Author's Note: Sorry for making you wait so long for this one! I had been working on another, but it just wasn't cooperating. (Real life wasn't giving me any time to work on it either.) Again, this is just going to be a bunch of little fics prompted by the 100 topic fanfic table from livejournal, though I'm bending the rules for that a little bit. Some might be related to others, but most will stand alone. I tried to say thanks to all who reviewed/favorited/alerted this story. If I missed you, I'm really sorry and I want you to know that I really appreciate your feedback. Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: Transformers is not mine. The song at the end is not mine either.

Prompt: 38-Touch
Rating: PG/K+
Characters: Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Optimus Prime
Word Count: 2,502
Time Measurements: Astrosecond is about half an earth second. An Orn is roughly two earth weeks.

It was an impossible situation, of that he was certain.

Things had fallen to pieces the moment the battle had started. All of Prowl's thought-out plans had gone down the drain, but it wasn't due to lack of trying on his part. Somehow, the information Jazz and his team had brought back had been wrong, or the Decepticons had just had a whimsical change in their own plans. Whatever the cause of the past, the events of the present were not going so well, and the future of the war hung in the balance.

And it seemed the outcome would all depend on him.

Optimus Prime, the tall, proud leader of the Autobots knelt before Megatron, the end of the Con's fusion cannon aimed at the side of his blue helm. Behind the gunmetal grey leader, the rest of his army stood, sneering and smirking, laughing at the sight of their final victory being so near. The rest of the Autobots ranged across from them, shifting restlessly, fists clenching useless weapons, unknowing what they should, or could, do next.

They were waiting for someone to do something.

He had the perfect shot lined up, he knew he did. Worse, he knew that many, if not all of them, knew it too. All of his past instructors would have already started yelling at him to take the shot, to quit hesitating. His angle was perfect, the light was in a good position, the wind was low enough not to be a problem, but there was one thing that stopped him from pulling the trigger.

Prime was just too close to danger.

He was scared. What if he missed? What if Megatron moved? Optimus would be shot, and with Ratchet on the other side of the battlefield, such a close range hit to the helm would be fatal. Probably instantly.

It all rested on him. The life of another was at his mercy.

He shook so hard that his armor rattled. His scope wavered, moving with the small, nervous jerks of his hands. His doorwings fluttered, displaying his agitated state for all to see. If any of the others could see him. He was hidden in a rocky outcrop, covered by the scraggly bushes that managed to grow in the desert environment. Only Prime knew his exact position.

He whimpered, processor straining to come up with the right solution. He knew he should take the shot, but his doubt and all the what-if scenarios just wouldn't let go. He knew others were waiting for something to happen, and were thinking it would be him who did it. But he was choking, failing.

And the deep blue optics of the Prime were gazing calmly into his own the whole time.

Which made the whole situation even more stressful for him.

His overly bright optics jumped to the flash of yellow armor as the large mech crept forward, inching into a position just behind a rock pile at a diagonal from their commander. So focused was he on the scene that he missed the approach of another.

A feather light caress touched the bottom of his pedes, making him suddenly squirm at the ticklish contact. He would have turned to see who was with him, but a firm hand on his back prevented him. The touch moved back to his ankles, slowly tracing the grey and black metal up his calves, to his knees, up to his red thighs and to stop and rest at his hips. He felt the heavy weight of the other mech settled against him, bracing his frame against the unyielding ground. Caught, he could do nothing but settle into his firing position, one leg bent, and the other straight to keep him in line with his target.

The hands started to move again, sliding up to his waist, and gliding over his back. The fingers gently dug into the hinges of his doorwings, easing their tension with their massaging strokes. He heard the soft click of the medical access panel being opened on the back of his neck. One hand braced across his shoulders while the other connected a cable with a just as soft sounding snap.

Suddenly, a second set of images overlaid what he saw through his own optics. The other mech was crouched over him, giving him a higher point of view. New information on the environment around them scrolled down a screen over his optic, merging with the information he already had displayed for his use. It was an astrosecond later when a third set of data was added to the mix, the accompanying images from a much closer angle. He calculated the exact distance between the Prime's helm and the end of the cannon. He zoomed in on his target, aiming steady as the trembles left his frame. The hands were rubbing over his plating again, soothing the irritation from his processor at the same time. Waves of reassurance and patience rolled against his storming anxiety, sweeping his worries away.

He dragged in a large drought of air through his intakes, held it, and then slowly let it go, releasing the last of his nerves with the warmed exhalation. The rifle in his arms melted into his shoulder, merging with his frame like it was supposed to. He lowered his head, bringing the target in line in the scope. He shuttered one optic, bringing the image into sharper focus. The data and images kept scrolling, a constant string of support from the two mechs. He took one last breath, fully relaxing and steeling his resolve, finger finding and caressing the trigger.

He squeezed.

The world spiraled down to that one point of laser fire. All optics stayed focused on the two commanders. Three sets of optics traced the fired round, the two others still sending their images to him, projected outcomes merging into the data stream on his display screen. He tensed, feeling the rolling emotions of anticipation and battle lust of the others as the bullet neared the target.

Megatron roared as the burning heat hit his extended arm, just where his cannon connected to it.

Sunstreaker launched into motion. His first lunge landed him on Optimus' back, sending the mech to the ground just as the fusion cannon misfired, catching the frontliner on the left hip and thigh. Either falling forward as his leg gave out or just ignoring the damage to his frame, the yellow fighter tackled the Decepticon about the waist, snarling and growling. He felt the heat on his back as the jetpack fired up, and was pushed into the ground as the red mech disconnected their systems and launched into the air. Sideswipe slammed into Megatron's torso, aiding his twin in taking the bigger mech to the ground in a rattling crash of metal on metal.

The Autobots wasted no time. They charged forward with their battle cries ringing over the land, mixing with the sounds of their guns and cannons firing. Still surprised, the Cons scrambled back, retreating in the face of the wave of angered opponents. Some mechs stopped firing into the fleeing mechs, instead gripping the red and blue armor of their leader and pulling him back. Ratchet was there already, checking for any injuries. Prime waved him away as he stood, his optics on the scuffling fighters.

The Seekers zoomed down from the heavens, joining the raging ball of yellow, red, and grey armor on the ground. Skywarp kicked out, catching Sideswipe dead center on his chest plate and sending the red twin helm over heels away from the brawl. It took both Thundercracker and Starscream to peel the wounded yellow warrior off their leader, and the moment they were all free, the purple Seeker teleported them away from the danger.

He left his hiding place, jogging towards the others. Prime held a hand out to him, welcoming him to his side. "You did well, Bluestreak."

Bluestreak looked up at him, uncertainty in his optics. "But, sir, I didn't…"

Optimus' optics crinkled around the edges, a sure sign the leader was smiling behind his battle mask. "Ah, but you did."

Bluestreak looked away, watching as Ratchet attacked the Twins with his medical supplies. Inferno and Hound were sitting Sideswipe up. He was wearing a goofy grin, the look in his optics a bit dazed. Sunstreaker's optics flickered, growing darker as Ratchet forcefully offlined him. Prime moved off to transform so the injured could be loaded into his trailer, surrounded by Jazz, Ironhide and several other mechs.

"Good shot, Bluestreak," Prowl walked up to him, patting him on the shoulder. The sudden touch made him jump.

"I panicked," he muttered. "I couldn't do it. I could have hit Prime! What if I had missed? It would have all been my fault! I…!"

"Easy there, Bluestreak. None of that matters anymore. You did it. Now the next time we get into a situation like this, you'll know how to handle it. It doesn't matter if you choked. It happens to even the best of us," the black and white mech replied. "What matters is that you were able to work through it and did what you needed to do."

"They helped me," the sniper admitted. "They helped calm me down."

Prowl gave him a knowing smile. "They do that."

"Sides touched me. And when he connected our systems, I could feel Sunny, too. They…they anchored me, I guess."

Prowl chuckled, giving the younger mech a gentle shove in the direction of the other bots. "I don't think they get enough credit. They are capable of a lot more than they show us."

Bluestreak nodded and transformed, following the crowd back to the Ark.

~Half Orn Later~

Bluestreak sat at a table in the rec. room with Jazz, Blaster, Hound, and Prowl. The room was getting crowded as mechs came off of their duty shifts and entered to get their evening ration. Jazz was telling jokes, causing laughter to echo around the nearby tables and those who caught on to the jokes. A chorus of greetings went up when Sideswipe entered the room, waving and smiling back to the greeters.

The word was that Sunstreaker had been released from the medbay the cycle before and given permission to return for light duty. His self-repair systems were still working on his leg, and had left him with a limp, but by next cycle he would be back on the full duty roster. Sideswipe had been jarred from his impact with Skywarp's foot and the following tumble, but the large majority of the damage he had taken was minor compared to his usual post-battle state. So it wasn't a surprise to anyone for the red twin to walk in alone, head straight for the dispenser, and turn back to the doors, not stopping to really speak to anyone.

Telling his companions that he would be right back, Bluestreak jumped up and ran after him. "Hey Sides!"

Just outside the doors and only a few steps down the hall, Sideswipe stopped and turned back to watch the gunner approach. "What's up, Blue?"

"I'm sorry it took so long, but this was the first chance I could catch you when you weren't too busy. I just wanted to say thanks for what you did the other day. You really helped me out and I don't know what would have happened had you and Sunny not been there to help. I really appreciate it and I just wanted to say…"

Sideswipe blinked. "Wait, what?"

"The other day, during the battle when Prime was in trouble. I was the only one who could do something and I was too scared and nervous to do it, and you got up in the spot with me and calmed me down. You and Sunny sent me information about the conditions and such. Don't you remember?"

The black helm shook slowly. "Sorry, Blue. Ratchet said my memories of the past few days would be fuzzy for a bit, from the hit Skywarp gave me. I don't really remember."

"Oh," Bluestreak gave him a lost puppy look. "But…if you can't remember…"

"Hey, it's no problem, all right? If you say I helped you out when you needed it the most, that's cool. I'm glad I could be of help. You don't need to say thanks or nothing. We're friends. Friends help each other," Sideswipe carefully brushed the back of his hand over the gunner's cheek.

Bluestreak leaned into the brief touch. "Well, if you're sure…"

He laughed. "C'mon Blue. You know you can count on me to give you a helping hand."

"Yeah, you're right!" Bluestreak perked up, smiling again. "Thanks, Sides. I'll see you in the morning. Tell Sunny 'hi' for me."

"Sure thing," Sideswipe replied, returning the smile. He watched the younger bot skip back into the rec. room, then turned and continued on his way, smirking slightly. He had to juggle his cubes a bit as he rounded the corner and walked straight into Optimus. "Sorry, sir. I didn't see ya."

"It's fine. I have a question for you though," Optimus asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

"I didn't do it," Sideswipe automatically answered with a grin.

Prime gave a disbelieving snort. "You aren't in any trouble, yet. It's just a question."

The red mech shrugged. "Just covering my bases. Whatcha need, boss bot?"

Optimus nodded. "I heard your talk with Bluestreak. I thought you never lied."

Sideswipe nodded this time, adding a shrug to the gesture. "I don't. I told him exactly what I know. I remember helping him, but the specifics are a little fuzzy. Sunny remembers more than me, but Blue just needed to be reassured that we'll help him because he's a friend, and not just because he held the life of others in shaking servos."

Optimus raised his optic ridges. "Well said, Sideswipe."

"Thanks." He gave the Prime a cheeky grin.

"I have one more question for you. What are the words to that one song...? Several of you were singing it a few orns ago and I can't seem to remember the lyrics clearly. Something about touch…"

Sideswipe laughed. "I think I know which song you're talking about. Maybe if you ask nicely Jazz'll get the mechs together and sing it for ya."

"Perhaps I will. Some constructive outlet for their energy would be good," Prime agreed.

Sideswipe sidestepped his leader and continued on his way. "Night, Prime."

"Good night, Sideswipe," the red and blue mech rounded the bend, on the way to see if he could convince Jazz to get several others to sing the song.

Sideswipe smiled as he neared the entrance to his shared quarters. Inspired suddenly, he quietly began to sing.

You got the touch, you got the power.
When all hell's breaking loose,
You'll be right in the eye of the storm.
You got the heart, you got the motion.
You know that when things get too tough,

You got the touch.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Yes, the song is The Touch by Stan Bush. Leave a review and let me know what you think about this chapter!