#anyway this takes place before the cybertronian civil war so no worries about that... yet

[kulalanti]

Matters of the Spark (Shattered Glass Fanfic)

Suddenly had a craving for a sparkmate AU but like in Shattered Glass skskks.

This fic combines both FunPub and IDW Shattered Glass continuities.

Also used elements about Functionism here, but it may not be correct cause I am still learning about it.

Now with a Part 2 because I have a problem /j

A mathematics professor and a senator. Both sparkmates. But before that, they began life as a miner and as a librarian. Otherwise known as, the events of their lives before Professor Megatron and Senator Orion Pax ever met, alongside the sparkbond they share between one another.

Ao3 Link:

For the longest he could remember, his sparkmate had a profound sadness. Subdued as the emotion was, it was a constant in the connection that D-16 could not help but wonder what life his sparkmate had led. Even in the deepest pits of the mines of Kaon, D-16 had found joy among his fellow miners - regardless of their circumstances. It was truly a wonder what experiences his sparkmate was going through that sorrow clung to him as though he’d been forged with it.

It was an ache to his own spark to experience it, so when he could, D-16 would send bursts of his own happiness through their bond. Not that it ever elicited a response aside from a harsh lock being put in place between them. It never lasted for long, only one solar cycle before his sparkmate opened the connection once again.

He didn’t know what to make of that. D-16 still sent the bursts of joy, unwanted as they may be. He hoped that in some distant future, his sparkmate would accept the comfort. It was only right that he continued to try. When D-16 had a rough day in the mines, or felt grief at the loss of another of his many friends to the collapsing tunnels, his sparkmate would reach out through the bond and fill him with hope of a better tomorrow. If his sparkmate could comfort him, D-16 didn’t know why he couldn’t do the same. If only the mech on the other end would let him.

This was the closest they may ever get to know one another, and D-16 would be lying if he said the continued lock on the bond didn’t frustrate him. 

He may not know what life his sparkmate may have lived, but D-16 didn’t entertain the thought that he’d ever leave the mines of Kaon. It was a grief that left traces of rage within him as he thought of the centuries before him underneath the Functionist laws.

So many mechs have lost their lives to the darkness of the mines, and he wondered if he would too. If one solar cycle, those walls would close in on him and snuff out his spark.

He hoped for the sake of his sparkmate, that his death would be quick.

He’d seen firsthand the anguish a mech could feel as they waited for their sparkmate to slowly offline unable to do anything but claw desperately at the rubble that would never give way beneath their servos.

It haunted him most lunar cycles that his sparkmate was a miner too, somewhere on Kaon - not that he would ever know unless by some chance they were assigned together, and even then, they’d have to bare their sparks to one another to know.

It was lunar cycles like those that made his sparkmate reach out.

For as long as his sparkmate lived, D-16 would always be filled with the promise of a hopeful world.

His sparkmate won’t let him feel anything else.

—

For the longest he could remember, his sparkmate always felt so defeated. It was just his luck that Primus attached him to a spark just as hopeless as he was.

Somehow, the despair on the other end of the bond gnawed at him more than his own ever did.

Optronix was no fool. By Functionist standards, he was casted an easy lot in life. He took some pride in the role of a librarian, entrusted to keep the sanctity of Cybetronian history. His older brother, Ultra Magnus, even chastised him for the emptiness he felt in life even when he could have anything he wanted - provided it matched his status.

Yet that was not enough.

It would not be enough until he could rid himself of the pain in his spark - his own and that of his sparkmate’s.

It drove him mad to think he could not find a way to control it, that nothing he could do would ever rid his sparkmate of that pain. Oh Optronix tried while he attempted to fix his own.

He did, he really did.

Yet nothing.

And the sheer audacity of his sparkmate to try reaching out to him with false joy was utterly repulsive.

He would close the bond whenever that happened, though he would always open it once a solar cycle had passed because despite having never met the mech on the other end, Optronix loved them.

He had asked Ultra Magnus once on what could be done about the sparkbond, on how he could force the other mech to feel a permanent sense of hope. His brother had laughed, calling him a hypocrite.

They both knew how empty Optronix felt most of the time, not that he ever told his brother the cause of it, even if Ultra Magnus had attempted to send him to the best mnemosurgeons their lot in life could afford.

How to tell his brother that the life he’d been forged for was not the life he wanted?

Not only would never let him be more than a librarian… but it would never let him know the mech at the end of his sparkbond.

It was always a matter of luck or riches when it came to finding one’s sparkmate. If you were lucky, you’d find one another. If you were rich, it was easy enough to hire an outlier mech to find your sparkmate.

Optronix could save enough shanix and it would never be enough to afford a good outlier. His sparkmate could try, but from the despair towards the future that the other bond usually let out, Optronix had long ago concluded that his sparkmate must be a lower-caste mech. Not of his sparkmate’s own fault, he had been merely forged that way.

And Optronix didn’t believe in luck.

He knew in this world, if you wanted something, you would need to take control of your fate.

His sparkmate may not have hope but that was alright.

He’d create the hope they both deserved.

—

He didn’t think that in his lifetime that the Functionist laws would ever be challenged. 

Nor did he ever expect he’d be one of the many mechs who’d be part of the fight against them.

D-16 was forged to be a miner. Nothing more. 

Really, this was his sparkmate’s fault.

If he hadn’t fed their bond with nothing but hope then D-16 would have maintained his position as nothing more than a lowly miner. 

Yet the hope had infected him like a virus that corrupted his processor until the thoughts that had circulated within him slowly translated themselves into poems, and then the poems turned to lengthier writings.

The writings were meant to be nothing more than personal pieces, yet somehow he had lost them and they had begun to circulate among the miner population before making its way to the other castes. Then some mech had leaked his writings to a radiocaster.

That should have been the end of his involvement. He had not signed his writings. They had been spread so far and between so many mechs that it should have been impossible to pinpoint the original author.

The radiocaster, Soundwave, was unfortunately rather brilliant in finding intel.

The mech had approached him at one of the local bars, buying him a few drinks before finally broaching the topic before inviting him on his radio show. D-16 had at first refused, terrified at the thought of giving a voice to his written words - which had only really been meant for his optics. No one should have known. His words should not have reached the other miners. It should not have spread as far as it did.

He had rushed out of the bar, but not before Soundwave had given him his personal contact. Really, D-16 should have deleted it from his communicator. He didn’t have any intention of ever contacting the other mech.

But the thought had plagued him even into recharge.

It didn’t help that his fellow miners had begun to take his words to spark.

Even if it had taken him a long time to agree to Soundwave’s proposal, his words had begun to change even within his mining sector. Not a solar cycle went by where D-16 did not see a fellow miner begin to argue with the supervisors, claiming that as Cybertronians did they not all have the right to be treated equal.

Of course, those little rebellions led to punishments, and those punishments led to more unnecessary deaths.

There really wasn’t a specific moment where D-16 decided enough was enough.

Just one solar cycle, he found himself contacting Soundwave.

Soon enough, his words had gained a voice and himself a new designation. It was a necessary precaution to protect his identity until he found the courage to really show himself.

He was still a miner, but somehow he found himself a new role as a civil rights activist.

He wondered if his sparkmate could feel the true hope emerging from his own spark.

—

Optronix had not cared much for current politics, truth be told.

That was a business his older brother could concern himself with.

He was more fond of history, of the many ways their old leaders had made the same mistakes over and over before slapping the label of “progress” on them.

Still, he found himself more immersed as changes began to run through the entire Cybertronian system.

Even so, his growing interest in current politics was mostly a personal one. A budding jealousy as he began to realize the source of the pain in his spark.

He blamed that new civil rights activist.

For a long time, Optronix had scoured the library for a reason for their existence. If the Functionist laws were to be believed, then they were all forged to be cogs in the great machine of Cybertron.

Yet if it was such a perfect system, then why did it lead to many mechs never achieving more than they could and why was the rate of sparkmates meeting one another so low? It only proved that the Functionist laws were wrong.

It had taken him long, but Optronix had come to a sobering conclusion.

In the current Cybertronian system, life had no meaning.

The Functionist Life was not truly living.

It had nearly sent him into a breakdown once he’d realized.

Oh, he did have a breakdown, but it wasn’t because of that.

What truly led him to the edge was the realization that he could not do anything about it, and that sickened him.

He had wanted to create a hope for him and his sparkmate, but the system would not have allowed that. Optronix had to resign himself to the truth that he could do nothing. He had no control.

He had no life.

He would be a librarian for the rest of his life, and history would not remember his name nor his sparkmate’s. They were nothing but cogs that functioned today but would be replaced as soon as their frames began to rust.

The thought had deeply upset him that he had to shut down the bond for an entire astroweek.

That agonizing realization had wrecked his emotional core that Ultra Magnus had genuinely threatened to have his processor checked. Optronix had to force himself back to work after that. His brother would not have understood his pain.

And that pain remained until them.

Some mech had begun to question the Functionist laws. His writings had even reached Iacon before the Senate labelled them as heresy.

Optronix had even read some before they were all confiscated.

It made him jealous to think that another mech had done what he couldn’t. Some other mech was bringing change, and Optronix knew they were the type of mech that would forever be remembered in the historical records.

Personally, it made him irrationally angry that this mech was the source of his sparkmate’s growing hope. 

They were the reason his sparkmate no longer needed Optronix’s comforts of hope.

—

And so, D-16 embraced his role as a civil rights activist, emerging as Megatron. He spoke against the Functionist Laws and the Senators that continued to perpetuate the cycle of inequality.

Slowly, Cybertron began to change, and some sympathizers within the Senate had begun to question the old laws.

This is how the rebellion began: through the hopeful words of a lower-caste mech.

A mech who wanted nothing more than equality.

In another world, the rebellion escalates to a ceaseless war.

In this world, the rebellion ends with a near death.

But they were too late.

Change had already begun.

—

Life changed for Optronix when the civil rights activist was nearly assassinated.

He remembered it clearly.

They say Megatron had garnered a meeting with the Senate that solar cycle.

Many mechs had testified against the Senators who had orchestrated the assassination. In an attempt to rid themselves of Megatron, they had only made more mechs rally against them.

Still, that wasn’t what he remembered clearly.

It was the debilitating pain, the brief taste of death in his spark that haunted him.

Later, he would look at the after-images of the assassination, at Megatron’s broken frame.

And he knew.

He knew.

—

Polyhex had welcomed him after everything.

A few of the friends he had made in the Senate had tried to convince him to return, offering protection, but Megatron had refused them.

In his lifetime, he never thought he’d see change.

Yet when he’d onlined after a long time under stasis, he’d been told that while Cybertron was still at the early stages of change, his words had truly begun to affect the way the system worked.

He’d heard that mechs had begun to be welcomed into positions that they were not “forged” for.

Working conditions in the mines were on their way to being improved.

It had brought him to tears, and he appreciated that Soundwave was there to calm him down.

He had nearly been offlined for this, and Megatron would do it all over again if given the chance.

But he couldn’t go back to that life. Not because he was afraid of what had happened to him, but because he had emerged from stasis as a different mech.

He hadn’t even recognized himself in the mirror when the medics had allowed him to finally walk around his medical quarters.

He had been forged with the frame of a miner, yet the mech that had stared back was someone else entirely.

D-16 never had wings.

He hadn’t told Soundwave - though he felt the outlier knew how he really felt - but he hated his new frame. It was him, but… not. 

The medics had explained that some of the Senators had wanted to give him a new frame, something that no longer resembled that of his old caste.

That decision made on his behalf disgusted him.

He had nothing against his old frame, no matter what he was forged for, and he wouldn’t have minded a change - but they never asked.

With Soundwave’s encouragement, Megatron had refused to return to his old role as a civil rights activist - and he’d even refused a position on the Senate.

In his time in the medbay, Megatron had turned his attention to mathematics. He’d always found numbers to be calming. Soundwave had supplied him with datapads of mathematical theories and had even borrowed some from the Iaconian archives.

After Megatron had mentioned he wanted a fresh start, Soundwave had helped him apply to Polyhex. He had been mortified as he never had a formal education, but Polyhex had welcomed him after reading the entrance essay he had written.

It was a new start.

It was at Polyhex that Megatron shed his old life behind. He had shown his brilliance in the field of mathematics. With renewed passion, he had written his own theories and once his education had concluded, he had been offered a position as a professor.

It was so far removed from his old life as a miner, and as an activist.

This life made him happy.

His only regret throughout it all was that when he came back online after nearly being offlined, the sparkbond had been closed.

Permanently.

—

He was not prepared for a meeting with any Senator. 

The last time he met with a Senator, he had nearly been offlined.

Back then, he had at least looked presentable.

Megatron was functioning on only a few groons of recharge when the door to his office slid open.

He hadn’t even turned at the sound of the panels sliding open, too engrossed in the mathematical formula that had haunted him for the past astroweeks. If the conclusion was to be believed then Megatron was staring at the promise that Cybertron would be engulfed in a civil war soon.

And it might have already begun.

The destruction of Crystal City popped into his processor just as the intruder behind him made a small noise to catch his attention.

Pushing down his frustration, Megatron turned his helm slightly to look over his shoulder pad, intending to chastise a student from entering without permission.

He felt the energon in his cables grow cold as red optics met his blue.

Megatron fully turned, his attention focused entirely on Senator Orion Pax.

“I’ve always wanted to meet the famous civil rights activist.” He could feel those optics look him up and down, an easy smile on the Senator’s faceplate as he approached Megatron, holding out a servo. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Senator.” He kept his tone even, keeping his servo from shaking as he reached out towards the Senator’s. “This is a surprise.”

And it was.

Megatron had some friends in the Senate, but Senator Orion Pax was newly-elected. They’d never met before, and he doubted that any of the other Senators would have encouraged him to talk to Megatron, much less visit.

He shivered as the other mech held onto his servo, pressing a kiss to the back of it before finally letting him go.

“Please, call me Pax.” Megatron tried not to think too much about the pout in the other mech’s tone as the Senator walked closer to him, enough that he could nearly feel his heat against his own frame. “My friends call me Pax.”

“Senator, to be truthful, I have to say that I have no interest in making new friends - especially ones in the Senate.” Spending time away from Iacon did not dull his glossa. Megatron would not back down from a fight with a Senator. None of them would ever get the satisfaction of seeing him weak ever again. “Please state your business with me. If it involves my past as an activist then I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave. I’ve changed. If you wish to talk about mathematical formulas then you can stay.”

Instead of anger, the Senator had chuckled, delighted at Megatron’s words. His optics shone with a profound joy that Megatron couldn’t quite understand.

“While I would love to pick that brilliant processor of yours, as I am a fan of your work - both as an activist and as a mathematician - I’m afraid I’m here on a personal matter.”

—

It had taken him a long time to claw his way to a position of power.

Optronix hadn’t done it for selfish gains, rather, his sparkmate had inspired him to finally take control for once.

After he had nearly lost him, Optronix had done everything he could to gain a higher position. He had amassed mechs that wanted what he had wanted: peace through control.

All for his sparkmate.

Megatron had wanted peace, and lowly Librarian Optronix couldn’t have given him that.

Senator Orion Pax could though.

Now that he had power, he could make their world better. For them.

It had pained him to close the bond after Megatron’s near offlining, but he hadn’t wanted to burden his sparkmate with his plans. He wanted him to rest until he could arrange their first meeting. 

He had monitored where his sparkmate went after everything.

He learned through intel provided by the Wreckers that Megatron had left Iacon for Polyhex. He never thought his sparkmate would find passion in mathematics, but he had been happy for him. It was a safer profession than what he’d previously had. 

Megatron no longer needed to be an activist. Not now that Pax was fighting his battle for him. No longer did Megatron have to fear retaliation from some of the Functionist loyalists that still clung to their beliefs. Pax ensured that they were among the first that he needed to cleanse Cybertron of.

Alongside the Senators that had so thoroughly broken his darling sparkmate.

His red optics focused on his sparkmate, taking in the blue wings that emerged from the other mech’s backplates. It was a shame, Pax had found Megatron’s original frame to be beautiful.

No matter. He loved him no matter the frame. 

His only worry was how Megatron felt about the change.

At least those gorgeous blue optics hadn’t changed.

He leaned closer, savoring the moment.

This close, he could feel the warmth of his sparkbond, could almost imagine the spark inside the other mech’s chassis. 

The spark that belonged to him.

He could hear Megatron rudely rebuke him, and Pax was delighted to know that the near offlining hadn’t destroyed that passion inside his sparkmate.

Otherwise, he would have to make those Senators suffer even more.

He chuckled, his spark thrumming with joy and anticipation. “While I would love to pick that brilliant processor of yours, as I am a fan of your work - both as an activist and as a mathematician - I’m afraid I’m here on a personal matter.”

Before the other mech could ask, Pax did what he had long hoped to do.

He reopened the bond.

Shock was the first emotion he felt, then utter awe.

Pax committed those wide blue optics to his memory circuits.

He didn’t have to, as Megatron was coming home with him now that they had finally found one another, but he did.

“Hello, sweetspark.” His voice was gentle, and he pulled the other mech right into his arms. “I’ve missed you.”