," she heard someone whisper to her right. Her eyes cautiously followed the sound to Kentucky's wide amber eyes staring just above her forehead. "Hair," he whispered again, somehow managing to simultaneously look both exasperated and terrified. Ivy cursed under her breath and quickly re-braided the wild mess of her chocolate-colored locks. Normally, she didn't pay too much attention to it. Her boys didn't care, and it was neat enough to pass Prescott's occasional impromptu inspection. Keeping her bun impossibly tight the way she'd seen other females wear it gave her a headache, and she sacrificed perfect hair for perfect work. She considered it a fair trade.

Twisting the braid at the base of her skull into a neat bun, she yanked hard on the last hair tie keeping it all in place and winced. Her arms had just dropped down to her sides again when the screen door opened, and the biggest man she had ever seen barged in, sniffed the air, and made a beeline straight for her.

Oh my fucking god. Sweet baby Jesus, I'm going to die.

It honestly wasn't fair, the way the man's massive chest rippled with hidden muscles beneath his (much too tight) army green t-shirt. (And, seriously, did they not make that color in his size, or something? For fuck's sake.) Some of that bulk could have gone to scrawny little Toad, so he could finally get laid instead of holing up in his barracks playing video games all day when they were back at main base. Ivy snuck a quick glance down at the man's boots as he charged forward and almost rolled her eyes in exasperation. They were about the length of her entire lower leg. Now this was just ridiculous. She didn't dare look at his face, but could see in the periphery of her vision that his dark hair was close cropped and very distinctly Alpha. Tan skin covered ripple upon ripple of muscle in what she could see of his arms. His hands, clenched into tight fists that swung at his sides, could squash her like a bug. Her mouth went dry and she tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat.

Her father, recently deceased, had been a respected Beta soldier who had quickly climbed the Enlisted ranks and retired after 30 years of active duty as a Command Sergeant Major. Her mother had died when she was too young to remember much of anything. It couldn't have been easy, raising a daughter alone while also managing an entire command of Enlisted soldiers. "Beds and heads," he used to say when she'd ask him about his job. "Just beds and heads all day long, peanut." She'd hated it when he called her peanut.

Ivy had never figured out why her father, a strong, capable soldier who had seen a lifetime's worth of battles and conflicts, was so uneasy around Alphas. She asked him once, following an incident with one of his soldiers. It had been one of those rare nights when they'd been home alone together, no babysitters or obscure family members staying late to take care of her. She couldn't remember if she had been eight or nine, or maybe even ten years old. They'd been sprawled out on a pile of blankets and pillows in the middle of their living room, munching on popcorn he'd made the old fashion way, with real melted butter instead of that microwave shit. His phone, never far from him during those days, had rang just as the credits began rolling.

He'd had to take her with him to the local police precinct to collect one of the more persistent command trouble makers, who had landed himself in jail after a night of hard boozing. It was a warm summer evening, and she had rolled down her window to let in the breeze while she waited for him in the car. Distracted by some pop song on the radio she'd been belting out butchered lyrics to in her shrill, prepubescent voice, she let out a startled yelp when a very large, very scary looking man stuck his head into the window to ask if she was all right. "Yes, I'm okay sir," she said sincerely, noticing the insignia on his jacket that identified him as a Lieutenant Colonel. "I'm just waiting for my dad."

"It's very late for you to be up, little one," he'd admonished sternly. "Don't you have school in the morning?"

Ivy had frowned, childish indignation rising to the surface to contend with her lessons in courtesy and politeness. "Yes sir, but my da --"

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!" Ivy had jumped at the panic she heard in her father's shouted command. She hadn't understood why he had gotten so upset with an Officer making sure she was okay, even if he had been a bit condescending. Her father had ushered his wayward charge into the back seat and was back in the car and peeling out of the parking lot before the stunned Alpha had a chance to even react. He'd refused to discuss the incident, or tell her why an Alpha talking to her was such a bad thing.

Whatever his problem had been, a bit of his apprehension and unease had undoubtedly rubbed off on her, and that apprehension had followed her into her adult years.

Which explained why she felt the overwhelming need to curl up in a ball and start crying when the Alpha leveled his steely gaze directly at her.

She clenched her jaw and stared straight ahead. She might be quite literally shaking in her boots, but she had faced worse things in the field. Much, much worse things. She could handle a pompous, overgrown Alpha any day of the week. Sure she could.

And then he stopped right in front of her. Right. Fucking. In front of her.

"What the hell is she doing here?"

Fuck me, it talks. His voice made the wood plank floor beneath her feet vibrate. It was deeper than deep, and it sent a chill up and down her spine. She bit back a terrified squeak. She was Corporal Emmerson, the badass medic. No Alpha would get the better of her, demonic voice and colossal arms be damned!

Every Monday, the Team Leaders and Sergeants ushered four shifts of enlisted soldiers into the media tent, which was really just a shitty canvas tent set up with an ancient projector and two mismatched speakers she was pretty sure had been stolen from the big med tent back at the main base. There, crammed into a small space with no airflow and a ridiculous amount of sweaty, stinky Beta men and boys, they'd play General Nelson's weekly briefing. He'd describe their latest victories, well-spun stories that were heavily embellished and left out the toll these supposed victories took on the men and women who were actually in the field, and not in a cushy, air-conditioned office with a small army of personal servants.

Such bullshit. Ivy had seen what happened to the squads that patrolled their little base when they were caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. They had only ever lost men, they had never gained any ground or brought back any prisoners. What was more, Ivy had been in the field herself. She had seen what they were up against.

There were no fucking victories to be had.

Nelson's baritone voice was a bit underwhelming when paired with his pasty, wrinkled face and two, sometimes three blubbery chins. It was certainly a world apart from this Alpha's strong, rich cadence, like thunder announcing the presence of a sudden storm.

Sergeant Prescott scrambled up behind him, breathing heavily as he tried to keep up. She suppressed a smirk. She had never seen Prescott scramble before.

"Sir, this is Corporal Emmerson, Team Leader of Medical Tent Delta-one-two-zero."

Wait... What? Ivy blinked, letting the Alpha's words register. What the fuck did he think she was doing here, making fucking coffee? Of all the...

"Team Leader?" the Alpha seethed. Ivy clenched her fists, biting back a snarky remark. She had taken enough shit from the enlisted ranks; she didn't need to hear some backwater lecture about the proper place for a female and blah blah blah from this jackass too. She swore, if eye level hadn't been slightly below the Alpha's nipple line, she would be staring daggers at him.

Prescott faltered. "Y-yes Sir. She has proven herself to be a reliable and capable supervisor."

She watched as the massive torso of Officer Muscles twisted to look down at Prescott. "Capable?" he repeated, the word lilting sarcastically. Ivy bristled.

Prescott paused. "Adept, Sir."

"And who the fuck made that decision?" he growled. Oh, for crying out loud... There was only so much of this crap she was willing to take. Indignant irritation was rapidly replacing her fear of this prick.

"I did, Sir," Prescott answered.

Ivy sensed the giant staring at Prescott for a long moment. "Choose a replacement. I'm taking her back." There was no anger in his voice when he spoke, but there was fury in hers when she couldn't bite back a barking laugh. Prescott's eyes blazed at her threateningly, and she knew she should just shut up, but she couldn't help it. This was her life he was fucking around with! She had been with this battalion since her very first deployment, green as all hell and straight out of boot camp. The soldiers around her might be total dickheads, but they were her dickheads, dammit.

"With all due respect, Sir, you can't just fire me and kick me out of my battalion without a reason. Ask anyone here, I work hard, and I do a good job. I earned this position." Her voice crept up an octave or two at the end without her meaning it to.

There was a sound that wasn't really a sound, more of a vibration, and she felt the Alpha's eyes sear into the top of her skull. "Fuck, Poison," she heard Kentucky whisper under his breath. The officer had to back up and bend his knees, and even then, he had to grip her chin to lift her eyes up to his.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck...

Impossible blue irises so bright they were almost grey gleamed out of a painfully beautiful face. She had always had a bit of a crush on Kentucky, with his full lips, tanned skin and square jaw, but he didn't hold up a candle to the man staring down at her. Sharp cheekbones cut straight lines across a bronze countenance. His jaw was set and strong, no double chin on this dude. A nose straight out of a plastic surgeon's catalogue sat above thick, pouty lips. Those same lips were curled up into a small smile, one disgustingly perfect eyebrow arched in amusement.

Which, of course, just pissed her right the fuck off.

"Poison?" the booming voice asked, his tone soft as butter compared to the scathing words he had lodged at Prescott.

"Ivy. My name is Ivy. Poison Ivy. Original, right? Because they all say that I'm an itch in the ass that just won't go away..." She trailed off, realizing she was babbling nervously. She wanted to clamp a hand over her traitorous, runaway mouth. She cleared her throat. "Erm, sir," she finished. Eloquent, Ivy. Very smooth.

His eyes lit up with suppressed laughter. For the second time in a matter of minutes, she bristled.

"Nicknames aside, Sir, I've proven myself every bit as capable as any other Team Leader in this Battalion. I know I don't look like much, but I can hold my own in a gunfight, and I run a slick medic team, even with limited supplies and resources." She realized his giant fingers still carefully gripped her chin. Just shut the fuck up, Ivy, she told herself. He's going to crush you with that overgrown hand like the bug that you are.

"You're quite wrong, Corporal," he breathed, his eyelids dropping slightly, almost like he was getting sleepy. "You look like quite a bit more than you realize."

It wasn't until then, when his hooded eyes and thunderous voice had her full attention and his warm breath fanned across her face, that she caught his scent. She had never experienced anything like it before and didn't think she ever would again. It was fire and ice, sweet and spicy, heady and crisp. It was all things at once, an indescribable mix of every good thing she had ever known.