Author's Note: Many thanks to all the people who have alerted, favorited, or reviewed this fic. Your silent support in the form of alerts and favorites and your warm words of encouragement in reviews have convinced me to write more of Mohammed al-Sharif's story both here and in "The Tie that Binds." I was very nervous about writing from a religious person's POV, and I particularly appreciate your review, Kireta; it was a relief to know that one Muslim, at least, found my story to be respectful. I hope to be able to keep that up. :)

I arrived early the next morning, trying to not be judgmental when a woman was the first person to exit Mr. Witwicky's room. They lived under a different standard, I reminded myself. Eventually, though, he stepped out into the hall and greeted me.

"Sir. Captain Wilder has assigned me as your personal aide. He also asked me to inform you that you now owe him lunch."

He chuckled and answered, "If Mikaela Baines can join us, I'm on for today. But tell the people in Communications that I still get a casual meal with my family and friends."

"Yes sir! Any preference which one, sir?"

"Better make it dinner. When's our first appointment today?"

"09:30 hours. Several Chinese leaders want to meet with you."

Once Mr. Witwicky was ready for the day, we headed down to the Autobot cargo bay again. As we waited for the elevator, he said, "Sorry, but I didn't catch your name."

'Here we go,' I thought. "Ensign Mohammad al-Sharif."

He glanced at me, but otherwise didn't react. "And we didn't scare you off yesterday?"

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Always."

The elevator door opened and I entered, pressing the button for the right level and then standing at ease, since he was being informal. "The Autobots are very intimidating, I won't deny it. But the mosque I worship at was vandalized in the aftermath of the September 11th attacks. Like your Autobots, I know what it is like to be misunderstood, to be judged guilty by association just for being what I am."

Oddly enough, that got more of a reaction than my name. His eyes widened in surprise and he blinked a couple of times, so I added, "I volunteered for this position because I have fought against prejudice before, and I want to help."

He stared at me, struck silent, for a moment before he choked out, "Thank you."

The man who commanded alien robots was shocked that I'd want to help? It almost made me grin, and I tipped my head in acknowledgement. "My pleasure, sir."

When we arrived at the cargo bay level, I followed Mr. Witwicky into the den of the maybe-djinn.

The yellow one, Bee, saw us and brightened, hurrying over. He mumbled something to Mr. Witwicky – it was unintelligible to me, but my fellow human seemed to understand and answered, "Morning, 'Bee. As ordered, I'm here for my meds. Oh, and Bumblebee, this is Ensign Mohammed al-Sharif. Ensign, meet Bumblebee."

Bumblebee nodded and turned his gaze on me. For the first time, I looked one of the aliens in the eyes, and the experience was…terrifying. I couldn't read him at all – he could have been happy to meet me or feeling jealously homicidal and I just couldn't tell.

Bumblebee focused on Mr. Witwicky again when he casually continued, "'Bee's been my personal guardian for the last two years. And 'Bee, Mohammed is my personal aide now, so if you guys need to find me and my cell's turned off or whatever, he's your man."

So Mr. Witwicky did have a djinn assigned to him. Interesting.

"It's about time your species realized you needed some extra help," one of the aliens grumbled from a partitioned-off area – the medical one, I realized. "Now get your skidplate in here."

Mr. Witwicky grinned – grinned – and walked toward the medical area, nonchalantly accepting a bag from Ratchet labeled 'ibuprofen' with some pills in it.

"If you don't come down here before you turn in for the night, I'll send your Lortab with Optimus."

"Thanks. Oh, and Ratchet, this is Ensign al-Sharif."

"Yes, I heard," he said, and the terror of being pinned under Bumblebee's gaze was nothing compared to Ratchet's piercing glare. He crouched down, but I felt none of the respect and deference from him that he'd shown Mr. Witwicky. "And I expect you to remind him to take his medication and to eat. It is ridiculous the way your people have been treating him."

There was only one correct answer to that. "Yes sir."

"Good man. Now go away. I've got work to do."

Mr. Witwicky sniggered in the face of Ratchet's gruffness. "He's the warm, fuzzy type."

Out in the cargo bay, the big one – Optimus – stood waiting for us. He didn't kneel in front of Mr. Witwicky this time, but he did thank him for arranging a meeting with the NATO representatives. I was immensely grateful that Mr. Witwicky didn't feel it necessary to draw Optimus' attention to me and introduce us. I was still kind of rattled after meeting Ratchet.

Turning to me, Mr. Witwicky asked, "How long until the meeting?"

I wished it was time to go right now. Glancing at my watch, I said, "We can spend another five minutes here."

"Okay. Just sit tight for a few minutes, then. I'll be right back."

'Right back,' I thought. 'Sure. Lovely. I'll just…stand here and twiddle my thumbs in the middle of a cargo bay filled with dangerous alien robots while your guardian transforms and drives off with you.'

The Autobots hadn't shown any hostility – not really – but I still couldn't shake the feeling that I was trapped in a room full of T-rexes. Sure, they hadn't snapped at me or pointed any weapons or tried to stomp on me yet, but the potential was there, ever-present in my mind. This was a dangerous place to be, no matter how kindly disposed the aliens were to Mr. Witwicky.

A black-armored alien ambled toward me, and I couldn't help but remember the superstition that evil djinn assumed the form of black animals.

"So you're Samuel's secretary?" he grunted.

Personal aide, actually, but I wasn't about to start arguing semantics with him. "Yes sir."

"My name is Ironhide." When I didn't comment, he leaned over me a little bit. "Don't recognize the name? Hasn't he told you any battle stories yet?"

"No sir."

He grunted again, this time with obvious disapproval. "You were on the ship at the time, so you didn't get to see it, but that battle was pretty impressive, even by Cybertronian standards."

"Cybertronian?" I squeaked.

"That's our home planet – Cybertron. Both the Autobots and the Decepticons come from there. Anyway, even by our standards, that was one helluva fight." And then he started going into detail about who the enemy was and what strategies they were using.

The blue alien walked by, muttering "Primus, Ironhide, you sound like Kup." The big black robot turned to glare at him, but the blue one was already past. Looking back at me, he said, "So there were thirteen Decepticons and only eight of us, but Bumblebee and the twins were off trying to distract Starscream, so really, there were only five us with you squishies for backup."

Squishies? In terror, my hand surreptitiously moved to my cell phone, and I texted Mr. Witwicky, hoping he'd come back so I could beat a kind-of dignified retreat. /1 min/

"I went into the thick of it," he rambled on, "trying to get Samuel to safety. He had to cross the Decepticon front line to get to us. I barely got out alive. Gotta hand it to you humans – that carpet bombing was a thing of beauty. Of course," he brandished an arm-mounted cannon, "I managed to land a few hard hits myself before I lost this baby. Had to get out of the way of those bombs." He turned his arm, pointing to a weld where the cannon was anchored to his arm. "See that? Ratchet's a good medic, he was able to reattach it before the dust had even settled. By the time that's fully healed, there won't even be a scar."

The yellow one, Bumblebee, careened over to me, but Mr. Witwicky stood talking to him for a moment before coming to my rescue. When 'Bee transformed back into a robot, Mr. Witwicky finally noticed Ironhide. "Is it remotely possible for you introduce yourself without bringing your cannons into it?"

The terrifying Autobot harrumphed at him and looked again at the cannon. "I lost one of them in that battle. I have every right to show off Ratchet's impressive repair work."

"Uh-huh. Well, now that you've terrorized my aide, we'll be going. See you tonight."

I followed as closely on Mr. Witwicky's heels as I dared, not breathing easy again until we were safely in the elevator.

"Permission to speak freely?"

Mr. Witwicky was asking me? I smiled weakly before I caught myself. "Always."

He eyed me curiously. "What do you think of them? I mean, you've sat on their side of the fence before, but what do you think of them personally."

Not an easy question to answer. "Are you a spiritual man, Mr. Witwicky?"

"Not until recently."

I filed away that interesting comment, returning to his question. "To be perfectly honest, they remind me a little of djinn – powerful creatures that conceal themselves from humanity and each one a unique creation."

"Djinn?"

And here was where East met West, with all the typical misunderstandings. "Genies in English, though the word doesn't really convey the right meaning."

"Not quite following you."

"They are merely legends in some people's minds. Traditionally, though, djinn are powerful, frightening creatures. Like men and angels, they have free will. Some use their supernatural abilities to help mankind, while others are devils. But always they are terrifying to human eyes. Ironhide and Optimus especially remind me of djinn."

He chuckled, more amused than taking me seriously. "Okay, yeah, I can see that."

"I don't know how you can walk so casually among them." He was as much of an enigma to me as the Autobots.

"It's not like they'd step on me or anything." It was almost a question, like he was asking what there was to freak out about; he genuinely didn't understand.

"They are alien, other. Whether they're machines or djinn, they are not human. I understand that these Autobots are friends to humanity, but I will never spend a minute near them without feeling either in awe or in terror."

The idea seemed as alien to him as the Autobots were to me. "I guess I've gotten used to them."

Gotten used to walking in the realm of the supernatural. "You have lived a remarkable life."

With a grin, he retorted, "That, ensign, is an understatement."