my first ever clexa multi-chapter fic! i have become really obsessed with them and just had to write something to get it all out. also, don't worry, i am fully aware that this reads like total shit.

now, read, ponder, and enjoy!

Clarke should have never gotten out of her tent. Call in sick. Pretend her fifth grandmother died and she had to take next chopper out. Get her arm stuck in the door of a military truck. Purposely jump in front of a truck.

Anything, really. She just should have stayed under the scratchy blanket and adhere to the bad feeling that had been clinging to her the moment she received news about what was happening back home.

Except she didn't really have much of a choice now. She had gotten out of bed. She had put on her scrubs. She had reported herself to the hospital And she had treated a fair amount of soldiers that had been dripping in since yesterday evening, until she found herself confronted with the one person she never thought she would ever treat.

Albeit, it took the nurse wiping off the blood off the soldier's face for Clarke to recognize her, but she was kind of glad that she only noticed who she was treating when she was pretty much elbows deep in the woman's chest.

"Is this the princess?" she almost shrieked when she identified the face of Alexandria Woods covered in traces of blood on her surgical table.

Well, she did shriek, and attracted the attention of virtually everyone in the operation theatre. Even the machines seemed to have quieten at the noise she had just made at the realization.

The nurse startled at her shriek, but then he approached to have a good look at the soldier's face before his skin significantly paled and he seemed to start sweating more profusely. "I – yes, Dr. Griffin. Yes, this – this is the princess."

"Okay, okay, everyone step back from the table now." She lifted her hands from the woman's – the princess' – cavity.

"Griffin," Wells voice crackled over the intercom, presumably from gallery.

Did everyone know that there was a princess on her table except her?

Clarke gritted her teeth and nodded reassuringly without turning to face him. "Yeah, I'm good. I just need to…"

She drifted off, her concentration spread upon the injuries that had been detected so far and the extent of the damage, the readings on the monitor and the conditions shouted by a passing by nurse earlier before they pushed their way into the surgical section.

"Okay," she muttered, nodding to herself. "Okay." She licked her lips and took a deep breath before addressing the staff unfortunate enough to be handling the royalty lying unconscious on the table. "Alright, everyone, we have a Princess of Polis on our table right now. She's suffering from second degree burns, dislocated right leg, and multiple GSWs. If you don't think you can handle it, you need to step aside." The panic in her voice earlier had all but dissipated, replaced by the authority that had gotten her where she was in the first place.

When she was certain that everyone was where they were supposed to be, she dived back into the soldier.

There was valiant effort to push aside the fact that she was literally saving the life of a royalty, but in the back of her mind, as she requested for a saw and prepared to make her way further deeper into the chest, it was difficult to think about the fact that she was treating the very person who second-in-line to the throne of the country she was born in.

"So she's okay," Captain Indra Preen stated rather than asked, like she could speak it into existence.

Having seen the captain in action for the two whole years she had been stationed in this hospital, Clarke had no doubt the woman would be capable of that if she wanted to. But that wasn't the point right now. The point was distinctively beautiful, very asleep, and awfully injured, currently sleeping in the highest of quality of rooms they could give in this facility, which wasn't much, to be honest.

"She's alive," Clarke confirmed.

Captain Preen tapped a forefinger on the surface of her desk to a rhythm only she could hear as her scrutinizing eyes fixed on the blonde. Clarke tried her very best to not squirm. "But?" Captain Preen prodded.

"She probably won't be fit for combat after this."

"Probably?"

The doctor swallowed a mouthful of nervous saliva and gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I have to make further assessments when she wakes up."

"What are the chances?"

Clarke grimaced and fought the urge to not scratch the back of her head. "Very high."

No one would believe this if she told them. They would have to see it for themselves, as she herself could hardly believe it. But the captain's expression only managed to intensify in its glower, a clear indication of her displease at this new information.

Clarke expected more questions. She wasn't used to this kind of silence. She wasn't even used to the captain's presence at all. Army doctors rarely had any direct interactions with combat officers, let alone the fucking captain of the camp. Plus, she was a mere sergeant, which only minimized her chances of interacting with the seniors on camp at all.

Still, being the doctor in charge of treating the princess was a big deal, she supposed. She was kind of surprised that she wasn't talking to Lieutenant Colonel or even the General right now. So maybe not that big of a deal.

Captain Preen seemed to have finished with her thought processes when she straightened up in her chair and removed her arm from the top of her desk. "Report to me if there is any update," she ordered.

"Yes, Captain."

"You did good today, doctor."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Dismissed, doctor."

Clarke expected more questions, yes, but that didn't mean she wasn't an opportunist. After bidding the captain a proper farewell, she got the hell out of the makeshift office for the captain and made for the cafeteria. She had spent the better part of her day sweating over a royalty and she was famished. Even the worst of hospital globs would taste like a gourmet meal right now.

Once she entered the room, literally everyone stopped whatever they were doing to look at her. She gulped and cursed inwardly once again that she had to be the one to have her hands – literally – on a princess' chest. This wasn't going to leave her for a long time to come. Word had probably spread to other encampments.

"The hero of the hour!"

And Raven wasn't really helping either. The red on her cheeks had probably never been more prominent as they all started clapping and cheering.

It was the heart monitor that alerted her to the wakefulness of her Very Important Patient. With a lunge, she put down the book she had been reading and rose from the chair to approach the injured soldier who was still struggling with her environment.

Clarke watched as the princess blinked rapidly to adjust to the surroundings, despite the low light that Clarke had adjusted for the night, head moving marginally on the pillow. And then it seemed that she had gained her full focus when she stopped blinking and looked directly at the blonde – and Clarke had to stop herself from gasping at the attention she was receiving.

The entire country – hell, the whole world – was well aware that the Polis Royal Family had exquisite genes. High cheekbones, jawline that could cut diamonds, and eyes that seemed capable of staring into your soul and clawing your very conscience out.

However, Clarke had always thought that Princess Alexandria of Polis, Duchess of Goldcrest, youngest child of King Richmond the Second and Queen Storme the First, was the most beautiful of the lot. A part of her had excused it as the works of photoshop and video editing. But that part of her was cowering in guilt now, because…damn.

Even being almost dead and almost losing a leg did not stop her from looking incredibly goddess-like.

She had to really muster the professional in her to avoid getting all sucked up into those viridian irises and forget that she had a job. Technically, she wasn't even supposed to be here right now. The director of the hospital had ordered her to go back to her apartment, fully understanding that treating the princess must have taken a toll on her.

But she couldn't bring herself to leave even though she had the liberty to. It wasn't just because the woman on the bed was the Princess of Polis, but the doctor also hadn't been able to identify as to the exact reason that she was still here.

She swallowed and allowed herself a few short seconds to gather herself before speaking, "Good evening, Your Highness. Good to see you awake." Her hand reached into her coat pocket to retrieve her stethoscope, putting them in her ears.

The bell was almost on the princess' chest when said woman croaked, "It's…Commander."

Clarke paused in her movement, frowning. "I'm sorry?"

The princess sighed, shaking her head in what seemed like dejection as she rolled her eyes upward and then lowered her eyelids, the frown on her forehead deepening, like she was fighting off the pain. Clarke hurriedly check out the other woman's heartbeat before pocketing the stethoscope again and pouring a glass of water for the princess.

"I'm Dr. Clarke Griffin. I was your surgeon. Here, have some water, Your Highness," she remembered to add.

It was when the brunette cast her a look that Clarke finally realized what the news were saying, however rare they came out to be. The second daughter of the Royal Family was not one for many words and she had a knack for hiding from the press – and on the rare occasion that she did show up, she had that expression on her face, as if she could stare someone to death if she wanted to.

Not that Clarke blamed her. Polis prided itself for being a liberal and economically successful country, despite how small it was in comparison to nations like the United States of America and China. Still, the press was the press, and never in Polis history had they ever encountered an LGBT+ royal member, which was why they didn't exactly deal with it well.

The princess was outed in the worst possible way – in an intimate position with a potential girlfriend in an elevator of a hotel, footage leaked by a hotel personnel. The Royal Family had taken their stance immediately, standing by the princess every step of the way and condemning all those who were in involved in the travesty.

So yeah, Clarke didn't really blame the princess for being so obscure and wary.

The princess in question gestured at her position on the bed. It was then that Clarke realized the patient would only choke if she drank lying down, so she quickly adjusted the bed for a more comfortable position. Then she offered the glass of water.

Once the princess had drank the water, she placed it back on the bedside table and addressed Clarke, "It's Commander." Her voice sounded clearer now, and for some reason, it sounded vastly different than hearing it on the radio or television. "Out here, in the warzone, I'm Commander Alexandria Woods. Not Princess. Not Your Highness. None of that nonsense."

The doctor blinked a few times before she inclined her head in acquiescence. Far be it from her to disobey royalty; it could easily be treason, she wasn't too sure.

"Commander it is then…Commander," she said, narrowing her eyes a little at her own blunder.

It wasn't much of a smile, but the soldier's lips did tilt slightly, and Clarke could swear she was eligible to have her own hospital bed or join the princess in the face of that smile. The latter was probably inappropriate and unethical.

The doctor had to suck in a sharp breath and disguise it with a clear of throat before she picked up the chart at the foot of the bed and began asking the routine questions. The princess answered all in the routine way that Clarke had seen many soldiers do – straight to the point and honest. Clarke wrote down all the details and replaced the chart.

"How long have I been out?" the brunette asked.

"Seven hours, give or take."

The princess nodded. "Has anyone alerted my family?" The way she said it made it seem like the princess found the idea distasteful, like she didn't want her family to know anything.

"Captain Preen sent word earlier today."

A groan escaped the princess' lips, which served as something of a surprise to Clarke. Still, a big part of her was glad that even the royalty had human moments, like groaning at the idea of family knowing she had been harmed.

"I'm surprised there are no guards."

"Well, actually, there's one sitting outside right now. He calls himself Gustus."

The princess' eyes widened a little and Clarke seemed to detect a hint of fear in those green eyes. After a moment, two hands pressed against a beautifully tanned face and a muffled "Fuck" sounded from behind those fingers.

Clarke pressed a hand to her lips and smothered a laughter. Before the princess had lowered her hands, she had lowered hers and turned back to the professional façade she had been maintaining since the princess woke up. The quietness became awkward soon and Clarke realized that she had nothing else to do now.

The patient was awake. She didn't kill the princess. She could go home and catch some sleep. The work began again in a new day. Granted, there was no doubt that everyone would be expecting her to show up to report on the princess' conditions, but apart from that, she was pretty much useless. She still wasn't sure what the protocol was, actually, on whether she should tell the princess her diagnosis directly or wait for documents or whatever to pass through.

And the soldier seemed unaware of her own condition.

Clarke had to hide her wince from showing on her face at the thought.

"Well, I'm actually not supposed to be here. I'll alert Gustus and the nurses that you're awake. If you need anything, just press that green button there." She gestured at aforementioned button. "I'll be back tomorrow morning."

"You seem a little too calm for having just saved the life of a royalty." Clarke froze in her move to exit, eyes wide and tongue too tied to actually know what to say. The princess shrugged with a sad smile. "I was there. I know what happened. I have enough medical knowledge to know that my brother is probably on his way right now to fetch me home to the best hospital there is. I also know that you literally saved my life."

Clarke clicked her tongue gently, surveying the royalty lying in a dirty bed in a military hospital at the edge of Libya. "Honestly, I think I almost had a heart attack when I saw that it was you," she finally revealed, thinking that the princess deserved it. It was the right move, she figured, judging by the way the brunette tilted her head and her lips twitched in amusement. "But I'm a doctor, first and foremost, and I wasn't not about to let the most iconic princess of all monarchies in the world to die on my table."

"Iconic?"

"You're the first out and proud lesbian princess…like ever. William and Harry can suck it."

The patient released a snort, surprising Clarke once again with that very human noise that didn't seem to befit a royalty at all. But after everything that had happened today, the doctor was beginning to think that she should learn to take things in stride.

"Can you…stay with me?" the princess requested, displaying a never-before-seen timidity that would have had the entire world reeling had they been here. "I just – I've been asleep for seven hours. I'm pretty sure my brother is on his way to get me home. My military career is pretty much over." There was no concrete reasoning in those words as to why she wanted Clarke to stay, but Clarke understood. In just three sentences, she understood.

"Okay," Clarke whispered. "But I still have to talk to Gustus and the nurses. I feel like I'll get beheaded if I don't alert them that their precious Princess Alexandria is alive and well."

"Their?" the soldier pointed out.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the adrenaline leaving her body. Maybe it was the knowledge that this was for tonight, that it would seem like the princess was never even here in the morning. Maybe it was the playful glint in those green eyes that Clarke had never seen on any magazine covers or newspaper clippings. Maybe it was the mischievous smile that Clarke had only ever seen on a leaked photograph that created a nationwide uproar.

Maybe Clarke was just weak for beautiful princesses.

But she shrugged and bit down on her lower lip playfully as she started to backstep towards the door, eyes not leaving the royalty. "To me, you're iconic."

Today seemed to be a day of surprises for Clarke. First, the presence of a royal princess in her operation theater. Then the princess' ability to groan in irritation. Followed by said princess' display of emotions, no matter how menial. And now, the princess heaved a disbelieving laugh, her body shaking at the moment.

"Okay, doctor." When Clarke opened the door, the princess stopped her. "Oh, and doctor? I'd like it if you'd call me Lexa."

Clarke stilled where she was as she gaped at the princess. Lexa was a name that only the Royal Family got to call her, it was an open secret. Not even the media was brave enough to call her that in public. And yet, here and now, the same princess was giving her permission to address her as such.

The blonde would have protested, but in the dim light of the hospital room, she could see the sincerity in the princess' eyes. No sign of hilarity. Just a genuine request from an injured princess who just wanted to do something for her beloved country – in a braver form that Clarke could ever bring herself to do.

So she smiled and nodded in the princess' – Lexa's – direction. "I'll be right back, Lexa."

The hallways were still lit, but the hustle and bustle of the day had quietened to the murmurs of nurses at their stations, the mumbles of doctors in the on-call rooms, the discussions of physicians in their meeting rooms, the occasional nightmare talks of injured soldiers, and the buzz of televisions in corners. Crickets made their music outside. Choppers could be heard overhead, transferring soldiers from one place to another. A slight drizzle had developed over the hours, creating a heated humidity that left the nurses with no choice but to crank up the underused air conditioners.

All was quiet. All was peaceful for the moment. All was relishing in the tranquility that nighttime often brought. Well, all was until they reached Room 307 in the military hospital at the outskirts of Libya, far enough away from the reach of the Libyan warzone.

In Room 307, the chatter didn't seem to stop, veering from one topic to another, following no trajectory whatsoever. The patient inside had forgotten her role in the world, her role in her country. The doctor accompanied the patient in that forgetfulness, allowing the patient to shirk her responsibilities for however many hours they could afford.

The guard sitting outside, Gustus, the man who was personally requested by King Richmond to protect his daughter before dispatch, fought a smiles or two, glad to hear that his charge had gotten a bit of light in this incident. God only knew the kind of mess she would find herself in when they got back home – not of her own doing, but of her heritage, her blood.

She didn't ask for it, but she got it all the same.

"And you were how old?" Clarke asked between peals of laughter, clutching at her stomach.

"Seven."

"And your sister?"

"Thirteen."

Clarke barked another shout of laughter. "Oh my god, your sister knew you were gay before you did."

Lexa rolled her eyes, leaning back against the mountain of pillows that the doctor had managed to acquire with the excuse that the princess should have all the comfort she could get. "In my defense, I was seven."

The blonde snorted, straightening in her chair and leaning against the edge of the bed on her elbows. "You seem very close with her."

"Anya is the best sister I can ask for." There was no doubt that Lexa truly thought so – her genuine tone and the light in her eyes at the mention of her sister. "She's first in line, the precious daughter, so there's more restrictions on her than on me. I joined the military and fought in the warzone. The farthest she could go in a warzone in the strategy camp or the hospital. But she never stopped protecting me."

"That's nice."

"I'll tell you a secret," Lexa whispered conspiratorially.

Clarke raised her brows and leaned her head forward to get in on the secret.

"You know Roan Queen?"

"Yeah."

Jerking back, Clarke's blue eyes went all kinds of alert as she trained them on the patient in bed, who only seemed smug in the information she had just given, not afraid at all that Clarke might sell it to the next tabloid in the morning. Mentally, she tabled away the fact that she had managed to gain the trust of a princess in less than twenty-four hours.

There were more important matters at hand.

"Seriously?" she gasped.

Lexa nodded.

The only thing Princess Anya of Polis had in common with Lexa was that they were both featured on every single 'hot' list – and that was it.

Unlike Lexa, the older Woods sibling was a much more publicized figure, though not as much as their parents. It came with the package of being first in line for the throne. She was elegant, courteous, compassionate, and approachable, not at all like Lexa. She rode horses; she visited orphanages regularly; she did interviews with press almost all the time.

There was nothing about Princess Anya of Polis, Duchess of Warlington, eldest child of the Polis Royal Family, that would indicate that she would ever be attracted to a person like Roan Queen.

As a matter of fact, Clarke met the guy once when he visited her hospital because apparently, family squabbles could end with a knife in the shoulder. He was one hell of an intimidating guy, resembling a ruffian if not for his well mannerisms when she had been treating him.

"No one except my family and his family know. They're planning on easing in the news when we get back, which will be earlier than expected."

"But he –"

"He's gentle as a bear."

"I don't think that's how it goes."

"He's gentle, is the point."

Clarke narrowed her eyes. "Are we still talking about Roan Queen?"

Lexa laughed and shook her head. "You have to know him to see his gentleness. I've never seen anyone as devoted to Anya as that man out there. There have been temptations everywhere for a diplomat like him. Brothels. Beautiful ladies looking to get a piece of a government official. But he never batted them an eye. He keeps a photo of Anya in his pocket all the time. Calls it his lucky charm. Says it keeps him alive. He's a goddamn sap."

Everything Clarke had heard did not match at all to the profile she had caught of the giant she had the fortune of meeting five years ago, as if no form of natural disaster could shake him away.

"Trust me, I'd be the first to call for his castration if he ever hurts my sister."

"I can only take your word for it."

"You should. I'm a princess."

"Have you ever met Meghan Markle or Kate Middleton?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I've been busy fighting in warzones."

"What's Beyoncé like?"

"Don't tell my mother, but Beyoncé is the queen-est of queens."

"What's a pretty doctor like you doing in a place like this?"

"Does that line really work?"

"Oh, you better believe it."

"So being a doctor runs in the family, huh?"

"Only my mother and me."

"Your brother's black."

"The whole world knows Lincoln is adopted."

"Is that even allowed?"

"The whole world knows that my family is pretty much the most unconventional Royal Family there is."

"How long does your tour last?"

"I'm actually five months away from being done with this one, which is my second. And then I think I'm calling it."

"And then what?"

"There's a trauma opening at Silver Hill Hospital."

"So home, then?"

"Seems like it."

One glance at the watch her father had given her before she hopped on the plane indicated that it was way past appropriate bedtime, and she was still on the fence about whether she should glad that she had a day off – courtesy of the adrenaline that accompanied her having to save the life of the woman on the bed in the same room as her.

On the bed she was leaning on, the princess was caught unaware to the world, and only then did Clarke realize how guarded Lexa had been when conscious. She hadn't expected their conversation to go so long – a doctor was supposed to encourage their patients to rest, after all – but she didn't regret it, remembering the anecdotes they shared and the easy laughter that drifted between them.

In a few hours, a royal helicopter would land on the rooftop and the only Prince of Polis would be escorting his sister out of this hospital, out of this warzone, out of this country. There was a certain sourness in her chest at the thought of that.

Mere hours between an off-duty doctor and the patient whose life she saved, just like that. They would go back to their lives – Clarke as a commoner trauma surgeon and Lexa as the intangible resident cooped up behind the gates of the majestic castle.

The blonde averted her gaze from the princess to the A4 paper she had snatched from the chart. Once it was empty, but now there was a rough sketch of the princess, peaceful and undisturbed. Clarke had seen many, many photos of Lexa, admired many, many facets of Lexa, but none of those compared to this side of Lexa that Clarke was privileged enough to see.

She folded the A4 paper into a small square and placed it on the bedside table, not sure if she really wanted the princess to see it. The chart laid on her lap as she jotted down notes for the hospital director and the physicians who would certainly the prince on his way here.

Then she stood up, adjusted the blanket over Lexa's chest, stared at her for a long moment, resisted the urge to lean down and kiss her forehead, and walked out the door with her hands tucked in her pocket and a strange sensation spreading over her torso.

"Dr. Griffin."

Clarke blinked rapidly, pausing in her hurried steps towards the hospital room she had abandoned thirty-six hours ago in favor of some rest. The logos mode in her brain knew very well that the room would either be empty or occupied by another soldier, but she was only human, and her pathos was urging her to just check it one more time.

She tried to fight the impatience and annoyance from making a physical appearance for the hospital director making his way down the corridor purposefully towards her. The expression on his face was confounded and confused, but he did not pause in his strides until he reached her.

"I'd like to congratulate you once again for the good work you have done with the Polis princess yesterday," he said, showing his Americanness with his lack of respect.

She nodded, shifting on her feet slightly to partially face him. "Thank you, Director. I was just doing my job."

"Prince…Lincoln – I believe was his name – came this morning with a team of doctors to fetch the princess home. Your notes in the chart were very detailed and the doctors wanted me to pass along their gratitude to you."

Fucking hell, this man talked like a goddamn sloth. She just stared at him expectantly as he looked back at her, kind of with a look of scrutiny, like he was trying to get a grip of her personality or something without saying a thing. He didn't seem to find what he was looking for as he just sighed and smiled at her again.

"Before their departure, the princess asked me to tell you that she's very thankful for the sketch." Clarke's eyes widened a little. So Lexa had noticed. "And she wanted you to have this." He handed over a paper folded into fourths.

"Oh."

Gingerly, she tucked one hand out of her coat pocket and took the letter. She stared at the paper for a long time, where she could see her name scribbled in elegant penmanship across the blank slate. The director cleared his throat and she saw that he was looking at her expectantly when she looked up.

Like hell she was going to share this with him. She just pocketed the paper and fought the sense of triumph when disappointment clouded over expectations.

"Thank you, Director. I should go check on my patients now."

"Of course, Dr. Griffin."

She hightailed it out of the lobby and hurried down several hallways until she found her favorite on-call room. A yelp sounded from one of the bunks when she crashed in, followed by a curse at her from Raven. She ignored her best friend, climbed up the top bunk, and unfolded the paper, delighting in the words that were revealed.

Dear Clarke,

I was disappointed to see that you've disappeared when I woke up. My brother just isn't as attractive as the pretty blonde doctor who saved my life.

Nevertheless, I just want to extend a sincere thank you to you for doing that. I seemed to have forgotten my manners and neglected to do so when we were spending time together. I am in your debt.

I haven't had as much fun with anyone as I had with you in a really long time. Alas, I do realize that you only stayed at my request, and one couldn't just ignore a princess' request, even if the princess had been stuck in bed.

So thank you for staying with me and allowing me to forget, even for just a few hours. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did too.

Polis is a lucky country to have you as a devoted citizen.

May we meet again,
Lexa

yell at me about lesbians on my tumblr at overcanary or twitter at embettah