"Clothes make the man."

Bullshit, thought Shepard. It's the other way around.

She buttoned on her full-dress tunic. With salarian, turian and krogan delegates about to go head-to-head over war planning, the Systems Alliance needed to project confidence and strength. That meant lots of standing, walking and table-thumping. And dress blues.

Instinctively, Shepard's feet slid to attention and she stood a little straighter. Far off, like a voice from the past, she heard the marches of her passing-out parade. Semper Fidelis, Cisne Branco, Hearts Of Oak. Admiral Hackett finishing off his keynote speech and saluting them as they marched off the square.

Eyes front, cadet, thought Shepard. Company will fall out. Right turn, dis...miss!

Shepard opened her eyes and she was back in the present.

Flipping through her wardrobe always had that effect. It had been way too long. The retreat from Earth, the grim attrition on Palaven, and the stress of this upcoming summit... they had all taken their toll. At last, she could take a minute to wash and brush up and consult the dress regulations chart.

The regulations weren't a set of rules designed to force the soldier into blind compliance. They were a framework. They brought the mind around to the task in hand. Combat armour, battledress, mess fatigues... Shepard loved them all. The system kept her sane. There was never any ambiguity. Dress cap and white gloves only on parade. All personnel in standard fatigues when a boarding action is imminent. No helmets on the bridge.

It kept things simple. It left more room to think. It...

Shepard paused before she shut the wall panel. It was still here. Hidden away at the back of the wardrobe was the one outfit that would never be on the chart. Kasumi's gift.

She hadn't thought about it much since her return to earth, but Shepard missed being Alison Gunn. Back when she'd seemed to have a new lease on life, a new direction, and anything was possible. Commander Shepard, military lifer, right fist of the Council, had for one day been able to drink champagne on a Bekenstein terrace in three-and-a-half-inch heels.

It had been weird. It had been that little black dress she was indistinguishable from the beautiful people at the heart of the galactic black market. She'd met them on their home ground and beaten them in a way all the munitions at Arcturus station never could have.

For a day, I was high society, thought Shepard. I was free.

She reached to the back and took it out for a look. The dress. Alison Gunn's dress. My dress, she thought. The one damned thing I own that I can wear for the Victory party.

It was soft. It was graceful. It was... completely different.

"EDI!" roared Shepard, "What the hell happened to my dress?"

Specialist Samantha Traynor stood nervously in her Commanding Officer's cabin. She and the Normandy's disembodied yet oh-so-sultry onboard AI were trying to prevent Shepard from reaching critical mass before the delegates arrived.

"You come on to my ship," growled Shepard, "You strip out half the interior – armour compromised - you stack a pile of crates on the bridge – trip hazard – you get rid of my Hammerhead – loss of mobility – and now you destroy my one set of decent civilian clothes?"

"I'm... I'm sorry ma'am," stammered Traynor. "It was an accident. When we were doing the first sweep for Cerberus surveillance systems there was a... rupture in the fishtank. The water flooded out... there was a two-month algae build-up... all the soft furnishings had to be replaced. I'm sorry. We had to get rid of the dress. And everything else. Um. I'm sorry."

Shepard was too livid to listen properly. Traynor braced herself.

"And as if that wasn't bad enough," growled Shepard, "you replace it with this... this glorified swimsuit!What, did you wear this to junior prom? Did you see it on a stripper and think, hey, my CO could wear that? Is skin-tight spandex crap the new thing this season? Could you not tell the difference?"

"Commander," said EDI, firmly. "This is not Specialist Traynor's fault. Your assessment is correct – we were unable to find an exact match for your dress and simply found the nearest equivalent on the Vancouver high street this year. Specialist Traynor did her utmost in what was – to say the least – a low-priority cause. I hazard that your command judgement may be impaired and suggest you take a few minutes to calm yourself before the summit."

Shepard took a breath and Traynor stole a glance at her. The Commander's expression softened and for a moment she simply looked very tired. Then she straightened up, and Traynor almost flinched as their eyes locked.

"I'm sorry, Specialist," said Shepard, "I was rude and my comments were entirely un-called for. There's no excuse, I was unprofessional. I appreciate your efforts in restoring my personal effects, you've obviously gone above and beyond on this one. I hope we can put this behind us."

Traynor felt a flush of relief mixed with a faint twinge of annoyance. as she stood and saluted.

"Already forgotten, ma'am. Water under the... well, it's over. With your permission I'll head off and prepare the dossiers for the summit."

As Traynor left, Shepard slumped onto her couch.

"Great," she said. "Humiliated myself in front of the new personnel. How bad was it, EDI?"

"It was terrible," said EDI, "But these things happen, Commander. Organics always seem to attach undue significance to inanimate objects. You're only human."

"Yeah, us organics and our inanimate objects," said Shepard. "We don't really need any of them. Dresses, cars, onboard Artificial Intelligence... we could just space 'em all and I bet we'd be a lot happier."

"Point taken," said EDI, a little miffed. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Commander?"

"One status update. Are the shoes ok?"

"The shoes were, as always, undamaged. They might need a wipe down."

"Credits well spent."

A few months, several more campaigns, and Shepard was finally packed for a little shore leave. As the Normandy pulled majestically into the arms of the Citadel, Shepard stepped down from her command console and slung her travel bag over her shoulder. She'd planned to take a little walk around the wards to the apartment Admiral Anderson had left her. It felt good to be back in shirtsleeves and combat pants after all the starch and polish day-in-day-out.

"You're looking casual, ma'am," grinned Traynor. "Planning on roughing it with the Other Ranks?"

Shepard grinned back. It had taken time but she was finally used to Traynor's jittery ways. She'd turned out to be a good officer after all. Between her rigid attention to detail, her constant off-the-wall ideas and her seeming inability to speak slowly, Shepard was getting quite fond of the young Specialist.

"Uh, Traynor." said Shepard. "I was wondering if you wanted to, uh... meet up... while we were on shore. I was planning to replace... that dress... and I'd really like you to come and help me pick one. It's been a while but I still feel bad for bitching you out that one time."

"Oh!" exclaimed Traynor. "I'm not really one for shopping, ma'am. I... well, you were right. I don't know anything about clothes, I'd probably just mess it up for you."

"Hey, I'm not big on fashion, either. I just thought it'd be fun. You know, trial and error. I was planning on introducing you to one of my old friends, too. She really does know about this stuff. I promise we'll have a good time."

Traynor thought for a moment, and Shepard felt a thrill when she smiled back and nodded.

"Absolutely, ma'am. I can't say I'll be as useful as I would be at a chess league game, but I'm happy to give it a go."

"Great!" said Shepard. "I'll, uh, send you a message with the time and place. See you then. You, uh... you won't regret it."

Aw, hell, soldier, Shepard thought to herself as she marched off to the airlock. You won't regret it? Where did you pick up that kind of mush? Too much time talking to politicians and private sector assholes, that's your problem.

Still, she said yes.

"Alright, troops," said Shepard, "are we ready to move out?"

Traynor and Kasumi jumped up straight away. Their mistress' voice.

"Nice place you've got here, Shep." said Kasumi. "Can I live here while you're off on the Normandy? An Admiral's apartment would be so much easier to hide out in than the awful HabCapsules I have to rent out in the lower wards."

"Come on, Kasumi," said Shepard. "Silversun Strip is crawling with C-Sec, and you know all these Casinos would just be too much of a temptation. You need to lie low right now, not break the bank of Monte Carlo."

"I also like your new crewmates." said Kasumi, and turned to Traynor with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Shep said you picked out a tight little satin number for her when you took over the Normandy. She hates that kind of thing, but I like the way you think."

Traynor shuffled her feet a little. Hanging out with her legendary CO and an infamous criminal who seemed obsessed with haute couture was not what she'd expected to happen when she signed up for the Navy.

"Well, Shepard... the Commander... er... it was suggested by some that you know a bit more than I do." said Traynor nervously. "I'm just here to learn, really. I'm more of a denim and t-shirt girl, if you know what I mean. Rank amateur, I suppose."

Kasumi's eyes went wide and she beamed at Shepard.

"She's so cute, Shep! Forget the apartment, I want her! It's not fair that you military types get to pick a whole ship full of the prettiest little people. It doesn't leave us civilians anyone to play with."

"Simmer down." said Shepard. "I need your expertise today, Kasumi. With the galactic economy at a standstill, all the fashion houses are pretty low on stock at the moment. I have a list of the last twenty-three places who took a delivery before the Reapers hit, but I don't know if we want to head there first or if you know some little corner of Zakera where they keep all the mid heels and sensible hemlines."

"Sensible hemlines?" said Kasumi, "Where have you been for the last six months? Oh, wait, that's right, 'The War'. Same old excuse. Let me see that list."

As Kasumi plotted their course through the Citadel's shopping districts, Traynor stole a glance at Shepard and found her looking back. Traynor was amazed. Shepard looked... well... shy!

Stunned by this mind-blowing revelation, Traynor was pulled back to reality by Kasumi.

"Right, so I suggest we start right here in Silversun. Sariah's old department store closed when all the models went back to fight on Thessia, but there are a couple of smaller places we could head to. They always have interesting pieces from Ilium and the Bek – that's where I picked up your old dress, Shep."

"An exact replica would be the ideal scenario here." said Shepard.

"I know," said Kasumi, "But you're not going to find it. You might not like some of the trends this season. Just... keep an open mind, ok? How about you, Traynor, are you ready?"

Traynor shrugged. It suddenly seemed to be getting very hot in the apartment.

"I've... got no idea what you're talking about, so I'm as ready as I'll ever be! Er... lead on?"

As they left the apartment, Kasumi leant over to Shepard and spoke in a clearly audible stage whisper.

"Seriously, Shep. Don't you ever get distracted working right next to her all the time?"

Shepard nodded sagely.

"Every day, Kasumi. Every day."

Kasumi walked on with a wide grin as Shepard suddenly froze, aware of what she'd just said. Traynor, too, pretended not to hear, although she felt her hands clench in her pockets. As they walked out into the cool breeze of the upper wards, Traynor understood.

The apartment hadn't been hot; she'd just been blushing for the last ten minutes.

"On the plus side, Commander," said Traynor, "You have wonderful legs."

Shepard took another look in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The emerald-green minidress was colourful, but hardly flattering.

"Well thanks, Specialist, but this one is definitely worse." she said, "Everything they have in this place is actually shorter and tighter. Kasumi, you're seriously trying to tell me this is my size?"

Kasumi emerged from the changing room, wrapped in an off-the-shoulder body sheath. She stepped up to Shepard and pursed her lips critically at their reflection.

"Yes, Shep, for the hundredth time, it's your size and it's supposed to cling."

"This skirt is no good. I can do above the knee, you know I can. But this isn't that."

Kasumi looked down to where Shepard's skirt ended a couple of inches below her buttocks. She playfully pinched out the hem and let it snap it back against Shepard's thigh as the Commander jerked away.

"This season was made for you," said Kasumi, "Now you've had a few months of downtime and put a little more junk in that trunk, you can finally start dressing your age, Shep. Embrace it. Short and tight is in, and your curves need to be out."

"I call harassment." said Shepard, "You saw that, right, Traynor? Harassing a Spectre is a buy-me-a-drinkable offence."

"First-hand witness here," said Traynor. "Two penalty daiquiris required from Ms. Goto within the hour."

"That's rough justice," said Kasumi. "Especially since Traynor here's been sitting on the sidelines for an hour while we've been trailblazing. I want to see what's under that hoodie. No hooch without cooch, Sam."

Traynor crossed her legs and pushed back defensively into her chair, ready for a ruthless campaign of passive resistance.

"I'm not trying anything on. I like shapeless and comfy and I'm staying here."

"Sam. You're dressed for a twelfth-century monastery," said Kasumi. "And those were for men."

Shepard saw Traynor was getting uncomfortable and glared a warning at Kasumi.

"Traynor, nobody's pushing you into anything," she said, "We're here for one outfit, for me. Sorry if you're feeling a little out of your depth. We, ah... lost sight of the objective a couple of stores ago."

"I'm just a bit lost," said Traynor. "It's like you're talking another language and all these bloody dresses look the same to me. What was so great about the old one?"

Shepard smiled faintly and gazed into the middle-distance. Kasumi rolled her eyes and disappeared into another aisle as the eulogy began.

"That dress," said Shepard, "was basically made for me. The skirt was short enough to let me run, and long enough I could strap a pistol to my thigh. Pencil skirts are great because they don't blow up in your face even when you're jumping off a balcony or kicking some eclipse grunt through a window. The upper body was a damned masterpiece. It showed a little cleavage but it held everything together. The shoulders even had the same weight as Alliance rank badges. It was classy, Traynor. It was classy."

Kasumi emerged again with something blue and shimmering on a hangar.

"Made for me. Classy. Masterpiece," she said, "Seriously, Sam, if I'd known Shep was going to idolise one outfit, and sink all that money into custom shoes she never got to wear, I'd have snuck us onto Bekenstein disguised as catering staff."

"What shoes?" asked Traynor. "You're not trying to tell me our Commander collects expensive stilettoes?"

Shepard still had that faraway look.

"Just one pair, Sam..." she said. "Maybe I'll show you someday when the world is safe for killer heels."

"Sam, get over here," said Kasumi. "It's your turn. Found you a good one."

Traynor was still wavering. Shepard snapped back into reality.

"If it helps, Traynor,"she grinned, "You've got the perfect body for it, and Kasumi won't shut up until you try one on. I think you'll look great."

Traynor couldn't stop her jaw from dropping. Shepard hastily tried to retrench.

"Uh, that was a little forward. I just meant, I'm having trouble fitting into these, and you're thinner than I am... not that you're too skinny, just that you've got a good figure... not that I've been looking, but... well, I've got eyes..."

Shepard tailed off. Traynor gingerly got to her feet as Kasumi suppressed a laugh.

"That's ah, awfully flattering, Commander," said Traynor. "I'm happy to give it a go... Kasumi, I'll need a hand."

As Kasumi bundled Traynor behind a curtain, Shepard buried her face in her hands and sank down into a chair. Just breathe, soldier. You're alive.

She'd pulled herself together by the time Kasumi emerged from behind the curtains again, helping Traynor stay upright as the Specialist stumped out, clearly frustrated and uncomfortable in heels. Traynor's dress was covered in sparkling blue sequins and hugged her lithe frame without squeezing anything out of shape. It's still way too short, thought Shepard, but her thighs look pretty damned fine, alright.

"I feel like a bloody idiot," said Traynor, folding her arms defensively over her plunging neckline. "And I'm bloody cold. How do you relax in these things?"

"You need to fix your posture, Traynor," said Shepard, getting up. "It's uncomfortable at first, but you get used to it."

Shepard placed her hands gently on the small of Traynor's back and just under her solar plexus. Traynor trembled a little at her Commander's touch, and Shepard suddenly had to fight to keep her voice from cracking.

"It's just like being at attention, but more," said Shepard, clearing her throat, "Shoulders back. Feet together. Chin up, Traynor. Eyes front. Now arch your back a little more."

Shepard felt a thrill as Traynor relaxed, thrusting her hips back and her breasts forward. Shepard relaxed the pressure, but didn't remove her hands from Traynor's waist.

"Oh my," breathed Traynor. "I'm not sure I could stand like this for very long, Commander. I feel, er... very exposed."

"Just stay calm," said Shepard. "One step at a time. Don't try to walk like you would with regular boots. You need to swing your hips more."

As Traynor took a couple of tentative steps in her heels, Shepard moved with her, guiding Traynor's movements with firm but subtle pressure on her flanks.

I'm a terrible commanding officer, thought Shepard. There are whole manuals written about why I shouldn't do this.

"That's it, Traynor." said Shepard. "Put the balls of your feet down first and let the heel follow. Just let your body do what it wants to."

"I'm not quite sure I like showing myself off this way, Commander," said Traynor, a little bemused. "Not here, at any rate. Can we, er... stop for now?"

With a huge effort, Shepard tore her hands away and took a couple of steps back.

"I'm sorry, Traynor. The mission. Priorities. We'd better get changed and move on."

Shepard and Traynor beat a hasty retreat. Kasumi still wore a wide grin when the three of them exited their changing cubicles for the last time, ordinary clothes restored.

"So, where do you two want to go next?" said the thief, "Someone mentioned cocktails earlier, but after our last little session I thought maybe you two might want to call it a day and head home."

"Of course not!" Shepard shot back, too quickly, "We came out for a dress, we're getting a dress! Next location, Kasumi!"

Kasumi raised an eyebrow and nodded at Traynor, who was holding a bloody tissue to her nose.

"I'm not sure our third squad member would agree. Looks like we need a medic, stat."

"Oh, it's nothing," said Traynor. "I get nosebleeds all the time. Silly, really. I fancy hitting a bar, though. All the clothes we've seen today remind me a bit much of the street tarts back in the colonies."

"Wow!" exclaimed Kasumi, "This cat has claws!"

"She's right, though," said Shepard. "We haven't seen one dress with any class today. It's like the same pattern repeated a hundred times in all the colours of the fluorescent rainbow."

"That's a point." said Traynor. "Who's making all of these? If someone on the Citadel is flooding the markets with ghastly dresses, every woman on the station must be having the same problem right now."

"I think it would be abusing my Spectre status to tick off some poor manufacturer for making outfits I don't like," said Shepard, "especially in wartime."

"Actually, Sam might be right." said Kasumi, flicking through extranet pages on her omni-tool. "During the Cerberus attack, several major textile factories burned down in the Kithoi ward manufacturing district."

"But Cerberus hardly had a foothold in Kithoi," said Shepard. "C-sec had the whole place pinned down almost immediately."

"Exactly." said Kasumi, "And only one factory was left standing. The famous designer Kaalos Bermadon's personal factory. The one that churns out the hottest trends every season. They've upped production tenfold in the last month, and I guess this is the result."

"Looks like a job for Commander Shepard," said Traynor.

"Hardly," said Shepard. "A little industrial espionage is not something I need to spend my shore leave investigating. Leave that to the boys in blue."

"You say that," said Traynor, "But just think. If this bastard hadn't physically destroyed all his competitors, we could have avoided four hours of Kasumi making cracks about how much your arse has grown. And we would be drinking in the VIP section of Purgatory. Wearing dresses that you actually like. Isn't that a future worth fighting for?"

Shepard cracked her knuckles.

"That's a future worth dying for," she said.

There was a moment of silence as all of them reflected.

"Well, maybe that's an overstatement," said Shepard. "But fighting, yes. Definitely fighting."