She starts pressing by the ink against the paper hesitantly, chewing her bottom lip, hunched over Vestra's desk (it belongs to both of them, technically, but Jenny's never had much need for it). Black splodges dampen the paper, and she scratches them into words slowly, carefully, eyebrows furrowed in focus.

Dearest Clara,

She stops, fumbles in the drawer under the desk's surface and pulls out the first letter, staring at Clara's own handwriting, so much neater, so much prettier than her own. That isn't shocking. Jenny's never been much for writing or letters - why would she be, when there's so much more to do, so many crimes to solve, so much good to do out in the open air? - but she promised, she promised she'd try at least. Clara had seemed happy enough with that response.

She exhales slowly.

Dearest Clara,
I was ever so happy to hear from you this week. Madam and I are well and good, and she sends her regards, though is at present too exhausted to write her own reply. We came upon a spot of bother this week, you see. Nothing to worry about, but I am afraid it has drained her.
Strax is well, too. He has taken in a stray cat and is now trying to convince it to start some sort of rebellion. I call him Ginger. He rather enjoys tidbits of ham.
Not much is happening here in London, but Madam heard from some contacts about a bit of trouble up north, something about an Ogron or two raiding some shops and factories. Again, I shouldn't think to worry about any of it. Myself, I have never seen an Ogron, but I shouldn't think they're too frightening, really.
I hope you're both very well.
Yours faithfully,
Jenny.

Approximately three hundred years in the future, the Doctor hands Clara a letter with a dark green seal, muttering something she doesn't quite pick up but which sounds a little like a protest.

"What?"

"Fetch your own mail."

Clara gives him some form of glare (the most affectionate glare she's given him today, probably) before her eyes return to the letter. With unbridled enthusiasm, she sits on the TARDIS's steps and rips it open, feeling momentarily guilty for doing so because didn't the envelope look so beautiful?

With eager eyes, she devours each word, grinning widely. She notes the clumsy blots of dropped ink, runs her fingers across the paper, then turns back to the Doctor, one hand on her hip.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Is there any actual stationary here, or will I have to stop off home again?"

He looks up, raises one eyebrow, and thinks for a moment. "How should I know?"

Clara's reply comes swift and fast, landing on the dining room table almost the same moment she posts her own. Jenny smiles, warm and genuine, as she plucks it from the surface, catching Vastra's eye.

"Clara?" she asks.

Jenny gives a nod, walks toward her, puts a hand on her shoulder. "How're you feeling?"

Raising her head (spiting the weakness of her body now, defying these wounds entirely) she smirks. "Well enough." She glances at the letter in her wife's hands. "Would you read it to me?"

"'Course, m'am."

"Dear Jenny,
I hope Vastra's recovering, and I hope you're alright too. The Doctor and I have just returned from Alpha Canis One, and I should warn you that, when we next visit, that story is going to take hours to recount. What a bunch of-"

"What is it, Jenny?"

"Isn't a nice word, m'am."

"I wouldn't have thought that'd stop you, Jenny." A grin. "Read on."

"Anyway, the Doctor has decided he's fond of leaks or something, and keeps dragging me to farmer's markets across the galaxy in search for 'the perfect specimen,' or something. Something nostalgic, I think. I can only presume there's a proper explanation.
I'm glad to hear Strax has found a friend, even if it is of the feline variety. I used to have a cat, you know, when I was little. It wasn't exactly one to stay in the house though, so I rarely saw her when she didn't need fed. Actually pretty rubbish at being a pet.
The Doctor mentioned earlier something about you and Vastra being, well, being the basis for the Sherlock Holmes story or something. Is that true?
Also, is the Ogron problem dealt with yet? I mentioned it to the Doctor and he just kind of groaned, said something about 'not being ready to deal with that rabble again.' I suppose he must have come into contact with them before.
With love
Clara Oswald."

Jenny tries to sit down, to write again, but the words won't come quite right, and she's tired and it's oh so late, but she promised, she promised Clara she'd write every day and-

There is a whirring, the sound of wind swirling, a familiar cacophony roaring in her ears, and before she knows it she is scampering toward the hall, hair cascading down her back, still in her nightgown.

There it is, of course. Big and blue, ancient but so very new. And there is Clara and the Doctor... and a small creature resembling some sort of tree.

"Don't mind him," says the Doctor.

"Can't stay long, I'm afraid," whispers Clara as she embraces the maid. "But I brought you a present." She cocks her head to the side, fumbles in her pocket for a few minutes and then, sitting in the palm of her tiny hand, there is a small block of what looks like silver, with far too many buttons. "Thought it'd make things a bit easier," she says, pressing the object into Jenny's hand. "You know, rather than having a million addresses and timelines to send mail to."

"Yes, actually, I was wondering how-" This is the Doctor, staring fixatedly at the tree thing currently rubbing against his leg.

"I've written some instructions." Clara offers her a scrunched up piece of paper. "Sorry about the mess. If you need anything else, I suppose you can always call the TARDIS phone, and I'll explain everything. There's internet, too... which I suppose you don't know what is yet, but I'm assured," she looks directly at the Doctor, "that you knowing about some things won't impact the future too badly. Just don't go near Google. It'll be fun."

Jenny stares at the item in her hands for a few long minutes before opening her mouth. "What, exactly, is it?"

"A phone."

"Begging your pardon, but it doesn't much look like a telephone to me." She appears to shrug. "I s'pose all sorts of things change shape later on then. What's a google?"

"Doesn't matter. Really bad. Trust me, don't go near it."

The Doctor coughs. "Clara..."

"I know, I know. Right." She embraces Jenny again. "Tell Vastra I was sorry to miss her. We've sort of got to go stop a revolution. Of ants. The ants are revolting about a thousand years in the future. Kind of got to go stop that. Mostly because I sort of started it."

And then she's gone, disappeared in a blur of wind and blue and fading boxes, and Jenny is still holding the silver phone in her hand, the surface cool and metallic against her skin.

Three days later, Clara receives her first text message, free of emoticons or exclamation points, plain but readable. In the small yellow bubble of her inbox, it reads:

Hello. Thank you for the present.

After squealing a little, Clara replies hurriedly.

I didn't think you'd get the hang of it so fast! I'll show you how to download apps next! :)

Jenny replies about an hour later, and Clara imagines her sitting across from Vastra, surrounded by plants and sipping tea.

Already learned.

Clara rolls her eyes, texts back quickly.

I recommend Snapchat! :D x

Five weeks pass, and Jenny becomes a master of the thing. Of course, there's only one contact on her friend list - Clara herself, who often incorporates the Doctor into her pictures and takes secret videos of his ramblings - but it does not dampen her enthusiasm in the slightest. She sends Clara pictures of Strax's cat (sometimes dressed in something resembling a military uniform and under Strax's guidance, other times nibbling at various meats or drinking water) and sometimes snaps of Vastra drinking tea. She's hesitant to take it out of the house, says she's too afraid it'll break.

Clara, on the other hand, takes her own phone everywhere. Jenny's favourite picture is one Clara sent about a week ago, featuring herself in the centre, the Doctor to the right and a great explosion of some kind behind both.

Jenny laughs. Vastra laughs. Somewhere across the galaxy, the Doctor scolds Clara, mutters something about timing.