Hey guys, welcome back, and thank you in advance for checking out my fic. For any of you who may also be reading my other story, Slay Your Demons, you'll get an update soon. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully?

Here's a few things you should know:

-I'm not a doctor, don't plan to be, so some of the medical facts and what not may be a little off.

-I try my hardest to keep the character's personalities so if I'm doing a good job, half-ass decent job, or if I'm failing miserably – let me know. Its important to me.

-I watch a ton of medical shows – House, M.D, Emily Owens, M.D, HawthoRNe, E.R, and a crap ton more so a lot of my prompts, knowledge, interactions are inspired by these shows.

-I do not, nor will I ever, own the 100.

Summary: Clarke Griffin is one of the most highly respected and trusted doctors at Polis General. This position requires her to make sacrifices and meet the expectations of those around her. What happens if the stress of the job becomes too much? Will someone save her or will she break?

Rating: M, for future content.

Pairings: Clarke/Bellamy, slight Clarke/Finn, Raven/Wick, Lincoln/Octavia, Jasper/Maya

Beta: None

Chapter 1

The beginning of her day started like any other: she woke up late, missed breakfast – again, for the fourth time this week, drove entirely too fast to the hospital, and clocked in just before she would have been considered late. The second she stepped through the doors of Polis General, the chaos began. Overly tired nurses in blue and purple scrubs shuffled around from door to door, trying to check patient's blood pressure and vital signs while doctors with silver hair in blood stained white coats glanced over charts and made split second decisions that could possibly alter someone's life. The coffee in the break room was always too weak and tasted like water while the pastries were stale enough to chip a tooth. Mothers, loved ones, and children occupied the waiting rooms – steaming in their own atmosphere of anxiety and stress while they waited to receive news. Doors opened and closed constantly and secretaries with bright red nail polish batted their overly curved eyelashes at doctors and secretly hopped they'd score a night with the person who has a god complex. Squeaky shoes and the clank of high heels echoed off the plain hospital walls and down the hall as people went in and out of rooms. The chaos, the constant struggle to determine between reality and medicine, and the probability that someone was going to take their last breath – today – caused the adrenaline in her veins to flow like a river. This was her world.

She pushed her way through the crowd of people that centered around the main entrance of the hospital until she managed to find an elevator. Once inside the tiny square space, she punched the button with the "G" and tried not to notice the old man wore too much cologne and the woman talking on her cellphone behind her would soon lose service. She finally reached the ground floor and she escaped from the confined space, bolting like lightning and making a beeline for the brown door containing a red label that reads: "AUTHORIZED PERSONEL ONLY". Once the door closed behind her, she was embraced by the scent of sterile floor cleaner and a faint hint of shoe odor. Still, the vomit green lockers greeted her with a smile and she would be able to find solace in the small room before her shift began. She checked the watch on her wrist. She had fifteen minutes left before she would have to report to the chief. She maneuvered her way through the locker room until she stopped in front of locker 216. She twisted and turned the lock until she heard a snap and the locker opened.

She peeled off her coat and removed her shirt and sweat pants, revealing her green scrubs from underneath. The trick to being late but managing to spare fifteen minutes before her shift was dressing in layers. Not having to change into appropriate attire saved her at least ten minutes and the red light she basically ran through on her way gave her five minutes to spare. There's a sick sense of irony in putting her life in danger in order to be on time for a job that required her to save lives. She pulled out her white coat and name tag that read "Clarke Griffin, M.D" and threw her other clothes into the locker. She grabbed her pager, placing it on the loop of her scrubs, and pulled her hair back, fastening her long blond locks with the black hairband that she constantly wears on her arm.

Her mind was beginning to wander into familiar but unwanted territory. Before her shift began she knew she had four patients off the top of her head to check on, plus new patients that would surely be admitted today, and a mandatory meeting with the hospital Administrator and CEO. She also had to urge the nurses in oncology to complete the liver biopsy report that she technically needed yesterday. The nurses could be a real pain in the ass which meant she'd have to sweet talk her way into rushing the results. She sighed as she closed her locker and rested her head against the cool metal. She closed her eyes and almost begged sleep to consume her. Sleep hasn't been much of a friend to her lately and if it does come, it doesn't stay very long. Her hair is always a mess, dark circles have began to form around her eyes, and her intake of caffeine has became more frequently needed. If her condition had a relevant medical name, it could be called "Seriously Overworked-osis" and she'd needs meds strong enough to put her on cloud nine.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise that sliced through the locker room silence like a meat cleaver. The intruding noise startled her, causing her heart to pound against her ribcage and her hope of having a relaxing moment to herself before her shift was shattered into pieces.

"Shit!"

A series of other sounds followed the obvious feminine voice and Clarke's curiosity was officially sparked.. and peeved. She navigated the rows of lockers, looking down each aisle and finding nothing until she reached the last row. In the back of the room she saw a woman stepping off a ladder while glass was spread across the tile, shimmering in the light. As if the swearing wasn't indication enough the woman was obviously frustrated, the sight of shattered glass and the stomping of combat boots on steel as she climb down the ladder was enough for Clarke to investigate. She hurriedly jogged down the aisle and as she approached, she realized who the woman was.

"Raven?" Clarke asked, stopping just outside the range of the shattered glass. She automatically looked up at the light fixture to see if the light bulb had broken which would mean they both would immediately need to get their blood cleaned. She saw both were in place but the light was missing the piece that protected the bulbs. Oh.

The girl looked up, startled, and paused for a moment to stare at Clarke like she was deer in headlights. It took only a second for the girl to recover and her alarmed expression quickly turned into a scowl.

"Oh, hey," Raven said as she stepped off the ladder and bent down to grab a tool from the tool belt that was spread across the floor.

"Are you okay?" Clarke asked, looking around at the shattered glass on the floor. If she was hurt, at least she was in a hospital.

"If by "okay" you mean not completely pissed off at the fact there's broilers that need to be fixed yet I'm stuck here replacing a damn light – yep. I'm totally fine," Raven huffed, snatching a tool from her belt and re-climbing the ladder like Mount Everest. The outburst caused Clarke to slightly chuckle.

"Not a fan of lights?" Clarke asked, amused.

"Not a fan of being jerked around by maintenance," Raven instantly retorted, her attention now focused on the light above her.

The sound of Clarke's beeping pager caused her attention to drift from Raven. The second she read the words on the screen, instant dread creeped into her continence.

The chief.

Great.

As Clarke left the locker rooms and steered herself to the elevators, she wondered if the meeting scheduled for today had been moved to now. She pressed the "up" button and waited for the elevator. Why else would the administrator be paging her this early? The clock on her watch was barely passed the number six and she hasn't had her coffee yet which is almost as important as an I.V drip. If she could have it her way, coffee would be in the form of an I.V. The elevator dinged and the double doors opened to reveal a herd of nurses and other doctors. A few stepped out while others waited impatiently for their floor. Clarke stepped inside, punched the number "5" on the panel, and waited. Soon the double doors closed and the elevator was in motion.

She reached level five, exited the elevator, and pushed through the wall of people and nurses that were scurrying around from patient's rooms to labs and desks. Somewhere on the wing the sound of a child's bitter cry pierced the ears of everyone within range and a mother's cooing failed to ease the child's suffering. Already, Clarke knew she was entering the shark's pit and she wondered how long it would take for her bones to be chewed on like bubble gum before she was spit out or swallowed. Still, as she approached the double doors that led to the administrative office, she squared her shoulders and straightened her back. Her job, her talent, is to use medicine in order to save lives and return sick people back to health. Making an uneducated guess on a symptom in order to determine a direct cause is what makes her feel alive. The moment she walks into a patients room after placing them on appropriate medication and watches them play cards with a granddaughter or laugh with a mother, whereas they previously could barely move due to complicated health, justifies the ridiculous amount of crap she has to tolerate on a daily basis. Her job may be stressful but that was the price she'd pay to the Pied Piper if that meant restoring order and hope to someone's life. She pushed through the double doors and deeply inhaled as her feet glided to the door with the letters "Administrative Office" painted across the middle. Her hand reached the door knob, and she exhaled and dove straight into the shark pit.

Thelonius Jaha, president of Polis General, was standing just in front of his desk shaking hands with another man who was dressed in an overly expensive business suit, offering the man one of his generic smiles. Clarke instantly wondered how massive the check is in order to be given such an extended smile. The man looked up and caught Clarke's eye and she watched as his business persona instantly leaped into action.

"Dr. Griffin, come in", he said, motioning to the far side of his office.

"I'll be in touch," the man in the business suit said, glancing at Clarke, returning the same pseudo reassuring smile to Jaha.

"I would certainly hope so," Jaha returned, motioning him out of the office.

Jaha closed the door and turned on his heel, his eyes instantly finding Clarke's. Instantly, she wondered what sort of bullshit propaganda or disposition he was going to pitch this early in the morning. Her attitude is far from being in the right place but he signs her paychecks and usually listens to her hospital issues – if they meet his standards of importance. Four months ago, a woman claimed one of the male nurses on her staff inappropriately touched her while he was drawing blood for cultures and threatened to sue the hospital for sexual harassment. Of course, Jaha had to follow hospital protocol and interview the entire staff – including her. When Clarke argued against the woman's accusations and assured her nurse would have never behaved in such an atrocious manner, Jaha believed her and continued an investigation. As it turns out, the woman was psychotic and eventually had to be transferred to the mental ward. Regardless of the outcome, Jaha trusted her instincts and that means something. Granted, he's always trying to pitch some new idea to her about how he can "turn Polis General" around and most of the time the ideas sound entirely too stupid for comfort but she still gives him credit for trying. Clarke tries to delude herself into thinking Jaha respects her as a doctor and a valuable asset to the hospital but reality knows, and so do the gossiping nurses, he listens to her because of her connection to the associate administrator, the COO of the hospital.

"Coffee?" Jaha offers as he crosses his office.

Hell yes.

"Please," she offers instead. She knew the coffee would be cold and more than likely a day old considering Jaha doesn't really drink coffee but merely uses it as a tool to make others feel more comfortable. This psychological trick inevitably causes someone to let their guard down so he can jump in and take a bite out of their asses. Clarke wondered if that exact scenario was about to happen to her. Luckily for her, she's been introduced and seen damn near every trick in the book which means her guard wasn't going to be compromised by a weak cup of coffee. He handed her the coffee in a blue mug and her guess was right – cold as ice. "Thank you," she says anyway. The second the liquid hits her lips she had to suppress the urge to spit it back in the mug. Would it kill for someone to make a decent pot of coffee? The tension in the air slid its hands around her throat and began to squeeze. Jaha cleared his throat as he took a seat in his overly large, leather, brown, extremely expensive, office chair.

"Dr. Griffin, you're a highly respected and valuable member of this hospital-" Geeze, Jaha, think you could buy me dinner, first? "-the nurses respect you-" because I don't treat them like idiots "-You've never had a complaint and you have shown excellent leadership skills-"

"President Jaha, no disrespect, but what's this about?" Clarke finally asked. She couldn't take the build up and if he showered her with one more compliment, she was going to vomit on his neatly organized mahogany wood desk. He leaned back in his chair as he gave her a stern look.

"An inmate at Polis Heights is being transferred to our facility due to a reoccurring medical condition. A serious one. The clinic at the prison isn't technologically equipped to handle what's wrong with him," Jaha spoke, his tone almost as serious as his face. "Its hospital policy and we're obligated to return him back to health." Clarke's instincts began to stir and she gave him a questionable stare.

"So whats wrong with him?" She asked.

Jaha sighed. "We don't know."

The punch-line, ladies and gentlemen.

"You want me to find out," Clarke instigated. She received a nod from Jaha.

Something wasn't adding up. She's dealt with inmates before and she knows the protocol, so why was Jaha making such a big deal out of this?

"He's a dangerous man, Clarke. I'm not at liberty to discuss his charges but trust me when I say we have to proceed with caution. We can't admit him on regular hospital protocols. Its mandatory I admit him on the securest level of this hospital.." he said.

"Level six," Clarke answered. Suddenly, her heart was beginning to beat faster than normal and she knew it wasn't from the caffeine.

"Yes." Jaha didn't hesitate. "Are you prepared to handle this? You'll be the overseeing doctor which means you'll be working closely with the patient. Of course, a guard will be posted outside his room at all times and-"

"I'm required to only be in the room if someone else is there. Never alone," she said. "I know the protocol."

"Good. I'll ask again, are you prepared to handle this?" He asked, giving her a serious but apologetic look.

"Yes," Clarke responded. How could she say no?

Who will the inmate be?

What character(s) will be introduced next?

Will Clarke ever find a decent cup of coffee?

Find out in chapter 2!

Review?