First Hope dyes the Clone's red hair a dull brown, and she perms it the moment it grows long enough. She buys contacts to turn the Clone's warm chocolate eyes a bright green. Between meals Hope quizzes the Clone on Commander Shepard's known history. During meals she quizzes her on her own, made up history.

She swallows another spoonful of Pad Thai, her favorite. Strange-Shepard prefers spicy yellow curry. "I was born in the human colony Yandoa, exposed in utero to dust form element zero. I was given an L3 implant at age 17, but initially chose not to pursue biotic training. After getting a college degree I'm now studying my biotics and its related applications to fund my graduate education."

Hope doesn't look up from her datapad. "Mmhm. And what did you study in school?"

"Physical science, with a focus on astrophysics." The implants supplies the formulas and scientific facts readily enough. It's the personal experiences she had trouble with. Neither Hope or Rana could implant Shepard's memories directly into her skull. They only have news reports, Cerberus data feeds, and Alliance security recordings to work with. Even those leave huge gaps in Shepard's history. Two lines about Shepard's time with the Tenth Street Reds before joining the Alliance. A security vid showing Shepard entering the Consort's Chambers. (What she paid the Consort for is anyone's guess. With the way the Commander watched the dancers in Chora's Den and Afterlife in the recordings, the Clone suspects Shepard got more than just words. She blushes at the thought.)

Whether she's still terrible at masking her feelings, or Hope has just that much skill at reading people—she knows right away what the Clone is thinking. "As for your romantic history—"

The Clone shifts in her seat, fumbling over her words. "I always f-focused on school…dating was a distraction I didn't need."

Hope nods. "And now?"

Opening her mouth to answer, the Clone realizes she doesn't have one. Their previous conversations focused on the past—not the present. The implants, readily designed for battle, don't supply information for peaceful encounters. Seeing Hope frown, the Clone falters, and falls. Disappointing Hope is the last thing she wants. "I don't know," she replies finally.

Hope's lips press into a thin line as she stands up. "The first rule of infiltration: Always maintain your cover story. When your lie's discovered, lie harder." She moves closer, stopping in front of the Clone's chair.

Recognizing her vulnerable position, the implants urge her to stand. Before she gets far, Hope grabs her chin, pulling her to eye level. "And now that you're done with school and studying biotics, how do you feel about romance?

Her grip hurts a little, but the Clone can't help but notice how close their faces are. She can feel the Hope's breath on her lips—the smell of coffee so strong she can almost taste it. Warmth pools in her stomach. Swallowing, she answers. "No distractions."

"Good girl." Hope's lips quirk at the corners as she releases her fingers.

Watching her walk away, the Clone realizes it's the nicest thing Hope has ever said to her.

At night they share the same bed, but unlike the vids and the novels the Clone views on her datapad, they sleep with their clothes on and they don't touch one another. The Clone would like to think that Hope is lonely and needs the Clone by her side at night. She suspects it has more to do with Hope fearing she'll run away if left to her own devices. But why would she want to? Hope is all she has.