The Noble Stag

    The sharp beeping of medical monitors, the hushed murmurs of concerned parents, and the steady rhythm of her footsteps down the pediatric ward—it was just another day for Dr. Clarke Griffin.

    She was running on four hours of sleep, three cups of coffee, and sheer determination.

    And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

    The hospital was where she felt in control. Where problems had solutions, and her hands could help fix what was broken.

    Right now, however, her biggest challenge wasn’t a complicated case or a difficult diagnosis.

    It was a feverish, stubborn toddler.

    Little Ethan, barely three years old, had his arms crossed, lower lip jutting out in a pout. His flushed cheeks and glassy eyes from the fever made him look even smaller, but his defiance was unwavering.

    "No," he declared, shaking his head, refusing to take the medicine Clarke was holding out.

    His young mother, barely in her twenties, sighed in frustration. "I’ve tried everything—he just won’t take it."

    Clarke crouched to Ethan’s level, offering him a small, knowing smile. "I get it. Medicine tastes weird, huh?"

    Ethan’s frown deepened, but he nodded.

    She leaned in, lowering her voice as if sharing a big secret. "Did you know superheroes take their medicine? That’s how they stay strong."

    Ethan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Which one?"

    Clarke hummed, pretending to consider. "All of them. But I heard Spider-Man takes his medicine so he can climb walls extra fast."

    Ethan’s eyes widened slightly.

    Clarke held out the medicine cup. "I bet if you drink this, you’ll feel super strong tomorrow."

    There was a long pause before Ethan let out an exaggerated sigh and grabbed the cup, chugging it down in one go.

    His mother exhaled in relief and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Thank you, Dr. Griffin."

    Clarke smiled, ruffling Ethan’s hair. "Good job, buddy. You’ll be swinging between buildings in no time."

    As she walked out of the room, she allowed herself a brief moment to exhale.

    One down.

    A whole shift to go.

---

    The break room was supposed to be a sanctuary. A moment of quiet in the chaos of the hospital.

    Unfortunately, Raven Reyes didn’t believe in peace.

    "Delivery for Dr. ‘I’m Too Busy to Eat’ Griffin," she announced, stepping inside with two cups of coffee and a bag of food.

    Clarke grinned, immediately taking one of the coffees. "You’re the best person in the world."

"I know." Raven plopped into a chair, opening the bag and pulling out a box of pastries and Chinese takeout containers. "Brought your usual—cappuccino with two extra shots because you function on caffeine and spite, and dumplings because you’re literally wasting away."

    Clarke took a sip, sighing in contentment. "Marry me."

    "Tempting, but no," Raven smirked, stealing a dumpling. "But you can pay me back by coming with me an O to The Noble Stag again."

    Clarke groaned. "Are you still on this?"

    "Yes!" Raven shoved a pastry into her mouth and spoke around it. "You love that place. And admit it, you had fun."

    Clarke rolled her eyes, but Raven wasn’t wrong.

    The Noble Stag was relaxing. The music was good, the drinks were great, and there was something about the place that made her want to go back.

    (Not that she’d admit that out loud.)

    Before she could reply, however—her pager beeped.

    Emergency. Pediatric ward.

    Her expression immediately shifted.

    Raven saw it and sighed. "Go. Save tiny humans. But we’re going back to that bar. No excuses."

    Clarke was already moving. "We’ll see."

    "You mean yes!" Raven called after her.

    Clarke pretended not to hear.

---

    Two weeks later after a long shift, Clarke found herself back at the bar.

    Not because she had been thinking about it.

   She had

    Not because the atmosphere was strangely relaxing.

   It was

    And definitely not because she kept remembering a certain bartender’s calm green eyes.

    …Okay, maybe a little.

    But mostly, it was because Raven wouldn’t shut up about it.

    She slipped into a seat at the bar, sighing as she stretched out her shoulders.

    Before she could even glance around, a smooth voice greeted her.

    "You came back."

    Clarke looked up, meeting Lexa’s gaze.

    Something about the way she said it made Clarke’s stomach flip.

    But before she could think about it, she shrugged. "Figured I could use a drink."

    Lexa’s lips twitched. "Rough shift?"

    "Long shift," Clarke corrected.

    Lexa leaned forward, resting her arms on the bar. "What’s your poison tonight?"

    Clarke hesitated.

    "Surprise me," she finally said, trying to act nonchalant.

    Lexa’s brow lifted slightly, gaze flickering over Clarke in quiet assessment.

    Then, without a word, she turned and began mixing a drink.

    Clarke watched, mesmerized. The way Lexa moved—calm, precise, effortless—it was like watching an artist at work.

    She was so distracted that she didn’t notice how Lexa kept glancing at her, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at her lips.

    When Lexa finally slid the glass toward her, Clarke took a sip—

    Her eyes widened. It was strong, her throat burned as she swallowed the drink, but she resisted the urge to cough.

    Lexa’s amusement was instant. "Too strong?"

    Clarke cleared her throat, trying to salvage her dignity. "No," she croaked. "I just wasn’t expecting that much of a kick."

    Lexa smirked. "You did say surprise you."

    Clarke squinted at her. "You enjoyed that."

    Lexa simply raised an eyebrow, and mixed new drink for another customer, saying nothing.

---
    Meanwhile,

    At a table nearby, Raven and Anya were in the middle of a very serious game of darts.

    "Loser buys drinks," Anya said, lining up her shot.
 
   Raven grinned. "Hope you brought cash, Cheekbones."

    She threw her dart.

    Bullseye.

    Anya lifted an eyebrow, impressed but not deterred.

    She took her shot.

    Bullseye.

    They locked eyes.

    The tension was… noticeable.

    "Best of three?" Anya offered, voice low.

    Raven smirked. "Bring it on."

    At that moment, Octavia finally arrived, slipping into the bar and scanning the crowd for Raven and Clarke. Her shift at the station ran late because of paperwork.

    She had barely settled into her seat when Echo appeared at her side, gaze assessing.

    "You're late," Echo mused.

    Octavia turned—and immediately regretted it.

    Echo was leaning against the table, arms crossed, eyes sharp with amusement.

    "Uh," Octavia started, 

    Echo tilted her head. "You’re cute when you’re flustered."

    Octavia.exe had stopped working.

    Her brain short-circuited. Just as always.

    Echo smirked, her fingers brushed Octavia's exposed arm.

    "What do want to drink tonight, Octavia?" 

    "Uh—like usual," Octavia answered, she was barely able to form the words,

    "Alright, sweetheart, sit tight," she murmured before disappearing back into the bar.

    Octavia let out a strangled breath.

    She was so doomed.

 ---

    Clarke Griffin had always been a focused person.

    It was a great trait, really. It made her an excellent doctor. Quick, decisive, able to tune out distractions.

    But when it came to flirting?

    Yeah. Not so much.

    Her past relationships had only ever happened because the other person had quite literally spelled it out for her. She just… didn’t notice when someone was interested. Raven liked to say it was because Clarke got too invested in whatever she was doing. And she wasn’t wrong—her last girlfriend had dumped her after Clarke forgot their dinner plans three times in one month during her residency.

    And now? Now, Clarke was focused on Lexa.

    She wasn’t blind to the fact that Lexa was stupidly attractive. That was obvious. She’d noticed the way the bartender moved, the ease in her steps, the quiet confidence in her smirks.

    The vest? The crisp white shirt? The way her rolled-up sleeves revealed toned forearms and just a hint of ink beneath them?

    Completely unfair.

    But what Clarke didn’t notice was the way Lexa was treating her differently. Just like how it was the first time she came here.

    How Lexa lingered a little longer when pouring her drink. How her voice dropped just slightly when she spoke. How she seemed thoroughly amused by Clarke’s presence.

    Nope. To Clarke, this was just normal bar banter.

    Like now, as Lexa leaned against the counter, green eyes locked on Clarke with something that might have looked like quiet amusement—if Clarke had been paying attention.

    "You know, you don’t have to let them rope you into these games," Lexa remarked, tilting her head toward Raven and Octavia, who were loudly debating the next round of drinks.

    Clarke huffed a laugh. "Please, they’d never let me live it down if I backed out."

    Lexa studied her for a moment. "So you’re the type to rise to the challenge, no matter what?"

    "Of course," Clarke said easily, lifting her chin. "I can handle a little competition."

    Lexa’s lips twitched. "Good to know."

    Clarke, absolutely missing the undertone, just nodded and took a sip of her drink.

    Lexa exhaled through her nose, looking dangerously close to laughing before turning away.

    At a nearby table, Raven and Octavia were wildly gesturing while mouthing,

    Pay attention! UP YOUR GAME!

    Clarke squinted at them. "What?"

    Raven slammed her forehead onto the table. Octavia threw her hands up in exasperation.

    Clarke just waved them off. Again.

    As the night progress, Clarke was already deep into a drinking game.
(Raven’s fault. Obviously.)

    One drink turned into two. Then three. And soon, Clarke was tipsy.

    The bar had started to empty, leaving behind only the late-night stragglers and the usual crowd.

    Clarke felt warm. Comfortable. And—if she was being honest—incredibly aware of Lexa’s presence.

    It wasn’t fair how good she looked, standing behind the bar, completely composed while Clarke was… definitely not.

    And because tipsy Clarke had no self preservation, she decided—very unwisely after Raven dared her—that she could totally try flirt with the hot bartender.

    So, she leaned against the counter. (Tried to, anyway—her elbow nearly slipped, but she played it off. Sort of.)

    "Hey," she said.

    Lexa turned, amused. "Yes?"

    Clarke paused. She had no idea what she was going to say.

    From the nearby table, Raven and Octavia looked like they were seconds away from passing out from laughter.

    Clarke forged ahead.

    "You… you make really good drinks," she said, nodding sagely. "Like. Really good. Like—a doctor-approved level of good."

    Lexa just stared.

    Raven choked. Octavia wheezed.

    Clarke, entirely oblivious, continued, gesturing vaguely. "Like—your hands? They just. They just—do things."

    Lexa’s lips twitched.

    Clarke then pointed a very serious finger at her.

    "You," she said. "You’re… you’re dangerous."

    Lexa raised an eyebrow. "Am I?"

    Clarke nodded, very sure of herself. "Yeah. Like—a very dangerous bartender. Like. Criminal levels of dangerous. Like… Like I should file a report about how good you look in that vest."

    Silence.

    Then—

    Raven fell out of her chair.

    Octavia gasped for air.

    Lexa’s lips parted—caught between amusement and something else.

    Anya sighed, rubbing her temples. "Lexa, stop messing with customers."

    "I’m not," Lexa said, not even slightly convincing.

    Echo—who had been watching this disaster unfold—trying really hard not to laugh.

    Clarke, completely unaware, just beamed.

    She thought she had nailed it.

---

    By the time the trio was getting ready to leave, Clarke was officially drunk.

    Which meant she was feeling bolder, and drunk Clarke was flirty and seductive if she put enough thought (or less, in most case) into it.

    So once again, she turned to Lexa, swaying slightly, and propped her elbow onto the counter, chin resting on her palm, eyes lazily tracing over Lexa’s face.

    "You," she drawled, voice lower, slower—sultry, almost. "Are really, really pretty."

    Lexa blinked.

    From the table, Raven and Octavia froze mid-laughter, suddenly very invested. This version of Clarke was rare!

    Clarke, completely unaware, continued.

    "Like… stupidly pretty. Unfairly pretty." She leaned in, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes. "Are you sure you’re a bartender? Because you look like trouble."

    Lexa exhaled, a quiet laugh escaping her as she leaned forward just slightly, mirroring Clarke’s posture. "I assure you, I’m very much a bartender."

    Clarke grinned, tipping her head to the side. "Mmm. I dunno. I think you might be hiding something." She squinted. "Secret agent, maybe? Femme fatale? …Seduction expert?"

    Raven was clutching her stomach. Octavia had one hand over her mouth.

    Lexa, amused beyond belief, simply smirked. "Seduction expert?"

    Clarke hummed, nodding very seriously. "Mhm. ‘Cause I’ve been watching you. And you?" She reached out, very deliberately poking Lexa’s toned arm. "You move too smooth. Too confident."

    Lexa arched an eyebrow. "And that’s a problem?"

    Clarke shook her head, lowering her voice to a teasing whisper. "Not a problem. Just… a safety hazard."

    That did it.

    Raven slammed her forehead onto the table. Octavia was shaking with silent laughter.

    Anya sighed, crossing her arms. "Lexa, stop encouraging her."

    Lexa, entirely unbothered, just hummed. "I don’t think I’m the one doing the encouraging."

    Clarke, grinning, leaned in a little closer. "You should teach me, then."

    Lexa’s eyebrows lifted slightly, her lips twitching as if she were holding back a laugh. "Teach you what?"

    "How to be that smooth," Clarke murmured, playfully trailing her fingers along the counter. "Or are you scared I might get better than you?"

    Raven squeaked. Octavia was making wild gestures at Anya.

    Anya pinched the bridge of her nose. "Lexa, I swear to—"

    Echo finally broke first. A sharp, unrestrained snort escaped her, and the dam broke.

    Raven gasped for air. Octavia was half off her chair.

    Clarke? Clarke was beaming.

    And Lexa?

    Lexa just tilted her head, green eyes glinting. "You think you can match me, Princess?"

    Clarke’s breath hitched. Something about the way Lexa said that made warmth curl in her stomach.

    Raven grabbed Clarke’s wrist. "Alright, time to go before you say something you’ll regret."

    "Never!" Clarke declared, dramatically flipping her hair as Raven and Octavia dragged her toward the exit.

    Lexa leaned casually against the counter, watching them leave with a knowing smirk.

    "Goodnight, Klark," she said, voice smooth as silk.

    Clarke, already halfway out the door, spun on her heel, walking backward. "Goodnight, bartender," she purred, shooting Lexa her best attempt at a seductive smirk—

    —before promptly tripping over her own feet.

    Raven and Octavia howled.

    Lexa, despite herself, chuckled under her breath.

    Echo smirked, crossing her arms. "That one’s fun to watch."

    Anya sighed. "Lexa, you’re a menace."

    Lexa simply smirked. "She’s cute."

    And with that, the night at The Noble Stag came to an end—with Clarke Griffin having no idea that she had just flirted with Lexa in the most ridiculous way possible.
---
    
    The cab ride home was a disaster.

    Clarke was giggling at nothing. Raven was still teasing her about her horrific attempt at flirting. Octavia, the only one remotely sober, was stuck wrangling them both like an overworked babysitter.

    By the time they stumbled into Clarke’s house, Octavia had enough.

    "Alright, clothes off, wash up, bed—now."

    Clarke blinked at her, still sluggish. "Are you—ordering me?"

    "Yes, Griffin. Do you need it in writing?"

    Raven snickered, swaying on her feet. "You’re so bossy, O."

    Octavia rolled her eyes. "And you’re still standing here. Move."

    Between half-hearted protests and sluggish movements, Octavia managed to herd Clarke and Raven into the bathroom. She stood guard, arms crossed, making sure they at least washed their faces and changed into clean clothes before collapsing into bed.

    Clarke barely registered being tucked under her blankets before sleep took her. Raven, meanwhile, grumbled about dictatorship as she was nudged toward the guest room.

    Octavia, finally done playing babysitter, let out a long sigh and dropped onto the bed next to Raven, fully prepared to pass out.

    Her phone vibrated.

    She glanced at the screen, blinking at an unknown number.

    Echo: You forgot to tell me when you got home. Thought you were better than this, Blake.

    Octavia smirked.

    Octavia: I was busy dragging two idiots to bed.

    The reply came almost instantly.

    Echo: Sounds like an excuse. Next time, tell me first.

    Octavia raised an eyebrow. Bossy. But not in a bad way.

    She bit back a grin, typing her response before turning off the light.

    Octavia: Didn’t know I had someone to report to.

    Echo: You do now.

    Oh.

    Octavia let out a slow breath, her pulse kicking up just slightly.

    Octavia: You worried about me?

    Echo: I don’t do worry.

    Octavia smirked, stretching out, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

    Octavia: No? What do you do then?

    A beat.

    Echo: I give commands. I expect them followed.

    Octavia swallowed.

    Her fingers twitched around her phone, her brain scrambling for a witty comeback—something to seize control of this conversation—

    But Echo wasn’t done.

    Echo: You’re reckless. Wild. But you listen when you want to.

    A pause.

    Echo: You’ll listen to me.

    Oh, fuck.

    Her mouth was dry. She had no idea why the words hit the way they did, but suddenly, exhaustion was the last thing on her mind.

    Octavia: Yes, ma’am.

    A pause. Then—

    Her phone buzzed again, and she swore she felt the words in her bones.

     Echo: Good girl.

    Octavia blinked.
 
   Then, to her horror, she felt her face heat up.

    Octavia’s brain stopped working.

    Her grip tightened around her phone, her entire body tensing. Heat curled in her stomach—something dangerous, something she didn’t quite know how to name yet.

    She had no response. Nothing clever. Nothing at all.

    Because, for the first time in her life—

    Someone else had just won.

    "Goddamn it," she muttered, shoving her phone under the pillow and resolutely ignoring the way her heart did something entirely too stupid in response.
   
    She was in trouble.

    The shrill blare of Clarke’s alarm jolted her awake.

    She groaned, slamming her hand onto the snooze button.

    Her head didn’t hurt—thankfully. Perks of a good metabolism, she supposed. But the moment her brain fully booted up, the memories from last night came rushing back.

    Specifically, her—Clarke Griffin—trying (and failing) to flirt with Lexa The Hot Bartender.

    Clarke slapped a hand over her face. "Fuck my life."

    She had been so smooth—if smooth meant slurring about Lexa’s hands and filing a report about how good she looked in a vest.

    She wanted to crawl into a hole. Or better yet—time travel to slap the drink out of her own hand before she ever opened her mouth.

    With a deep breath, she forced herself out of bed, running her hands through her mess of curls as she padded out to the kitchen.

    Raven and Octavia were already there.

    Raven looked like hell.

    She was hunched over the table, forehead resting against her arm, a glass of water and a murky green juice in front of her.

    Octavia, on the other hand, was—blushing?

    Clarke frowned, grabbing a coffee mug. "What’s with you?"

    Octavia jolted slightly. "What? Nothing. Shut up."

    Clarke raised an eyebrow. "Oh my God. Did Echo finally text you?"

    Raven groaned, lifting her head just enough to squint at Octavia. "She totally did."

    Octavia scowled. "Drink your damn juice."

    Raven grimaced at the glass. "This is actually poison."

    Octavia smirked. "It’s my special concoction."

    "That’s what I just said. Poison."

    Clarke, ignoring them, poured her coffee and took a sip, still cringing internally at herself. "I wish I could forget last night."

    Raven scoffed. "Oh, shut up, Clarke. You woke up fine while I feel like my skull is caving in. Your freakish metabolism is a crime against humanity."

    Clarke sighed dramatically, resting her forehead against the counter. "Yeah, well, I still remember every second of my drunken humiliation."

    Raven smirked. "Oh, we remember too."

    Octavia, finally recovered from whatever Echo had done to her, grinned. "Yeah, Doctor Flirt, you really nailed it last night."

    Clarke groaned. "Don’t."

    Raven snickered. "Your hands, Clarke? Really? ‘They just—do things?’"

    Octavia cackled. "And my personal favorite—‘Criminal levels of dangerous?’"

    Raven dramatically wiped a fake tear. "Beautiful. I was moved."

    Clarke buried her face in her hands. "I hate both of you."

    Raven nudged her glass of green juice toward Clarke. "Drink this. Maybe it’ll erase your memories."

    Clarke glared. "If it actually worked, I’d consider it."

    Octavia just smirked, checking her phone. A new text from Echo had just come in.

    Echo: Have a good day, Blake. Try not to miss me too much.

    Octavia clenched her jaw, her ears burning.

    Raven caught the look on her face and grinned. "Ohhh, Echo’s got you good."

    Octavia scowled, flipping her off. "Shut. Up."

    But Clarke and Raven were already howling in laughter—because for once, Octavia Blake was the one who got wrecked.