Authors' Note: Happy New Year! Eowyn77 and SpiritofEowyn wrote this one Sunday evening for kicks when the other half of the Botosphere couldn't make it over for dinner. They liked it, too, and so we decided to post. Hope you enjoy!

Mohammed al-Sharif settled into his office chair with a half-hearted sigh. His job was a good one, all things considered. He was stationed stateside for the foreseeable future, which meant that he could finally make plans for a life with Ayesha. There were the people he worked with, too. His email inbox looked like a who's who of Washington, never mind the occasional interstellar contact. In many ways his office was the heart of the Autobots' communication with the human world and the subject of his work was, frankly, exhilarating. The nature of it, however, left something to be desired because, when all was said and done, it was just a desk job.

It had felt better than he expected to be called out during the campus shooting. He'd felt useful for the first time in weeks. Not that he wanted Sam to be shot at more often, it was just that he was surprised at how satisfying it was to be something more than just a glorified secretary.

His cellphone ringtone sang "You've got a friend in me," interrupting his thoughts. Bumblebee had set that as his unique alert at some point during this latest crisis, and al-Sharif hadn't wanted to change it. The Autobots were literally larger than life, as were the Decepticons. Good or evil, they were great. He would never see them as something so mundane as 'friendly' but Bumblebee was on a one-mech mission to change that. It went beyond the ringtone, though. Since Christmas he'd started sending random texts or popping up on IM. Against all the improbabilities, the titan of a robot even trusted him with secrets the alien wouldn't share with his own chain of command.

Curious, al-Sharif opened the text.

/Your mission should you choose to accept it: find out just how the slag Sharsky and Fassbinder figured out The Buzz. Keep it on the down-low because nobody on DG knows about the blog's security being breached. If there's anyone else out there besides these two jokers who're in the know, I need to know. I'm playing with fire already, and if the blog has *groupies,* OP is going to have my helm./

Before he finished reading that text, another one came through. /Your target is the Borg family. I've traced the roommates' internet activity to an IP address at their residence, and their daughter Lisbeth delivered "muffins" to the boy's dorm previously. Help me, al-Sharif. You're my only hope./

He snorted at that last line and wrote back, /Not even Jedi powers will save you from OP if he finds out about this./

/Tell me something I don't know./

/You're doing this for the adrenaline rush./

/Nope, just bored to tears. Seriously, though, find out if the Borgs know anything or my name is mud. I'll make any juicy details you find worth your time, too. This message will self-destruct whenever you get around to de-cluttering your texts./

Al-Sharif smiled to himself, pleased that he yet again had a mission instead of a job.

…

Lukas Borg was kicked back in his dad's recliner, enjoying the use of the laundry room and free food. He was house-sitting for his mom and dad over the weekend, which meant he had the run of the place, but he spent the time between his friends' Facebook updates working on his semester project.

When the doorbell rang, he was more than half-tempted to not answer it. He was busy. He was comfortable. He was in the techie groove. The visitor was pretty much guaranteed to not be for him. But if it was a delivery that got stolen off the doorstep, he knew he'd never hear the end of it.

The doorbell rang again and he pried himself out of the recliner. Instead of a UPS truck on the curb, there was a black SUV. Curious now, he slid the chain into place on the door and opened it a crack. The man on the porch was in a uniform and Lukas swallowed hard. "Hello?"

"Hello." The stranger held up an official looking badge and said, "I'm Lieutenant Mohammed al-Sharif."

Lukas swallowed again, harder this time. The guy on the porch with the terrorist name didn't look DEA, but Lukas did a quick mental inventory of his duffel to make sure there wasn't anything incriminating there. If he got busted for doing pot in his parents house, his mom might make him move back in just so she could keep a closer eye on him.

"I'm Lukas Borg," he finally said to fill the awkward silence.

"May I come in?" the guy in the uniform asked.

"Um...I'm kind of..."

"I just have a few questions about a couple of recent house-guests. Do the names Mr. Fassbinder and Mr. Sharsky ring any bells?"

"The gay guys?" Lukas blurted out without thinking.

The stranger's mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. "Possibly."

"I know them. I mean, I remember them. They came when my sister's campus got shot up. She had a crush on one of them - I think - at least until they totally got it on in my parents' laundry room." He grimaced remembering just how much PineSol he went through scrubbing and then re-scrubbing every flat surface in the room. He didn't know who had done what where, and so the whole thing got sanitized from ceiling to floor.

The other guy made a sound somewhere between a cough and a snigger. "I see. I gather you aren't a permanent resident here, then?"

"No. I'm just house-sitting for my folks right now."

The stranger pulled two business cards out of his pocket and passed them to Lukas through the opening in the door. "These are for you and for your parents. There's been a breach of security on an ambassadorial network, and it's possible Mr. Fassbinder and Mr. Sharsky are involved. If any of you recall any suspicious activity by your visitors, please notify me at once. I'm sure that you can appreciate the seriousness of hacking Federal servers."

Lukas nodded mutely, eyes wide in shock, and the military man allowed himself the slightest of smirks. "Good day." Turning on his heel, he headed down the walk and Lukas shut the door, throwing the deadbolt. Safely locked away, he felt relief set in and drew a shaky breath. Turning the cards over in his hands, he decided one thing was certain. He was going to tease his sister about this until doomsday.

...

Lisbeth was going over the coming season's play "The Producers" and making a list of their lighting needs, which colored lights and effects she would have to program for the "Springtime for Hitler" number, when she heard a very firm knock at her door. Her shoes were off, and so she let her roommate Katie answer it. It was probably for her anyway.

"Lisbeth!" Katie called in a stage whispered squeal of terror. Probably one of the weirder dressed actors at the door, Lisbeth thought, although she should be used to it by now. She wandered to the door with her iPad that held the score she would be matching the effects to, to find an older ROTC student at her door in military uniform. A lot of them liked to show it off. Her first thought was that he'd be great for casting in Lawrence of Arabia or The King and I, looked authentic and distinctive, and was a costumer's dream with that physique.

"Yeah? What can I do for you?"

"I am here on behalf of the International Diplomatic Security Service," he said with a fairly convincing solemn military tone.

"So, the S.S.?" she smirked. "No, really, not a bad act, but I can't help you look like a Nazi if you don't come clean, and that suit won't cut it."

"What?" he asked. He looked genuinely confused.

Either he was a great actor or...

"I am here on behalf of one of our ambassadors." He flashed his very realistic looking badge. "Concerning the recent suspicious actions of Nadipati Fassbinder and Joseph Robert Sharsky. You recently allowed them into your home?"

Nadipati, she thought. Oh, my gosh. Seriously, that was his first name? Which was stupid because what she should be thinking was Unwitting Accomplice, need a lawyer, going to Guantanamo. She nodded. Did she look guilty? Her fear was probably all over her face. But did it look like guilty fear?

"Did they seems suspicious to you?"

When did they not though? "Define suspicious."

She should look like the innocent capitalist-loving American she was.

"Don't be stupid. Be a smartie, join the Nazi party," her iPad sang in a male voice. She paled.

"That's...that's not what it sounds like." Lisbeth's hands and voice shook as she turned off the app. Work fingers! Gun shot sounds went off. "It's a song from 'The Producers,' it's a play we're doing, it's supposed to be funny."

He looked upset. "That's...in extremely poor taste."

"Yes, that's what's supposed to make it funny. Ha ha. I didn't choose it." Lisbeth shrunk.

"May I come in?" he just about ordered.

"Yeah, yeah," Lisbeth said, leading him in. Her roommates had all become scarce, but the living room had clearly just been sprayed with an overabundance of fresh pine Febreeze to cover up the trash that hadn't been taken out in a week.

"Fassbinder and Sharsky?" he prompted her.

How had she forgotten all of that?

"What about them?"

"Would I be correct to assume that their recent stay with your family was related to the on-campus shootings?"

How had he known that, she wondered. Were there cameras everywhere?

"Yeah, I just, after 'Binders roommates were on TV being shot at, I just wanted them to be safe and -"

"Fassbinder, he's your boyfriend?" he asked.

Gah! "No, no, I mean I thought maybe," Lisbeth blushed. "But he's not, I'm not his type. We're just good friends."

"Do you know what sites they accessed during their stay?"

Kiddy porn? No, she didn't think they were the type. They were conspiracy theorists though..."Did they try to hack into the Pentagon?"

"Do you think they're capable of that?"

Ah, crap. "I don't know." Maybe. "They helped fix our slow internet connection..." Don't need to mention the illegal TV channels.

"If you encounter anything suspicious, here's my card. I don't think I need to mention the dire consequences of turning a blind eye to possible domestic terrorist activity. We'll be in touch."

He left, and Lisbeth locked the door, grabbed a blanket and hid in it on the couch.

…

Al-Sharif got as far as his car before breaking out in laughter. Pulling out his phone, he texted, /The Borg kids seem harmless. I'll check in on their parents when they get back into town. You mentioned you were interested in any interesting personal details?/

/Sweet! Name your price./

He thought for a minute. /An IOU that I can cash in ahead of the wedding./ He was sure that at some point it'd be useful to have an Autobot on hand when dealing with his soon-to-be-in-laws.

/Deal./

/Apparently F&S came out while staying with the Borgs./

/No way!/

/Both Lukas and Lisbeth were under that impression. She was interested in Fassbinder until she realized he's gay./

/LOL! They're not - you should smell the way their hormones react around the coeds./

There were times al-Sharif was grateful he was merely human, and this was definitely one of those times. He felt a brief flash of pity for the mech and added, /I'd rather not. Lukas claims they went so far as to 'get it on' during their stay./

/ROFLMCAO/

Al-Sharif chuckled along with Bumblebee.

/Okay, you just earned yourself three favors. Text me when you know what you need, and if you come across any more gems, let me know. I might just call you up again sometime./

It was unlikely, but al-Sharif grinned at the prospect. /Yessir!/