The whole ordeal started with one seemingly insignificant event. Bumblebee had been innocently idling his time away in the Witwicky's backyard garage, browsing through downloaded movies and songs to find useable quotes and lyrics. As usual, the scout had tuned out most noise filtering from the Witwicky household (apparently, his battle-earned habit of listening in on everything directly violated some human privacy custom, and his input on such "private" conversations was not welcomed by his charge's creators), thus making it a surprise when a muffled 'uh, hey –oof- Bee, could you uh, help me out here. You know, open the door? My hands are –ah! No no no!- kinda full…' announced the youngest Witwicky's presence. Allowing himself an amused chirp, the Camaro carefully shifted to his normal form and pushed the side door of the garage open.

"Thanks," Sam mumbled, catching the door with his leg and swinging it open the rest of the way before entering. True to his earlier statement, the teen carried a collarbone-high stack of three cardboard boxes – each varied in size, unclosed, and filled to the brim with miscellaneous items (even when relaxing, his scout programming noticed the specifics of everything).

"Sorry," the boy muttered as he fumbled with the boxes, looking for a place to set them down, "for junking up your whole 'room' thing you've got going here. My dad keeps forgetting that we do, in fact, have someone living in the garage instead of a nice, shiny car just sitting in it." The scout warbled understandingly as he watched the boy shuffle around the garage with the precariously balanced boxes. Normally he would have offered to help, but a recent discussion (Sam had called it 'my little bitchfit' when he apologized, though Bumblebee had found it unworthy of the level the label suggested) had revealed that, no, Sam did not need for his 'gun-toting alien guardian' to help him transport groceries, school supplies, and other such items. Keeping such a rule in mind, the scout also did not move to readjust a book in the top box as it slid from its place and began a short lived journey to the floor.

Sam swore halfheartedly, and the Autobot moved to retrieve the fallen book. He had only just begun the helpful gesture when something inexplicably remarkable happened, effectively stopping him short of the action. Sam – whom the scout had (surprisingly) not noticed was barefoot until just then – turned his body to catch site of the book. Carefully readjusting the weight of his cargo, he lifted one foot and grasped the book with his toes. Holding it by the cover and several pages, the boy swung his foot again and threw the book upwards, wobbling from the effort of balancing before slamming the foot back to the ground and positioning the box to catch the cluster of printed pages as it finished its descent.

Bumblebee made no indication that he had found anything unusual about the display. Sam set the boxes down in the far back corner of the garage, and, after Bumblebee assured him that they would not be in his way, left without making any notice of his own spectacular feat (or, more appropriately spelled, 'feet'). The instant the boy was gone, the Autobot hastily accessed the World Wide Web to see what knowledge it contained regarding the phenomenon.

The guardian often guiltily found himself attempting to find quirks in Sam to separate the boy from the rest of his race. He knew Sam would not appreciate his efforts, but Bumblebee made them all the same. Anything that could separate his charge from the more awful beings of his race was flagged and tucked away into one of the scout's memory banks, to be used if the need to prove the boy to other Autobots arose. To his mingled disappointment and excitement, he soon discovered that Sam's ability was not isolated. Many humans could perform similar – and, depressingly, more impressive- feats. There were humans that could eat with their toes, write and draw with their toes; some could play musical instruments with theirs toes, even! Some humans embraced the ability, while others shunned it on the argument that it was "gross." The more he searched, the more and more intrigued the Autobot became.

After roughly and hour's worth of searching, the Camaro's attention was abruptly drawn to his own 'foot' – stabilizing servo, more accurately. He shifted his leg to catch a better scan of the extremity. The anatomy of his 'foot' was both similar and drastically different to that of a human's. Both displayed the basics – a heel on the back of the foot, a ball on the front (though the terms did line up with Cybertronian ones, they were essentially the same) followed by a more adjustable unit that could be pushed back for batter ability to run – the "toes." However, where humans had five toes (usually), Bumblebee's own servo consisted of a single toecap – in his adopted earth form, at least.

Optimus, the scout realized, had three "toes" (one of which split down the middle, forming a fourth toe) that functioned identically to his own toecap, despite the number difference. Ironhide and Ratchet, however, both had toecaps like his own. Megatron, he remembered painfully, possessed jointed claws (claws used to pin Jazz to the top of a building before snatching him up and tearing him apart) that might function similarly to human toes, had the anatomy of the Decepticon leader's servo not been more like that of a bird. He continued on this way, comparing what 'feet' he noticed among his Autobot comrades and Decepticon foes to human toes until he finally resolved that the subject required another demonstration.

[ part ii. ]

Luckily, the chance to resume his research came only eight lunar cycles later. The elder Witwickys had gone off on a "date day," giving Sam, and consequently Bumblebee, free range of the property. The stipulations of living on said Witwicky property were dramatically more lax with Sam; stay in the backyard, don't get caught, and "please please pleeeease don't mess up the path" (or the fountain, which had recently recovered from more than its fair share of Autobot induced injuries). Therefore, Bumblebee took full advantage of the moment by sitting in the grass, enjoying the warmth from the sun, and watching Sam play "fetch" (a human/dog game in which the human threw some object – a ball, usually, but other items worked as well- for the dog to retrieve) with Frankie and Mojo; More so playing with Frankie, as Mojo had seemingly decided he was above chasing objects that were larger than his mouth.

"Eugh, gross Frankie…" Sam moaned, prodding the now saliva covered rope-like toy with his bare foot. "Why can't you be more like Mojo, huh? Mojo doesn't slobber like you do. Mojo's not near as dirty and stinky as Frankie," the boy bent down and fiddled with the dog ears, his tone more pleasant than the words. (Dogs, as Bee had learned, responded to tone as opposed to the words being spoken. While they could learn words such as "sit" and "stay", most spoken language was lost on them. He had tested the theory on Mojo once, using a clip of a woman with a deceptively sweet and caring voice saying "you're such a worthless little boy, yes, you are! Such a silly, stupid, little boy!" Mojo had yipped happily, bounced about, and wagged his tail. Theory proven.) At the mention of his name, Mojo leapt from his chosen slice of grass and sunlight and ran at the boy.

"No no no, I didn't call you over Mojo. Go sit, boy, go sit! Go sit by Bee!" Mojo barked, wagged his tail once, and very deliberately trotted in the opposite direction of the Autobot. (Theory, possibly, disproved. The animal might be displaying signs of a grudge.) "Aw, Mojo, you're not being very nice!" Sam scolded. Bumblebee feigned sadness. Frankie, tired of his play time being interrupted, began barking loudly. "Alright, alright!" Sam shushed him. And then, the moment the scout had been waiting for. Sam, unwilling to outright pick up the drool covered toy, lifted his foot to grab it instead. Bumblebee leaned forward, watching intently as the teen pulled his foot towards his torso, transferred the rope to his hand (thumb and forefinger only, and held merely by the end of the rope) and threw it down the length of the yard with Frankie tearing off after as fast as his small legs and large body would allow. Sam, feigning a look of disgust, rubbed his foot across the grass to get the spittle off said appendage. He then wandered over to a small "bone" (it was actually made of pig's skin; why it was called a "bone" was beyond the scout) and lifted it too with his foot. The scout leaned ever closer still as the boy stretched his leg up towards his hand and prepared to change to a dryer weapon.

Sam, however, never managed to pull the bone from the grasp of his toes. He yelped in surprise as he noticed, for the first time, how extremely close to himself Bee was. The Camaro's face-plate remained only a scant few inches away from his charge's ankle. At the boy's gasp, Bumblebee was also broken from his trance-like state; door wings and antennae waving and readjusting in mild alarm. However, not to be torn from his research for long, his attention soon turned back to the foot. The Autobot whirred in dissapointment as Sam involuntarily released the bone from his foot's grasp.

"Pick it up, pick it up," Bumblebee all but chanted. Sam, confused as to what he meant, leaned over to pick up the bone with his hand.

"No no no, you got it all wrong, babe!" The scout warbled out an old movie quote, shaking his head feverishly (perhaps a bit too much so) from side to side. More confused now then ever, Sam froze; eyes wide, breath as quiet as he could make it, all but going into fight or flight mode. Bumblebee felt the compulsory urge to assure his charge that no harm was intended. For the sake of knowledge, however, his guardian protocols were merrily shoved aside by the personality-programming that made him a scout –a spy- in the first place; full fledged curiosity.

Bumblebee pointed at Sam's foot, then at the bone, and made a show of taking on the posture of someone patiently waiting for something. Sam slowly reached forward with his foot and nudged the bone, sliding it cautiously between his largest and next toes. Bee's radio erupted in applause as the teen pulled his foot upwards again, bone in tow. Satisfied, the yellow bot leaned forward once again to resume his study.

Sam, now very intimately aware that he was being intently studied by his friend, quickly regained what little amount of color he had lost in the initial shock ten-fold. The red flooded his cheeks and the tips of his ears as the scout tugged –gently, though insistently- the hem of his jeans to bring the foot closer. The boy flailed and stumbled, only to catch himself on his guardian's own foot, thoughtfully placed behind him should such an almost-fall occur.

"Drop the bomb!" the Autobot ordered, and the teen relinquished his hold on the chew toy. The yellow warrior carefully observed the movement of the toes as the dropping process commenced. "…you're wiggling your toes," he suggested, watching in turn as Sam (with a gulp) wiggled his toes as ordered; clenching and unclenching them before actually wiggling them about. Intrigued, Bee delicately reached forward with his other hand and snagged the next-to-largest toe. Carefully, metal digits maneuvered the flesh-and-bone digit back and forth, clicking in obvious amazement. Human foot still in grasp, he riveted his attention to his own foot (the one not supporting a still very much in shock Sam), attempting to mimic the wiggling motion. He could not.

Making a both interested and annoyed chirp, he removed the toe-grasping hand from Sam and fixed it to his own toe-cap. He pulled back on it, pleased to see that it gave way under pressure. Such was the function that allowed them to walk and run properly. Even if the toe could not be controlled separately, it served its purpose by offering no resistance when pushed upon. However, when he pushed forward, the extremity protested the motion, refusing to move. The alien jerked his head back, shaking it and his door-wings in disbelief as he once again returned to Sam's foot.

It simply wasn't fair, he mused while fiddling with Sam's toes. Here he was, clearly superior in terms of power, and yet this tiny (though wonderful) fleshing could do something no Cybertronian he had ever encountered could; move his most extreme stabilizing digits as freely as any other part of the body. The entire human race could bend their toes forward and take hold of an object, and not a single Autobot, Decepticon, or Neutral alike could hope to mimic the feat! And really, what a marvelous function to be missing out on too! Bee could only hope to imagine how much more efficient he would be if he didn't have to bend to retrieve items from the ground with his "hands". To think such a benefit was lost on a race solely because of the "gross" label. How juvenile! At least his human understood the ingenuity of the ability. Speaking of whom…

Thoroughly astonished, the scout gently set the foot back onto the grass with its partner, and only then seemed to remember that it was, in fact, attached to dear Samuel Witwicky. As if suddenly shocked by this discovery, he spun to face his charge. Sam was still gaping at him, cheeks and ears a less violent hue red but burning nonetheless, utterly incapable of movement and relying solely on the Autobot's metal appendage for support. Frankie panted patiently next to him, dripping rope toy in his mouth. The guardian deflated entirely, mixing soft, comforting warbles and chirps with apologetic song clips as he maneuvered to face the boy, antennae laying flat against his helm and door wings tucked below his shoulders. Sam seemed to come to his senses then, shaking off his befuddlement and embarrassedly trying to rub the flush from his face.

"Uh…" he offered awkwardly," so you uh… like feet, huh?" His face twisted between something that looked like stunned horror and rampant amusement. Bee ticked one of his antennae up as a gesture of confusion. Processing the question more thoroughly, he managed to articulate the words "humannn f-f-feet" from his never-quite-completely-healed vocalizer in response. For a small moment, Sam fixed the alien with an odd and unrecognizable look, as if it were one of those few times when the boy actually regarded him as a true alien.

"Human feet?" the boy repeated; and at Bee's nod: "You like human feet, as opposed to your own feet." The scout nodded again. The odd look returned.

"You guys can be really weird." Sam admitted, after a moment. Bee acted as if he were hurt by the remark, successfully causing Sam to laugh. "Whatever big guy. Just don't like… go off, and you know…cutting off and collecting people's feet…or something." His joking tone dwindled to abstract (if misplaced) fear by the end of his statement. Bee shook his head vigorously, optics gleaming. Sam laughed again, though more cautiously this time. Human paranoia, the scout huffed internally, the only obstacle we shall never overcome.

Frankie, once again tired of being ignored, barked loudly at the boy. Sam flinched at the sudden sound, but melted back into "play mode" easily, picking the bone up from the ground (with his hand) and tossing it for the terrier to retrieve. Throughout the rest of the game, Bumblebee noticed with some level of disappointment, Sam did not once move to pick up anything with his toes again.

[ fin.]

Ahaha. It was just a plot bunny I had to get out of the way. I really don't know how some of these retarded ideas come to me, but they just flat refuse to leave me alone once they get a foot in the door. I forget which of the bots/cons have "toes" or not. I just know Bee doesn't; so I took that and ran. The only Bee-Radio-Quote I'm sure is sortf of a quote is the "you're wiggling your toes." Snagged that off Avatar. Other than that, I'm not sure if any of the rest are real. Haha~ This takes place… I guess between the first movie and RotF. Anyways; I hope you enjoyed it! C: