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Balling his fists tight, Bumblebee hid the mortification on his facial sculpt from Sentinel by keeping his helm bowed. His lips pressed tight against each other to prevent them from wobbling, holding onto his dignity for as long as possible—not that he had much of that left.
To make matters worse, in order to look away from his drill sergeant he had no other choice but to stare down at his curled digits that stopped just short of his poleyn. And below those, absolutely nothing.
Bumblebee hadn't been allowed to screw his legs back in, because according to Sentinel they were now evidence towards the ongoing investigation into the events that led to him getting trapped in that storage locker. Once things were cleared up, one of the resident medics would oversee him and reattach them. Until then, he'd just have to practice patience for once in his life and wait.
Waiting had always been the worst part. Bumblebee was no stranger to disciplinary action, but rarely had ever been so… Thrashed before the verbal lashing could even begin.
The latches of his poleyn threatened to slip loose. With no other choice, Bumblebee flattened out his digits and subtly reached beneath his thigh guards to clutch at the material. He'd hold them in place. It wasn't as though he needed to use his servos to give his account of what Wasp and Ironhide did to him anyhow.
He hated this. Why did Sentinel have to find him? Why did everyone… walk past and ignore his banging and pleading? If only Longarm or Bulkhead had just lent him a helping servo, then their instructor would have been none the wiser, but nooo.
Instead, Bumblebee felt as though he should have deactivated right then and there when after a deca-cycle of calling out for help, the only bot who finally heard his racket was the sole mechanism who probably despised him the most in the entire camp.
After wrenching the doors open, Sentinel had stared down at him with barely concealed contempt. Before he could express relief, Bee had been dragged right out of the locker and hauled over Sentinel's pauldrons.
In his shock at the absolute rough handling, his legs were nearly an after thought. Bumblebee had to muster up the courage to meekly point them out as they started to walk out of the barracks. With the look that Sentinel threw him, he had been so sure that the major would storm out without retrieving them, but he double backed and slung them underneath his free arm.
Which led to now, with Bumblebee awaiting his judgment on the incident in his private office.
Failure after failure, communal punishment after communal punishment… Every attempt to prove his capabilities to his platoon by catching the spy only served to shove him deeper into that hole dug by no other than himself. He had been so sure that he could do it and look where that got him.
The more he thought about it, the faster that sparks threatened to ignite at the corner of his optics.
Frag. If he cried in front of Sentinel now, he might as well give up and go back to the factory district. What sort of Elite Guard warrior-hopeful sobbed in front of their commanding officer? Over something as stupid as not living up to unrealistic expectations set by himself, when no bot else expected otherwise.
No, Bumblebee refused. He wouldn't do it, he wasn't so weak as to give in and do so… No matter how badly he wanted to, he had to prove he was strong.
Still, nervousness sent jitters down his circuitry. Sentinel hadn't said anything to Bumblebee in a good long while. Not since he tossed him down onto his seat and… started reviewing the camera footage from the barracks. He scowled all the while, clearly irritated to have to go through all of the effort for the platoon bumbler.
With a press of his digit and a firm click, the screen on his desk paused on the frame of Bumblebee mid-thrashing for freedom as Ironhide held him down. Clear as day, it also pictured Wasp holding the missing drill—already having succeeded in pulling off one of his legs in the still.
Sentinel leaned back and crossed his arms. His pointer digit tapped against his gauntlet as he observed the screen, really taking in the sight. Once he'd committed it to memory, he pinched his olfactory bridge and let out a loud groan. "I can't believe this! My two star cadets and they're caught on camera torturing a bottom barrel scrapheap like you! Great, just great. Now I have to deal with yet another mess of yours."
"I didn't exactly ask for this," Bumblebee muttered, glance askew as he fiddled with his poleyn latches.
"Oh, really? Could have fooled me," Sentinel glared at him. "I haven't been a drill instructor for long, but I can tell you this much— Before you came along, I'd never met an Autobot more deserving of or outright asking for an aft-whopping. I mean, what did you expect? That your peers would pat you on the back and praise you for causing more problems than you're worth?"
Irritated and humiliated all at once, Bumblebee decided to risk yet another demerit—of which he had received plenty by now—by retorting, "Actually yeah, a little gratitude would be nice considering I'm the only one who knows about–!" He choked on his words, realizing that he might have said to much way too late.
"Who knows about what?" Sentinel asked, leaning forward. His optics narrowed, shadow obscuring the upper half of his helm. During training, he didn't look half as intimidating as he did now.
Still, he stammered to keep his secret, "Nothing, forget I said anything."
"You're going to finish that sentence, that's an order."
Longarm's warning about keeping the presence of the spy a secret between just them two popped up in his processor, a stark reminder as to what he risked by telling the truth. Sentinel could take all the credit for his discovery… But if he refused a direct order, he ran the risk of getting kicked out of boot camp entirely.
As much as it would have been a great kick start to his career, Bumblebee knew that he'd never sport that Elite Guard badge if he couldn't even complete his basic Autobot militia training.
Sorry, Longarm…
"There's… a spy here. A Decepticon spy," Bumblebee clarified. "I overheard him one day just before curfew. I tried to confront him then and there but he was gone before I could! Ever since then, I've been trying to get proof before presenting it to you but–"
Sentinel held up a servo and cut him off, "A Decepticon spy. Really? That's the half-baked excuse you're going with?"
"It's true! Check my memory banks if you gotta– I stumbled across him in the eastern warehouse!" He protested. "He was directly in contact with Megatron, too, if that goes to show how serious this situation is. We have to stop him!"
"With Megatron you say?" Sentinel rubbed his chin guard, a pensive expression crossing his facial sculpt. At least he wasn't disregarding his account anymore, but Bee didn't know if he particularly trusted the glint in his optics. "If there is a spy, and I'm not saying I believe you yet, but if there is then it's one who's pretty high profile. High ranking, if not one of his close lieutenant. Not just any Decepticon grunt would have access to Megatron, you know, regardless of the mission."
"I… hadn't considered that." And the thought of it retroactively frightened Bumblebee. That night, he hadn't thought past the fact that a Decepticon sequestered themselves among their ranks, but… Perhaps he had been… lucky that the spy chose to re-assumed his Autobot identity instead of matching blows with Bee.
But…
Bumblebee turned back down at himself again, looking past his missing limbs. He tried to picture a mech his size as a formidable Decepticon, one that was powerful enough to draw Megatron's attention, probably with a kill count to match and found… that the idea of it was pretty laughable.
Wasp had been built from the same mold as him. Or at least presented himself that way. For as much as Wasp had a firmer grasp on his stingers than Bee, did that really mean he could stand beside literal titans and find himself their equal?
Glancing up at the monitor with Wasp and Ironhide's frozen frames, Bumblebee wondered… if he had gotten his guess wrong entirely.
And yet… If not Wasp… then who…?
"Tell you what," Sentinel started, commanding his attention back to him. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and take your word for now. We're gonna continue on our not-so-merry way with this investigation," he jabbed a digit at the screen, "And perhaps when the medic arrives we request a file transfer of your memory deck from the last, oh I don't know, couple of cycles. From the start of boot camp to be precise."
Shakily, Bumblebee nodded. "Okay. I'm following."
"Good. As far as anyone else needs to know, we're simply collecting more evidence about the bullying," Sentinel rolled his optics, "Going on. But off the record, well, I'm gonna do some sleuthing of my own and see if there's anything suspicious about this batch of wannabes. Records that look a little too polished or a little too vague, that sort of thing. Did you tell anyone else about your suspicions?"
"Only you. And– And Longarm too." His disconnected legs sat heavy beside him.
"Longarm, huh?" Sentinel drummed his digits against gauntlet. "What about the mudflap?"
"I'm not friends with him," Bumblebee said. "I haven't told him anything."
"Keep it that way." With a grunt, Sentinel got up from his desk. "I'll page Cliffjumper to run for a medic. If I find out that you're making this all up, it's straight to the repair track for you, got it?"
"Yes sir." A wave of anxiety ran down his back strut. "What happens after you realize I'm telling the truth? That there really is a spy? And that Megatron really is back?"
Sentinel stayed silent for all of a moment. But then he answered with a chilling, "Then we'll have a big problem on our hands, won't we?"