Clarke is standing on the landing of the stairs in their make-shift hideout, an uncharacteristically short dress on, and a cross look on her face.
"What do mean take it off?"
"I mean put your damn pants back on, Clarke. You look pretty but uncomfortable as shit."
"No shit, Sherlock, none of us really grew up getting fancy! And if you don't like how I look, why didn't you ask Raven to go?"
Raven lets out a snort and lets her leg cast hit the floor with a loud metal thunk. Clarke winces, and then refocuses on her belligerent, the esteemed Bellamy Blake whose arms are crossed with just as much stubbornness.
"Out of the question," his voice cuts through hers like his hand through the air.
"Well you didn't have to make me go through all this effort just to call me ugly-"
Bellamy growls. "You're fucking gorgeous, Clarke, but you can't fake the confidence that's needed."
Jasper tries to smile without being obvious. Monty only makes it worse by leaning over and whispering, "Do you think Mom and Dad will ever kiss and make up? Or will be always be stuck in the divorce scare phase?"
Roan, here due to his intel that spawned this crazy if potentially brilliant plot, looks at the two quizzically as Bellamy and Clarke both snap their heads towards the two, who practically dissolve into giggles when both combatants yell, "Cut that out!"
At the fond and exasperated look Clarke and Bellamy toss each other, Jasper hits the ground from his laughter.
Roan stands, trying to distance himself from this mess. At first the plan seemed solid: send one of the girls to the party undercover to ferret out the truth. Only Bellamy was protective of Octavia, and Raven couldn't dance. So it had to be Clarke.
But the blonde was not cut out for this job. She knew it, too, which only compounded the anxiety in her shoulders.
And Monty called them his parents as a joke?
Raven was smiling, too, and as Roan watched Jasper's laughter took the edge off Clarke's shoulders. She couldn't charm a friendly kitten, but maybe she could at least overhear something before she gave herself away.
"Hey, Da- Bellamy, why don't you take Clarke to get a drink? I hear shots are the traditional social lubricant."
The man in question narrowed his eyes at the mechanic, clearly unsure of how to take being almost called 'dad.' "You can't ask Clarke to go in buzzed. I want her back alive."
"Who said I was going to die?"
"There's still a price for the Wanheda-"
"ReMIND me why we can't just send Octavia? Who, you know, has learned the language like a native."
Bellamy shifted slightly, as if he were going to turn away, but his focus remained on Clarke. "Look. Just, go put your pants back on and we'll get one of the boys to go. Jasper's adorable. All the girls will talk to him."
Jasper and Monty both looked at the other in confusion.
"You are not going to send Jasper into an underground bunker party-"
"He can decide for himself-"
"You mean you can decide but ask him with just enough appeal to duty that he thinks its his own decision-"
"You're not his mother!"
"Oh, like you're better, Mr. Team Dad."
As Bellamy huffed, insulted, Jasper slipped Monty a few bills. "Damn. She caught on to the nicknames quick."
"Fine. Put your pants on and then we'll take a volunteer from the guys." At that moment, Murphy strolled in from wherever he was. "Look, why don't we just send Murphy?"
Bellamy turned on him before Clarke could interject. "Want to go to a fancy party and eat free food? The price is gathering information."
With a bite of his apple and shrug, Murphy replied, "Sure."
"There. Problem solved. Now you can get comfortable again, Clarke."
Unable to really protest, she huffed herself, and then again to mock Bellamy, before immediately stumbling back up the stairs from whence she came. At which point, Dad dropped onto the couch, utterly exhausted from the battle.
"Don't worry, Pops, I'm sure you'll win the next one," quips Murphy.
When Murphy looks like a respectable gentleman for the first time in his life, and Clarke is back to her regular self, Bellamy pulls her aside.
"I'm sorry, I was out of line, it was rude of me-"
"Just stop, Bellamy. I get it. We don't need to rehash this. My pride and self-esteem will recover. You haven't damaged it."
"Good. Beautiful women shouldn't doubt themselves."
"Wait hold up," she snapped, grabbing his arm so he couldn't vanish. "You think I'm pretty."
"Clarke, you're gorgeous. You looked absolutely stunning, which would've attracted more attention than you should have an undercover agent; and honestly, the thought of some stranger staring at your legs was more than I could handle."
She grinned, crossing her arms in triumph as he realized just exactly where his rambling had led.
"I didn't - I -"
Clarke reached up to gently cup his cheek. "Let's get through this, and then we'll talk, okay? And not just about your protector complex."
He just stood there, stunned, as Clarke retreated.
"Besides, we can't leave these delinquents without any parental supervision. I shudder to think what they'd be like if their parents split up." She flashed him a comforting smile as she left, leaving him alone with a slightly warm face and the image of curly-haired blond children being the absolute death of him.