A/N: In celebration of Inamorato's two-year anniversary, I present this long-overdue update! This chapter picks up a few days following the party from the last chapter and attempts to address the mess I've made with both Arcee and Blackarachnia's lovelives. There's even a soundtrack to go along with it, which can be found here: www. youtube .com /playlist?list=PL3ABC77311F4CB6E3 The title is a play on Helen Reddy's song, I am Woman.

Much love to my fellow collaborators, antepathy and Optimus Bob for the beta read. You girls rock! And a big thanks to the readers who have stuck around during the dry spells. I will try to make more regular updates when my schedule allows, but school and life in general have been pretty demanding lately.

Disclaimer: All characters are property of Hasbro.

I am Femme, Hear Me Roar by Toyzintheattik

"Hey, Widow!" Chromia called out to the sole patron at the bar. "You do know we closed a mega-cycle ago?"

The patron, whose techno-organic form had been somberly occupying that stool for most of the evening—creating a vortex of spiraling gloom around anyone who had sat beside her during the evening—made her best effort to ignore the obnoxious dancer.

"Are you deaf?" Chromia prodded, halting her pole-polishing task. She hopped down to the floor, tossing the cleaning cloth behind her and sashaying to the bar, her hips still on cool down from a full night's work.

Blackarachnia continued to ignore her.

"I said..." Chromia leaned against the bar, blatantly giving the spider a catty once over. "We're closed." Nobody ignored Chromia.

Blackarachnia leaned away, stingers twitching in agitation. She only had so much tolerance for this little whelp. "So what?" She responded with equal cattiness. "Are you kicking me out?"

"I don't give a techrat's aft if you stay or go." Chromia spun on her heel, swinging herself behind the bar. "It's not my club."

Pleased to have won the dark femme's attention, she shifted hers to more interesting things, like the gold-labeled bottles lining the mirror-backed shelves behind the bar. She picked out the finest crystal snifter for herself. "Arcee's the one you want to look out for. She's been cranky ever since Strika took time off for planning her bonding ceremony." Chromia reached for a top shelf bottle, keeping an optic on the spider while she also admired her own sparkling reflection. One of the perks of the job was the freedom to layer on the shimmer wax, a luxury she had never been allowed while serving in the Guard.

"Someone's about to get the boot!" A reprimanding voice rained down from the balcony. "And it's not going to be the customer."

Chromia recoiled from her tip-toed reach, cursing herself for letting her guard down to her boss's whereabouts.

The candy-striped madam descended down the curved staircase with a seasoned grace, manicured digits brushing along the ornate railing. Like Chromia, Arcee never had the luxury of vanity during her time in the guard, but it wasn't simply due to uniform code. Cybertron had been at war and the school teacher-turned-soldier was committed to the cause. She had never bothered with such trivial self indulgence like cosmetic chassis waxes and aesthetic upgrades until only recently, after opening Inamorato, and even then, she only did it to keep up appearances. That's just what madams do. However, the decorated war veteran never lost her edge to her new style of decoration, especially not when she was in charge of a staff populated with probationary Decepticons.

She fixed a glare on Chromia, who stood with her arms crossed, glaring back defiantly.

"Chromia," Arcee spoke neutrally. "What have I told you about taking freebies from the top shelf?"

"Not to get caught." The dancer grumbled, wings twitching beneath the clamps. She bitterly snagged a bottle from a middle shelf and poured her glass full.

The bratty remark only earned the unruly mothbot a disapproving rise of her boss's pearly white brow ridge, a look Arcee had mastered from her years of teaching. Even Chromia knew to back off from that.

"What's your poison?" Arcee shifted her attention to Blackarachnia, who was readying herself to leave. The soldier in Arcee was eager to see the predacon out the door, uncomfortable with the idea that she was alone at the club with two Autobot turncoats. However, the madam in her couldn't help but wonder what could have driven a normally reclusive enemy to seek sanctuary at her club. Elita-One had never been a barfly, not that Arcee could recall.

"Oh…" Blackarachnia blinked, halted by the unexpected hospitality, which she wasn't about to turn down. "Just…" she blindly scanned the rows of labels, attempting to feign nonchalance, barely registering the type of grade let alone the names. "The house special is fine." She reclaimed her warmed seat on the padded stool, her movement stiff and slightly awkward. She could feel both sets of azure optics on her, studying her, questioning why she was here. Could they know? She hoped not. She didn't want to talk about it. She just wanted a night off, away from him. She wanted to be distracted. "So, Arcee," she spoke with a forced curiosity. "Are your customers enjoying the new line of wax?"

"Yes." Arcee auto-responded, keeping an inquisitive gaze locked on the predacon as she poured two glasses of the fine gold label. She could sense it was a night for the highest of the high grades, recognizing a familiar turmoil in the four crimson optics. She glanced at Chromia, who was tipping the last gulp of mid-grade through her garishly sparkling lips, then poured a third glass. She slid a glass to Blackarachnia, then to the pleasantly surprised dancer then claimed one for herself.

Leaning into her palm, her other hand tracing the brim of her glass, Arcee fixed her gaze back on the somber spider. "Tell me, honeysuckle…is he worth it?"

"What?" Blackarachnia sputtered. "What do you—how did you know?"

"It's a small town, sweetheart." The madam replied, in-venting a waft of the bronze liquid she now swirled in front of her.

"I don't want to talk about it." Blackarachnia looked away.

Arcee and Chromia exchanged glances before Arcee spoke again. "Look here, sweets. The price of afterhours customer service is a full confession of what initially drove that aft onto my stool.

"Yeah." Chromia chimed in, cupping her high grade like a prize. "So either spill it or split."

Blackarachnia felt all eight limbs stiffen under the pressure, Cybertronian circuitry strangling organic tissues. What had she gotten herself into? This was supposed to be a detour from her troubles, not a head-on collision with them. She simply wanted to drown it all away tonight.

"I can't...It's nothing..." The spider squirmed and fidgeted, knowing what to say, searching frantically for an excuse to leave but coming up dry. Finally, and without warning, her spark claimed control of her vocalizer.

"I don't know!" Blackarachnia wailed. "I don't know if he's worth it. I don't know, I don't know, I DON'T KNOW." The outburst was surprisingly cathartic. She only stopped to take a hefty draught from her drink. "He was once. He used to tell me I was beautiful. He taught me to appreciate my organic body. He praised my engineering knowledge and told me that he needed me. Said we made the perfect team, that our specialized skills complimented each other." Her volume began waning, and words became broken. "But, now…I don't know. He…all he talks about is...himself, and his plans. He doesn't even listen to me anymore. He's even making plans for my boutique. MY boutique…acting like he owns the place simply because I'm letting him stay—" She cut off abruptly, worried she had said too much. Chromia may report all of this back to Megatron.

"Frag that loser." Chromia barked. "He's not worth the grime we scrap off the washroom flo—"

"You don't know him!" Blackarachnia defended. "You haven't seen the side of him that I have, or—"

"Thank Primus for that!" Chromia interrupted. "I know all I need to know: he's a pathetic, whiney, back-stabbing, ego-maniac, not worth even a shred of your heartache."

"He—I…" Blackarachnia deflated, knowing there was a lot of truth to Chromia's words. "You," she was now scrounging for a retort, "sound just like Megatron."

"Good!" Chromia smiled, flattered. "He's the expert in judging your precious little seeker's inadequacies."

"Used to be," Blackarachnia countered. "Starscream's changed since the old days."

"Yeah, right." Chromia laughed. "What's he …renounced overthrowing Megatron? Given up his pursuit of ruling Cybertron? Turned over a new panel and joined the Cyber Ninja corps?" The dancer's laughter crescendoed, spreading to Arcee who couldn't help let slip a few giggles at the image of Starscream lined up with Springer's new ninja recruits.

Blackarachnia went silent, sinking down into her drink, cursing herself for expecting even a shred of understanding. Who was she kidding? No one ever gave Starscream the benefit of the doubt before. Why would they start now? "Neither of you have seen what he's capable of."

Arcee's mirth quickly dissipated when she heard the very real pain in Blackarachnia's voice. She should have known better than to laugh along with Chromia. Heartache was never a laughing matter, no matter who the second party was.

"Honey," Arcee spoke softly, "there may just be a noble bot buried deep down inside of him, but how much of yourself are you willing to sacrifice to recover it?" She placed her hand on the spider's hybrid arm. "You don't need him. From what I've heard about you...all you've been through, what you've accomplished…you don't need anyone. Why would sell yourself short?"

"Because I love him." That came out easier than Blackarachnia had wanted. It also stung more than it should. She thought it should hurt less each time she admitted it.

"Love's not a good enough reason." Arcee said,said her voice hardening.

"Love is for pussiebots!" Chromia added, shattering the moment. "It only makes you weak. Look at you! You went from being a Venus cover model to this."

"You're one to talk." Blackarachnia snapped. "Little miss Megatron groupie. You're in no position to judge my love interest."

"I can judge all I want." Chromia stood her ground. "Megatron and Starscream are night and day. Titanium to tin. Top shelf to leaked lubrica—"

"I get the idea!" The predacon growled.

"I don't think you do," Chromia continued. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be here spilling your spider guts all over our club."

"Screw you, flutterbot!" Blackarachnia was fed up with the dancer's incessant badgering. "If Megatron's so great, then why isn't he in command of Cybertron? Why are we governed by that halfwit Sentinel?"

"Megatron is simply buying his time," Chromia stated with assurance. "Waiting for that perfect moment to strike."

Arcee, despite her annoyance at the pair's disregard for the club's rules against discussing politics, was also intrigued to hear more. "I suppose you know when that perfect moment is?"

"Why yes I do." Chromia sat up straight, wings rising with the inflating of her chest. "The moment he appoints me his right-hand-bot."

Arcee and Blackarachnia exchanged skeptical glances then burst into harmonious laughter.

Chromia held her ground, hardened to ridicule. "Laugh it up, unbelievers. My day will come."

"You're delusional," Blackarachnia chuckled, now feeling better about her seemingly hopeless love life."

"That's exactly what they said about Megatron eons ago, when he took that first stand in the mines," Chromia stated.

"I hate to burst your bubble," Blackarachnia actually enjoyed bursting Chromia's bubble, "but Megatron is a council vote away from the gutter he started out in. Magnus intends to shut him down by taxing the slag out of the arena. Our precious leader could elect Alpha Trion as his second in command, but that won't stop Sentinel from spike-blocking his business with unfair levies."

Chromia rolled her optics. "Don't bore me with your novice understanding of Cybertronian politics. Once Megatron makes me second, the Deceptions' day will come."

Blackarachnia was gearing up for a retort but the rapping of Arcee's digits on the counter distracted her.

"You know," Arcee intervened, a warning tone in her soft vocals, "I didn't hang that sign over the entrance for my health."

Blackarachnia glanced toward the doorway even though she already knew what the sign read. 'Leave your politics at the door.'

"That applies to employees too," Arcee pointed a scolding finger at Chromia. "Enough with the arguing over Megatron and Starscream. You too are worse than the drunken mechs who sword fight in the washrooms."

"She started it!" Chromia gestured to the spider, who crossed her arms and stingers in offense.

"I don't care who started it." Arcee's patience was wearing thin. "It ends here."

Blackarachnia was quickly feeling like she had worn out her welcome. "I should get going. Thank you, Arcee, for-"

"Sit back down, missy," Arcee ordered the predacon, "I'm not through with you."

Blackarachnia froze for a defensive moment before relenting to do as commanded.

"I am not," Arcee continued, "letting you walk out my door until you've gotten your processor straightened out. We as femmes-"

"Oh for spark's sake," Chromia rolled her optics. "He she goes again."

"We as femmes," Arcee resumed, proudly stepping onto her soapbox, "cannot complacently idle in the pit stop and let these mechs use and abuse us whenever they need an oil change."

The Decept-femmes needed a moment to translate the metaphor into something a non-vehicle bot could understand.

"I never would have been upgraded," Arcee continued," "from Teaching Unit RC-687-040 to an Elite Guard Intelligence Officer had I not stood up for my rights and insisted femmes be given the chance to join the draft. I would not have earned the honor of commanding my Omega Sentinel had I not-"

"But…" Chromia interrupted. "You never actually got to—"

"That's beside the point." Arcee reclaimed the conch. "What matters is that I paved the way for Autobot femmes to earn high ranking positions in the Elite Guard. You never would have weaseled your way into Intelligence division if it weren't for me and my fellow Teaching Units. Elita-One," she gestured to Blackarachnia, "would never have been put in the same class of recruits as Optimus and Sentinel if we hadn't made our vocals heard. Inamorato would not have come to be if I didn't stand up to The Council and challenged Cybertron's old ways of thinking."

"That must have felt good," Chromia remarked with a vengeful smirk. "Using those bureaucratic bolthead's own peace treaty against them."

"No." Arcee's voice grew distant. "It didn't."

Confusion washed over both of the younger femme's' faceplates.

Arcee continued, clutching her glass tightly. "It drove Ratchet away. It distanced me from several of my old colleagues, and past students even ridiculed me. Everyone thought the memory glitches had permanently damaged my processor." She paused, taking a deep intake, spark tightening beneath her chest plates. "And maybe they did…but certainly not for the worse." Her gaze hardened onto Blackarachnia's pondering expression. "No matter how the eons have changed me, no matter what I have been through, I have always stuck by what I used to teach my students: Think for yourself, and always be true to your spark."

Silence fell upon Inamorato as Blackarachnia and Chromia let the madam's words sink in.

Chromia shifted uncomfortably as she stared introspectively into her drink. She wasn't used to feeling convicted by anyone's words but Megatron's. But now this Autobot had her questioning her own goals, wondering if she had always been selling herself short by seeking the arm of power, rather than power itself. She had made a damned fine diplomat for the Elite Guard. Who was to say she alone couldn't be a magnus...or a tyrant.

Blackarachnia mulled over her own thoughts, fidgeting with her blue-tipped fingers. They were a constant reminder of Starcream's stint of nobility. he had put so much on the line for her, and for Cybertron. But could she keep on living feeling indebted to him? Couldn't it be possible to love him without selling herself short? It was her boutique after all…and her life.

"Arcee." Blackarachnia broke the silence. "Do you...still love Ratchet?"

Arcee winced. The question was direct. But she understood why the predacon was asking. "Of course I do. And it splits my spark everyday to know that I hurt him. But I did what I had to do and haven't once regretted it."

"Pfff," Chromia sassed. "That's easy to say now. The old rust bucket's starting to realize he's an idiot. He's been sniffing around this place again. In fact, he was here just the other day…said he 'happen to be in the neighborhood.'" She overemphasized that last line, shaking her head and rolling her optics.

"He-," Arcee perked up, optics brightening. "He did?"

"Yeah," Chromia smirked. "You were out shopping so I told him to beat it and come back when he grew a pair."

"Chromia!" Arcee scolded. "Why didn't you—? I wasn't gone very long. You could have let him stay, offered him a drink—"

"Frag that." Chromia argued. "Geriatric care is not in my job description."

Arcee ex-vented in exasperation. "Oh for spark's sake."

Blackarachnia sipped her drink quietly, ignoring the banter, too caught up in her thoughts. She then took a deep intake, tilted back the last swig of her drink, and rose from the stool, standing tall with her stingers held high.

"This isn't going to be easy." Her raspy voice cracked more than normal, but there was also newly born assuredness in her tone. "But I know what I need to do."

She gave Arcee a grateful nod then turned on her spiked heel and exited Inamorato with a determined click-clacking stride. Chromia and Arcee watched her go, feeling like some little battle for all femmes planet wide had just been won.

"Too bad we can't watch her dump that loser." Chromia finally spoke up after Blackarachnia was gone. Arcee snorted, collecting the empty glasses from the bar and giving Chromia a sidelong glance.

"It seems to me that you would want her to stay with him."

"Why the frag would I want that?"

"Because," Arcee smirked. "Who do you think Starscream's going to run to once he realizes he's alone?"

Chromia blinked, her faceplates washing over in horror. "Oh slag."