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Clarke let her eyes roam the landscape of the Captain’s face—soft pink lips set onto a hardened jaw, and high cheekbones that formed a strong backdrop to the kind forest green eyes that glistened in the late afternoon sunlight given off by Fountain Abbey’s star.
“If I asked what it is I’m meant to be transporting, I don’t suppose you’d tell me, would you?” The Captain asked with a lift of her fine eyebrow.
“Depends,” Clarke answered, lifting her shoulders as she let a small smile curl the corners of her lips upwards. “The what is pretty simple, it’s the why that you might not want to know.”
“In my line of business,” The other woman said with a huffed laugh, “that is often times the most sensible course of action—plausible deniability and all that—but, I tend to like knowing why I’m smuggling something. Call me old fashioned.”
“Me.” Clarke said.
“You?” The Captain blinked slowly before catching Clarke’s meaning. “You are what I’m meant to smuggle.”
The blonde haired woman dipped her head into a nod, “Yes.”
“You do know that it’s not a cruise ship that I run, right?” The other woman asked with a curious and cautious quirk of her eyebrow.
“I do.” Clarke acknowledged with a slight shake of her head. “Trust me Captain Alexandria Woods, formerly of the Twelfth Division of the Polis Guard Corps, I know exactly what type of ship you run.”
“You have me at a disadvantage my Lady,” The Captain said, amusement colouring her tone, as she looked at Clarke with a sharp gaze. “I find I do not know your name.”
“I’m Clarke,” Clarke responded in the same amused tone. “Formerly Doctor Clarke Griffin attached to the Mount Weather corporation.”
“Griffin?” The Captain asked. “As in Abigail Griffin’s daughter?”
“Yes.” Clarke said. “That’s me.”
“Well then,” the Captain murmured, “You can call me Lexa, Clarke, it seems silly to insist on you calling me Captain given your past rank.”
“If we are going on rank, Captain,” Clarke replied with a smile, “it would seem that you’ve been promoted since leaving the military, Commander Woods.”
“The military and I didn’t agree on its use of the funding,” Lexa said with a lift of her shoulders, “we agreed to part company on peaceful terms.”
“As it would happen,” Clarke joked, “I had a similar disagreement with the Mount Weather corporation, however, they did not agree to let me part ways on peaceful terms.”
Lexa frowned, her lips pursing in thought, before she parted her lips to reply. “The Mount Weather corporation is why you need to be smuggled off planet?”
“Yes.” Clarke sighed, running her fingers through her hair as she curled a handful of wayward strands behind her ear. “They fundamentally disagreed with how I enacted their budget, providing care for the lesser financed members of their workforce, and when they cut the money provided to me I… Well, I might have redirected some of the donation funding away from the elite to the workforce.”
“I can get you out of the core,” Lexa said, “if you agree to work as the doctor on board by vessel for the duration of your stay. We’ve been without a medic for three runs now.”
Clarke let a slow smile stretch across her lips, “I can do that as long as you have the facilities for me to work from.”
“I’m ex-military,” Lexa commented, “the medical bay is one of the most up to date features of the Heda.”
“In that case,” Clarke smiled, “may I come on board Captain?”
“You may,” Lexa said with a backwards wave of her hand to the cargo ramp, “It’s an honour to have you on board Wanheda.”
“Commander of Death,” Clarke hummed at the name, “It’s been a long time since someone called me that.”
“Captain Clarke Griffin of the Skaikru Mobile Unit division,” Lexa said, “Your name is legendary amongst the ranks, remembered for your exploits with both life and death.”
Clarke let her head dip forward into an acknowledging nod, “It would seem, Captain, that few remember the acts where I saved lives now if that nickname is to be believed.”
“Wanheda saved my division once.” Lexa murmured, her eyes hardening as the weight of memory fell on her shoulders. “And from what I know, the Mount Weather corporation has done nothing to garner my, or anyone else’s, sympathies. It is lucky for you that I have need of a doctor, because the Heda does not take human cargo.”
The blonde haired woman hitched her back up onto her shoulders and followed the Captain up the cargo ramp into the belly of her ship. A small hopeful glint glistened in the woman’s eyes, and a hushed sigh of relief left her mouth when the cargo doors hissed closed in their wake.