I tramped back to the mess in a certain level of speculation. Samara's plight was not totally unheard-of—Justicars were know for having a life-long quest, on top of their other duties. When I had met her on Illium, she had seemed determined, purposeful. Now I just knew what it was. I also knew the trust Samara had placed in me.

What was more worrying was the idea of being bait.

I didn't mind doing this small service for one of my crew, but there was obviously a higher level of peril involved. I would be without weapons, without armor, and with almost no backup. That didn't sit too well with me, but I was willing to help Samara no matter the risk.

Then again...something about this didn't sit too well with me. Maybe it was the fact she was going to kill her own daughter. She had been looking at this...issue as a matter of law, instead of as a mother. Not that Morinth wasn't a criminal that needed to be taken down, but perhaps there were others more suited to the task.

And if she ever heard me say that, she'd probably kill me.

Gardner was fixing something in the tiny kitchen replica, and a few crew members were dawdling at the table. I nodded in response to their absentminded salutes—long ago I had enforced the need for casualness—and made my way to Miranda's office.

Miranda was one of the few crew members I grudgingly liked. She always seemed so high and mighty, but we had worked well together in the past. I think helping her with Oriana warmed her to me, and, to be honest, vice versa. I wouldn't consider us bestest friends, but we weren't enemies, either.

I knocked politely on the door, waiting with forced patience until it opened. I stepped through and got right to the point.

"I need your help with something."

Even this small concession rankled. It wasn't like me to ask for help with anything, but I simply didn't have the arsenal required for this particular mission. At least it wasn't someone I hated.

"What do you need, Commander?" Bah. Always perfectly civil. That was one thing I had just never mastered.

"I need a dress."

Well, at least one of us is enjoying this.

Samara was, of course, watching from the back of the room as Miranda shoved me in front of the mirror. I really, really didn't want to look. By now, I probably looked like any of the vacuous daughters I had known on the Citadel, puffed and powdered and painted to look like a doll.

"You have to at least look," Miranda pouted. You're doing this for Samara. Samara. Samara.

I opened my eyes from their screwed up position and blinked.

Screw Samara. I look...

The dress wasn't bad, it was just so...civilian. I balked at the neckline, which wasn't actually all that low, just...lower than I normally wore. Sure, it had long sleeves, but that was completely trumped by the ridiculous length of the skirt. Trying to justify such a short piece of fabric, I wryly thought that it didn't restrict movement much. It was at least black, not some garish primary color thought to be 'fashionable,' but it was shiny. The shoes were a death trap, four-inch black pumps that were as silky-shiny as the dress. I can walk in heels...technically.

My face was worse than I had imagined. I could barely find my dark red eyebrows among all the eyeshadow and eyeliner. My lips were a bold dark red, and my usually flat hair was twisted into a loose bun on the back of my neck. That, at least, was vaguely familiar.

...normal?

Those dark red lips that could not be mine were slowly opening and closing. The one thought I had was how in the hell I was going to make it through the CIC without being seen.

"Do you think she can do her job now?" Miranda asked, serious. At least she hadn't asked 'Do you love it?' because I can't lie convincingly. Instead, she was appealing to my sense of the mission, and that was plain underhanded.

Samara came forward now, stepping up behind the Cerberus operative and I swear to God, the asari was laughing at me. Well...on the inside. Justicars aren't great transmitters of emotion.

"It will appeal to Morinth. You have done well, Ms. Lawson," she said, and nodded to me. "I must make my own preparations, Shepard. I will be ready in two minutes."

Two. Minutes. How was I supposed to hide in two minutes? If I hadn't known Samara so well, I would have sworn this was some sort of plot. Joker would never let me hear the end of it.

"Come on, Shepard, down to the CIC." Yup. Definitely a plot.

"Uh, I don't think..."

"Shepard, are you going to do this or not? It's just two minutes."

I cannot berate myself enough for believing her. I stepped into the infamous slow-moving elevator, head held high, thinking of this as a mission. Flip that, you can do this.

By the time I stepped out, one deck down, I had thoroughly convinced myself that I was totally, absolutely, completely screwed.

I resisted the urge to hide as the elevator doors opened. Miranda kept a firm hand on my arm, and I wondered if our truce would survive if I pulled rank on her and went back upstairs for two minutes. Or got a long, unflattering trench coat. Prior experience told me that would not be good for my image.

You are Commander Shepard, survivor of Mindoir and a freaking Thresher Maw, defeater of Sovereign, Savior of the Citadel, and...oh shit.

I inched towards the back corridor, hoping, praying no one was going to see me, and trying, failing to hide the clicking of my shoes. Four...more...steps...

"Comma...Commander?"

Shit.

Miranda was two seconds away from erupting into giggles next to me as I struggled to maintain a stern face. Damn that woman. Ice Queen, eh? Yeah right. Whoever had started that nickname had a lot to learn. Sadistic was a better choice.

"Yes, Hadley?" I asked, trying to stand up straight and failing miserably. Hey, I'm a commanding officer, I get to slouch when thoroughly embarrassed.

"N-nothing, Commander..."

Ugh. I turned to Miranda. "Would you please tell Garrus to get his scaly ass up here?"

"Commander, he's already here."

I scowled and nodded, forgetting I had told her the same thing when she had begun her witchcraft on my face. Miranda, decidedly sober, muttered something and went back inside the elevator, struggling to hide her giggles.

Maybe I was making such a huge deal of this—externally and internally—because I was, actually, uncertain. I absolutely hated having no weapons, nothing to back up my certainty. Well...I had my hands, and there was always going to be someone waiting in the wings.

But still...I mean, it was the crew. I was the Savior of the Citadel, thwarter of Death itself to them. That awestruck gaze might change after seeing me in a black silk minidress.

A high-pitched squeal drew my attention. Yeoman Chambers—Really Commander, just call me Kelly!-had her hands clasped underneath her chin and her eyes were wide with joy.

"Commander, you look amazing!"

I drew in a deep breath. Now was not the time to lose my temper.

"Why thank you, Kelly, but you can thank Ms. Lawson for all of...this," I said, indicating, flinching, the dress with a wave of my hand.

The perky redhead—damn her eternal energy—walked right up to me and walked a circle around. "That dress is fantastic! And I've never seen you in make up before! And heels!"

I closed my eyes and responded as best I could. "Don't expect to see me in make up or heels ever again. I need to talk to Joker now. About...something."

I fled, then, hearing Kelly's giggle from behind me. "Of course, Commander!"

Why did the CIC have to be crowded now? I could have sworn there was half this number of crew a second ago. Heck, even the engineers are here!

I would have paid a ridiculous amount of credits to know who summoned the entire crew to the CIC. Everybody was staring openly or stealing glances as I walked by, and I tried not to glare too fiercely. Time to think about the mission, Shepard. Head in the game.

Garrus was there, leaning against the wall and talking to Joker. The turian usually made the pilot nervous, and he knew it. I smiled slightly, then remembered my problems—embarrassment and the impending death threat—and it vanished. I clicked up to them and gave a particularly loud clack of my heel.

He turned around, opening his mouth, then never speaking a word. His mandibles flared wide open, and his eyes popped as much as a face made of plates can allow. A strangled sound came from his throat, which is quite an accomplishment considering the translator. He decided to cut his losses and stepped aside.

Joker turned around, then, which was the last thing I needed. His eyes went wide, too, but he didn't bother to school his expression like Garrus did.

I put my hands on my hips. "Problem, Garrus?" He shook his head emphatically, and I fixed Joker with a glare that clearly said Not a single. Fucking. Word.

Then again, Joker's never been one for authority.

"Commander! I'm surprised Miranda's letting you go out like that. Bad for our image, isn't it?"

I ground my teeth and decided to make a civilized comment.

"It's for the mission. I'm doing this for Samara, and I swear, if any photos of anything related to tonight, even if it's of my choice of drink, are on the Extranet, ever, I will hunt you down and make you wish you were back on the SR1."

His face paled, but it was quickly covered by a smirk. He opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by the blue orb on his left.

"Mr. Moreau, the chances of Commander Shepard finding images of her attire tonight are rougly nine-nine-point-seven-eight-repeating..."

"Yeah, thanks, EDI, I got that." He rolled his eyes.

"Commander, I am ready." Joker immediately sobered at the sight of the Justicar. In his words, he 'felt that she could shoot me very tranquilly, which doesn't make me feel any better about it.'

I nodded, managing to stay completely serious while laughing, not too kindly, at Joker in my head. Serves him right.

Garrus lagged behind, presumably to gawk, as Samara handed me a black object. Great. More black clothing.

When I held it up, I was shown a black coat that fit perfectly to the length of the skirt. It was also just as low cut. No more coverage in that department, then. But what was best about it was the fact it had a hood. I had already guessed Joker wouldn't be the only one wanting to snap a holo of the Savior of the Citadel in heels and a little black dress. Now, I would only see myself in makeup once, not for the rest of the Extranet's life.

"Thank you, Samara," I said, appreciating her not giving me the coat while Miranda was around. She nodded, a small smile on her lips, before we left the Normandy.