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Vastra is used to being alone.
Silurians don’t need interaction the way humans do. They crave a deeper connection, something real, and if that is not available to them, they don’t feel the need to fill the silence with meaningless conversation.
She is the last of her people and there is no one that would understand the crushing loneliness that brings. Instead of trying to explain, she speaks to no one.
There is only one that might have had a chance at understanding, and he fills his time with silly human companions that come and go at a rate that should have been alarming to him. It obviously isn’t, though, judging by how quickly he picks up his little pets and then moves on when they are gone.
The Doctor may have evolved far past what humanity could comprehend, but he still longs to be one of them. Vastra doesn’t share that longing and when he leaves her in nineteenth century London with the promise to return, she chooses to isolate herself.
The Doctor had raised an eyebrow when he discovered her choice. He told her she would regret it; that the loneliness would drive her mad, but in the end, it is not the loneliness that gets to her.
It is the boredom.
Her heart is secure, but her mind needs stimulation.
The Doctor would understand this too if he was around, but for the Doctor, stimulation is found by meeting people and discovering new civilizations. It was how he found her in the first place.
Silurians aren’t Time Lords, though. They aren’t travelers. Her people had been content on their home planet for millions of years before arriving on Earth and they had existed without human interaction for millennia beneath the Earth’s crust.
She cannot pretend she has any desire to leave London. She really does not, but she cannot spend day after day staring at the same four walls, afraid to leave her home because of how different she looks and how unwelcoming she knows humans will be of those differences.
When she opens the detective agency, her first client is a man that positively reeks of dishonesty. It emanates from his pores and stinks up the room, but the case is still intriguing enough to capture her interest, anyway. She solves it in less than a day and when it is over, the only thing that bothers her is the way her skin crawls when he thanks her profusely in the same overly charming voice he had used to convince her to take the case in the first place.
Unable to stomach these conversations, she subjects all who come to her door to a test. It is a simple test, and she tells them that if they pass, she will take their case. When they don’t, she solves the mysteries anyway, but they never know she was behind the resolution, and she never has to speak to them again.
It works for her.
The years pass, and the test becomes an urban legend. The legend says no one has ever passed it and the mystery behind her house at Paternoster Row, in the East End section of London, grows with each passing year. Whether that is true, Vastra can no longer remember. It suits her purpose for everyone to believe it, though, so does not contradict it.
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Paternoster Row, 1875
In the future, when Vastra would remember the day Jenny Flint showed up at her door, she would curse herself for not paying closer attention to every single thing that happened that day.
A day like that should forever be burned in her memory as the day everything changed, but it is not. When she thinks back to it, all she can remember is Jenny knocking at the door and asking for a job.
“Why do you seek me?” She waits to hear a pitiful story, filled with misery and despair. Those that arrive at her door are always the victims in their own minds, even if the truth ends up revealing otherwise.
“I came to help you out,” Jenny replies cheerfully.
Vastra blinks behind the heavy veil she always wears in human company. The veil causes her to be too warm to be strictly comfortable, but it doesn’t really bother her. Silurians do not sweat the way humans do and their core temperature has much more flexibility for survival than the species she lives amongst.
“I beg your pardon?”
Jenny grins at her, and Vastra feels herself responding in kind behind the veil. Even the bravest of men are noticeably afraid when they come to see her but Jenny clearly is not. Perhaps it is simply that she is too dim-witted to be afraid, but Vastra doesn’t think so. There is intelligence in those eyes.
“A spinster alone in this big house and running a detective agency? Surely you need help in maintaining the grounds?”
Vastra studies her face closely. “Do you require money Miss…?”
“Flint. Jenny Flint,” Jenny replies. She sighs before continuing. “And yes, I do. But I would still do a good job for you. I promise, I will be the best maid you have ever had.”
“I’ve never had one and I don’t think I need one,” Vastra counters. Still, she cannot just dismiss the girl. She might have been able to, had she denied showing up at the door needing money. It would have been obvious that she was lying and that would have made it easy to decide to throw her in with every other human she had met and show her the door.
Jenny seems to sense her hesitation. “What should I call you?” she asks, edging her foot in the door before Vastra can close it on her. With a reluctant smile, Vastra steps back to allow her entry.
“I am known as Vastra.”
“Madame Vastra,” Jenny says. Vastra’s heart skips a beat at hearing her name fall from this girl’s lips. It has been decades since she had last felt that way.
“It should be Mistress Vastra,” she corrects weakly. “I am unmarried, after all.”
The girl shrugs. “Yes, that is what everyone says. You look too important to be called Mistress, though. Is that ok?”
She shrugs as well, her shoulders lifting to mimic her visitor’s gesture unconsciously. “I suppose.” She knows, in that moment, that she will be known as Madame Vastra forever more.
She rather likes it.
“Why should I hire you?”
“Give me the test,” Jenny says. “I’ll pass and then you will know you can trust me.”
“You know of the test?”
“Everyone knows of the test,” Jenny laughs. “Go on, then. Give it to me. I’m ready.”
For the first time in years, Vastra hesitates. “No,” she says at last.
“Why not?”
Because you will fail.
She knows it is true, and she knows that once it happens, she will have to turn Jenny away. She also knows that is the last thing she wants. There is no way she can say any of that, though.
“Because the test is for those that come to this door looking for my help,” she explains, instead. “You are looking for a job. The test doesn’t apply.”
Jenny nods but Vastra gets the uncomfortable feeling that she doesn’t believe her. If only to avoid discussing it further, she changes the subject. “You can start three days a week,” she says. “On a trial basis, of course, until we establish your work is as good as you say it is.”
Jenny grabs her hand gratefully and Vastra is suddenly relieved she is wearing the heavy gloves she always wears with the long dress and veil that is her armor. She doesn’t know what Jenny’s reaction to her appearance would be, but she cannot bear to see the look of revulsion on her face when she touches scales instead of skin.
She lets Jenny grasp her hand for a moment longer than is strictly necessary before pulling it back. “The work will not be easy,” she warns. “I have exacting standards and I will accept nothing less than a full effort every single day you are here.” Jenny nods her understanding. “Come back tomorrow at first light and we can begin.”
Jenny nods again and motions uncomfortably towards the door. She looks unsure of herself for the first time and Vastra realizes she is not quite ready to leave. “Perhaps we should have tea to seal our agreement,” she says lightly. Jenny’s face lights up and it is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.
Perhaps there is something to companionship, after all.
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The months pass, and Jenny watches her give the test to many people. They all fail but she sees Vastra put her mind to solving their cases, anyway. It makes little sense.
“What is the point of the test?” she asks one day, after yet another unfortunate man is sent from Paternoster Row.
“It tells me what I need to know,” Vastra replies easily.
The test is simple. If Vastra determines the case of interest to her, Jenny leads them to sit in the drawing room, across the table from the detective. They wait in silence for her to explain the rules.
I will ask you questions. You will confine yourself to single-word responses. One word only. Do you understand?
Often, they will break the rules before the test even begins. They assure her, in far too many words, that they understand. On those days, Vastra rolls her eyes and orders Jenny to see them out, ignoring their pleading that they will obey the rules.
Sometimes the test is quick. The subject fails almost immediately, in the first few questions. Other times, they do better and make it to the end before they fail at the very last question Vastra asks: “Why are you here?”
It seems obvious to Jenny that if they would answer that question with the word “help” the test would conclude successfully. None of them seem to be able to suppress the urge to convince her to make an exception for them. The words that flow from their lips are flowery and beautiful and they drive Vastra to distraction.
“What do you need to know?” she asks. Vastra sighs and sits back down.
“If they can be trusted,” she explains. “You see, Jenny, truth is singular. Lies are words, words, words.”
She looks over to see if Jenny understands what she is trying to say. Jenny smiles and stands up to take the teacups to the kitchen to wash.
“Give me the test,” she urges softly.
Vastra hesitates for a moment.
“No.”
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By the end of summer, Jenny is working for Vastra six days a week. The only exception is Sundays. The maid’s only stipulation is that she must depart by sunset.
As summer fades into autumn, Vastra grows to hate the stipulation. It was all right in the summer when the sun didn’t set until late into the evening, but the days are growing shorter now and Jenny will soon begin leaving shortly after dinner.
Jenny refuses to tell her the reason for her departure and for once Vastra finds herself caught between her natural curiosity and the need to respect another’s privacy. Respect wins out and Vastra holds her tongue.
At least, it wins out until the day Jenny shows up for work with a red and purple bruise on her cheek.
“Who did this to you?” she demands. Unholy rage, the kind she has not felt since the days the Doctor put a stop to her vendetta to avenge her fallen sisters, rises inside of her.
“It does not matter,” Jenny mumbles, staring at the ground. She cannot seem to lift her gaze and the idea that she feels the need to be ashamed for finding herself on the wrong end of a fist strangles the fury Vastra feels.
“You don’t need to be ashamed,” she assures her softly.
“You’re a fine one to talk,” Jenny retorts. It comes out of nowhere and Vastra blinks is surprise.
“What does that mean?”
“I have been working here for nearly a year and I still do not know what you look like,” Jenny says, lifting her eyes at last. Her gaze looks proud and for a moment, Vastra is proud of her as well.
Then she remembers she has just been insulted, and she scowls behind the veil, even though Jenny cannot see it. “There is good reason for that,” she says.
“That’s fine, Madame Vastra. I don’t need to see your face. But please, don’t lecture me on shame, all right?”
It is a fair point, so Vastra drops the subject for the moment. But a few days later, Jenny shows up with another bruise and she can ignore it no longer. She says nothing, but that night, when Jenny leaves for the day, she slips out of the house and follows her.
Jenny walks quickly, eyes scanning the sky as though to make sure she is not late. Vastra follows from a safe distance until Jenny enters a large, unmarked building.
It seems obvious what the building is, but Vastra cannot bring herself to believe what she sees when time passes, and several men enter the building. She stands and waits, trying to decide what to do. Her indecision ends when she hears Jenny’s screams pierce the night.
She rushes into the house, ignoring the warnings of the women that are downstairs, and rushes up the steps. Each door she passes on the second floor is flung open and she doesn’t bother to shut them behind her, even though she would prefer not to see what is happening behind them.
When she finds Jenny, she is cowering naked in the corner of her room. A large man, stinking of alcohol, looms in front of her, fist raised.
“You little whore, you will give me what I paid for, or I swear I will kill you!” he roars.
Vastra leaps forth and grabs the man by the throat. “How does it feel to be confronted by someone who holds all the power?” she hisses, squeezing tighter. The man gurgles, and his eyes bug out. It feels so good, but she glimpses Jenny crying in the corner of the room and reluctantly releases him.
“Go,” she orders. “Do not return to this place, do you understand me?”
He scrambles to his feet. “Madame Vastra,” he chokes out between coughs.
“You know of me. Good. Then you know what I am capable of. Do what I tell you or live to regret it.” He runs for the door, but Vastra isn’t even looking at him anymore. Her attention is on Jenny who is still on the floor in the room's corner crying her eyes out.
She covers her gently with a blanket and lifts her in her arms. Jenny doesn’t look at her or say a word as Vastra carries her to back to Paternoster Row and draws her a warm bath.
Jenny looks calmer when she emerges from the bathroom at last. Vastra leads her to the sitting room and pours her a cup of tea.
“Do you want me to leave?” Jenny asks.
“Leave?” The question takes her by surprise. “Why would I want you to leave?”
“Because I am a…a…”
She cannot seem to make herself finish the sentence and Vastra helps her out without thinking. “A prostitute?” Jenny nods, looking more ashamed than Vastra has ever seen her look before and she just shakes her head. “You could have told me.”
“How could I? You have all these expectations and hold people to a ridiculous standard.”
Vastra pauses. That isn’t true.
Is it?
Jenny watches her for a moment, but she cannot think of what to say. “It wasn’t by choice, you know.”
“It wouldn’t matter if it was.”
“But it wasn’t. Please, tell me you believe me.”
“I believe you.” She hesitates slightly. “Will you tell me what happened?”
“It was my mother. She…she sold me.”
For the first time, Vastra feels judgement and Jenny must see it on her face because she hurries on. “My father left when I was very young, and she had three mouths to feed. When my baby brother got sick, she needed money for medicine, and this was the only way she could come up with to get it.”
Vastra nods. It is a tragic tale, but not one she hadn’t heard before. It still hurts to know it happened to Jenny, though.
“There. You see? That’s why I couldn’t tell you.”
She blinks in surprise. “What is?”
“That look in your eyes. Pity. I hate it.”
“It’s not pity, Jenny.” She shakes her head to emphasize the point. “It is sorrow for a child that didn’t have anyone to turn to.”
“What is the difference?” Jenny mutters under her breath. Vastra doesn’t answer her and Jenny sighs.
“Give me the test,” she practically begs.
“Not tonight,” Vastra replies lightly. “Tell me. You work for me during the day and at the brothel at night. When do you rest?”
“Rest?” Jenny laughs as though the idea is ridiculous. “What is that?”
If there is shame to be had here, Vastra is certain it belongs solely on her own shoulders for not seeing how exhausted Jenny had been all this time. “You will rest tonight,” she says firmly. She stands and walks over to her, longing to press her lips to Jenny’s forehead in a gesture of comfort.
It is not the right time to reveal her face, though, so after a moment, she simply bends and sweeps Jenny up in her arms to carry her up the stairs. Jenny clings to her, tears still falling down her cheeks.
“How much do you owe the brothel owner?” she asks when Jenny is nestled in one of the many spare bedrooms at Paternoster Row.
Jenny laughs again, this time with a touch of bitterness. “A lot more than I can pay off working for you.”
Vastra nods, lifting the covers to Jenny’s chin. Jenny grabs her gloved hand she prepares to drop it from the blanket. “You’re going to pay off my debt, aren’t you?” Vastra doesn’t answer. “Please don’t,” Jenny begs.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to belong to you any more than I want to belong to the woman that owns me now.”
She pulls a chair up to sit at Jenny’s bedside. “You belong to no one but yourself, Jenny Flint. What I give, I give freely.”
“You swear?”
“You have my word as a-“ she stops herself before she accidentally reveals her identity. “As your friend. You are free to go whenever you wish. You owe me nothing.”
She reaches for Jenny’s hand and waits for her to fall asleep. It takes but a few minutes for Jenny’s eyes to close and once she is certain she is asleep; she slips from the house once more.
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“Show me what you look like,” Jenny asks one day over breakfast. It is the day after All Hollow’s Eve, their busiest night of the year, and Jenny has been living at Paternoster Row for a month. Vastra has been living in the veil and gloves in every room besides her own bedchamber.
Vastra turns from her place at the fireplace where she had been boiling water for tea. “I cannot do that.”
“Why not?”
She hesitates for a moment before answering. “My appearance is…startling,” she says at last.
Jenny chuckles. “Most human beings could do with being startled every now and again, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps startling is not the right word. Frightening would be more accurate.”
Jenny shakes head. “I don’t frighten easily, you know that.”
“I do know that,” Vastra assures her, sitting down at the table. “And you know that there is nothing in the world I would not do for you.”
“Then-“
She interrupts her as though she hadn’t even spoken. “Except this. Please do not ask this of me.”
Jenny ignores her. “You’re not human, are you?”
The teacup Vastra is holding sloshes dangerously, and she has to put it down on the table. “What makes you say that?”
“Instinct.” Jenny shrugs. “I read a lot and I understand a lot about people. You are different from anyone I have ever known.”
“And you think that makes me inhuman?”
“Am I wrong?”
She doesn’t want to lie to her, but she is unprepared to have this conversation this morning and it seems unfair that she has to, on the morning after the busiest night of the year. “You don’t play fair, do you know that?”
“I know.” Jenny looks completely unbothered by the accusation. “Just tell me, Madame Vastra. Are you an alien?”
She looks at peace at the prospect of it and Vastra feels her heart pound in her chest. “You believe in aliens?”
“I’ve seen things in my life,” Jenny replies easily.
“What sort of things?”
“Things that cannot be explained except by the existence of aliens. So what are we talking about here? Green skin? Scales?”
It is horrifically accurate and Vastra feels nausea threaten her breakfast as she shakily takes a sip of tea to calm her nerves. “Would that bother you?”
“Oh God, am I right?” She looks more intrigued than horrified and Vastra feels herself calm a bit. “I’m right, aren’t I? Go on, then. Show me.”
Vastra takes a deep breath. “All right,” she agrees. Jenny looks delighted at the prospect and Vastra hastens to continue speaking. “But I warn you, Jenny. If my face holds horror for you, I am going to ask you to leave and not return.”
“Your face could never hold horror for me, Vastra.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but Vastra has no trouble understanding her. She wants to believe her so badly but just shakes her head.
“Don’t say that until you’ve seen it.” Without waiting for a reply, she removes the veil and reveals her face.
Her face.
She looks just like all the women she grew up knowing and loving. When she lived deep beneath Earth’s crust, she thought nothing of her face. It barely even registered to her.
Now she thinks of little else.
When she dares to look up, Jenny is standing right next to her. Her eyes look peaceful and hold no fear.
“May I…?” She reaches up a hand to show her meaning and Vastra nods closing her eyes as Jenny runs a hand gently over the sales on her face.
She has to remind herself that Jenny doesn’t know what this means. She has no idea that stroking a Silurian’s face is more intimate a touch than almost any other.
She doesn’t know how tender Vastra’s face is or how feeling the soft brush of her fingers makes Vastra tremble with need.
She doesn’t know that Silurian lovers memorize their partner’s faces by touching them until every ridge is burned forever in their memories.
She has no way of knowing any of that but when Vastra opens her eyes to look at her; she has to wonder if maybe Jenny knows, after all.
“I love you, Madame Vastra,” Jenny whispers. Vastra releases a strangled sound; half laugh, half cry at her words.
“Don’t say that,” she whispers. “Don’t say it unless you really mean it.”
Jenny stands on her tip-toes to silence Vastra with a kiss. “I really mean it.”
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Later, when they are lying in bed satisfied, Vastra returns the favor and touches Jenny’s face, trying to commit every inch to memory. She is used to rough scales and hard lines on her lovers’ faces, but she will never get enough of how soft Jenny’s skin is. The lines on her face tell a story of a hard life lived, but to Vastra, each imperfection looks and feels like a badge of honor.
That a creature as soft as this one could love a battle-weary and cynical Silurian warrior seems unfathomable but she can no longer doubt it is true.
“Give me the test,” Jenny whispers. Vastra laughs because what on Earth could the test possibly matter anymore?
“You never give up, do you?” she teases.
“Never,” Jenny replies, grinning at her.
Vastra sighs. She cannot say no to this woman anymore; will probably never be able to refuse her anything she asks ever again. “Tell me what you wish of me,” she breathes into Jenny’s silky smooth hair. “Tell me what you seek, but tell me in just one word.”
Jenny kisses her softly, then pulls back to look into Vastra's eyes. Vastra waits, holding her breath, for a response.
What will Jenny say?
Understanding?
Love?
Companionship?
Jenny leans in to kiss her once more and whispers a single word into her ear.
“Connection.”