He sees her one day, changing shirts in the dropship. Her back is to him and she doesn't hear his footsteps or the slide of the parachute as he pushes it aside. He watches, enraptured, as inch after inch of smooth pale skin is revealed to his gaze, interrupted only by the black line of her bra. She drops the new shirt over her head and flicks her golden hair out from underneath the collar. He slips away just as she turns around.

When he replays the memory in his head, it has a soundtrack. Not a sleazy, bow-chicka-wow-wow-type song. More of a slow, melodious build. It's funny; he hasn't heard music since he left the Ark.

He accompanies her to the river so that she can get more seaweed. The weather is nice and he reclines on the shore, turning his face up toward the sun.

She has to move waist-deep into the water to reach what she needs. "Turn around," she says to him. "I want to lay my pants out to dry for a few minutes."

He doesn't feel like moving, so he throws his arm over his eyes. After he hears her emerge from the water, he peeks at her. Her boots are already off and she is sliding down her jeans. He stares at the flare of her hips and the long lines of her legs.

The music starts up in his head again. More instruments are joining in the melody, the brass section filling out, the drums getting louder.

"Bellamy!" she yells when she catches him peeking.

"Clarke, I need to talk—" He stops short when he pushes back the flap of her tent and she is standing there, wide-eyed, her bra sliding down her arms as she removes it. She claps an arm across her chest.

"Sorry, Princess," he mumbles as he backs out. Later, when he's making his rounds, he thinks of her breasts, how perfectly they would fit in his hands. The soundtrack is really picking up now.

She walks into his tent, a determined look in her eyes. An image of her naked flashes before him, an amalgamation of the glimpses he's gotten of her bare skin. He pushes it out of his mind.

They stare at each other in the dim glow of twilight.

"Well, since you're probably going to see it all soon anyway…" She trails off and starts undressing. She rips her shirt over her head and tosses it away, unclasps her bra, kicks off her boots, slides down her jeans.

She moves toward him in just her panties. "Would you like to do the honors?" she asks, indicating her last remaining article of clothing.

When he touches her, the finale of the song plays in his head, the crescendo breaking and washing over him. He especially likes the part with the trumpets.