Today (Monday)

And the birds, yet again, decide that dawn is an excellent time to start up their noise.

The monkey was still on the floor, wrapped in the blood-flecked blanket. It looked smaller... ah, I see. She'd folded the blanket in half across its width, and has a layer between herself and the cold floor, and a layer draped over her curled up body. Clever.

What do Apes dream of? I wondered idly. She was whimpering very quietly in her sleep off and on last night. I almost didn't notice. I thought she was also fighting at one point. The Apes can be so violent; even their hatchlings fight.

Something caught at my mind. Bits and pieces of what I'd seen and heard. I felt as if I should know something, and it was just out of focus.

The monkey stirred, and started to mutter, still half-asleep: "I've got to get up. Need to go earn some money. I don't mooch."

What on Earth is a mooch?

She shook herself awake with a stretch and a groan, which she swallowed when she saw me watching her.

We blinked at each other for a moment. "Good morning, ma'am," she said.

"Morning," I nodded back. "The rain from yesterday has stopped."

She jumped up, shook herself, and grinned.

"Oh, that's grand," she said, peering through my grimy window, "It's Monday, and there's sun and a breeze. A perfect washday!" She gathered up my cloak and blanket, and the clothes she'd mended, including her own patched and worn coat. "Everything will dry nice and quick."

I went and sorted through my old clothes in my wooden clothes press. I found a plain white shirt, soft with age and repeated washings and with only a small tear in the sleeve. If I don't tear them or stain them with blood, my clothes last a long time, as I don't need to wash them as often as a human does. One of the advantages to not being burdened with sweat glands. I've had this shirt for years, but it's time for it to go to a new home.

"Here," I offered it to the monkey, "change into this. Your blouse is more mends than cloth. I was going to use this one for rags, but you may as well have it. It is too large for you, but it will do. Take the opportunity to wash your own. "

She thanked me (again!) and popped out the door, no doubt to visit the Necessary down the hall. On her return, she bustled around gathering up what she needed. A small bar of soap, a bucket to fetch water and the small bowl/wash basin. I told her where to find the large communal washbasin kept under the stairs on the ground floor, and the laundry line up on the flat roof above us, and pointed out to her the door to the roof. I listened to her go down the stairs, still walking a bit stiffly, most likely still in some pain. I wasn't worried today that she'd disappear, she seemed pleased to have some real work to do. She was more relaxed yesterday when she was working on the mending as well. Perhaps she just likes having something to do.

I shook my head, and smiled a little. I was still feeling sore too, so I reached for the gin bottle.

I spent the next hour or so drinking steadily, and feeling my cuts throb, and feeling more and more sorry for myself as I looked around my room. It needed cleaning, and the window was grimy, and the coal fireplace needed a sweep and a scrub. But I could not muster the energy. It all seemed so very pointless.

I was stuck, in a city with no beauty, among beings who I despised as thieves and murderers.

"Filthy, stinking Apes!"

I hurl my empty mug and it smashes against the wall by the door. Unfortunately, the monkey has just returned from the roof, and in my badly timed temper tantrum I almost hit her!

"What in blazes was that for, Miss? Do that again, and kindness or no, I'll box your ears!"

By all the Gods, why do I keep doing this? I can count on the claws of one hand how many beings I interact with in a typical month. The monkey is one of an even smaller number of humans that knows what I am, and seems to accept me. Even if she doesn't know the full extent of what I am.

I despise every single Ape. Except I'm starting to like this friendly, industrious and fierce little one. Yet I seem to be desperate to chase her away.

And then I admit the truth to myself; though she was bleeding and bruised herself, she brought me home, and a tiny part of me has this strange wish to keep her.

I've never had a pet before. I know I can't rescue every stray in the city but perhaps I could start with just one. But warring with that is my distrust of Apes, and the simple fact that I have no idea what to do with her. I'm not sure that having warm feet is a good reason to keep a pet.

I'm not even sure if she wants to stay. Half the time she seems ready to bolt out the door.

How do I convince an animal to trust me? A semi-feral animal at that...

An animal who can administer basic medical attention, offers to wash clothes and bedding, does the mending, and says please and thank you.

And I suddenly realize that though I've growled at her several times, she's never felt nervous enough that she's threatened me with that oversize knife she's hiding.

I'm going at this the wrong way. I need to take a few minutes and think. Except that I can't.

"By the Gods, my head hurts," I mutter to myself.

A moment later, a cup of water is placed before me, and two of the pills I had yesterday. I look up, into the dark eyes of the young monkey.

"Take these. Bet you didn't take them earlier, did you?" She's right, of course. I went directly for the alcohol.

She collects the half empty gin bottle. and I can tell she is very tempted to empty it into the slops bucket. But she simply re-corks it and puts it away in my tiny cupboard.

"Come with me and sit outside for a bit. You'll feel better."

"No thank you. It's not warm enough."

"It's the first really nice spring day. The sun's warm out of the breeze."

I hesitate, and she heads to the door and beckons to me. "Come on, just for a few minutes. You can always come back down if it's too cold."

I sigh, take my spare cloak from the clothes press, and follow her up to the roof.

She leads me to a little semi-hidden area, in the sunlight but out of the breeze, and not visible from the windows of the neighboring buildings. I lower her hood and sit in the sun. It's very pleasant, and as the medicine takes effect, I just sit and relax and watch the monkey check the laundry and putter around the roof. And as I relax, I enter a near doze, and let my mind drift.

Slowly, bits and pieces from the last 48 hours start to fit into patterns.

As the shadows on the roof start to lengthen, I glance over to where the monkey is sitting nearby, gazing out at the city. I notice that there is water leaking slowly from her eyes. I watch for a minute or two, tasting the air. I think she's afraid... but not of me. This seems to be a more general, and deeper fear.

Finally I decide to simply ask, "What's wrong?"

She sighed deeply, looking around the roof at the hanging clothes, and down at her own knees, clasped to her chest. Finally she looked up at me.

"Miss, I thank you for all your help. You've been truly kind to me, odd bits aside. But I've been thinking about things you've said. You don't like people, do you? I'm bothering you, staying here like this."

She stood, and waved at the clothing, flapping gently in the breeze. "The laundry will be dry soon. Once it's folded and done, it's time for me to go and leave you in peace."

"You can't leave..."

She twisted towards me, suddenly tense. I shook my head, "No, wait. Let me finish. You can't leave, because it is far too dangerous for you out on the streets. Hear me out. If I'm wrong, or you want to leave at any time I will make no attempt to stop you. I swear on my sisters' graves."

She cocked her head, still wary, but willing to listen. Looking at her now, I can see that her eyes hold so much pain.

"I've been thinking about the various things you said yesterday, and your general appearance. You've clearly been beaten several times recently, and you've had to fight as well. The bruises on your body and on your hands, as well as the scars demonstrate that. You can also defend yourself, and you've probably won some of those fights, as your face is mostly undamaged, save the bloody nose and black eyes from the other night, and you appear to have no broken bones."

"You're polite, and you're cautious. You know how to dress wounds, and explained that your mother taught you. You obviously also have a work ethic: you are in enough contact with the match factory that the someone might know you if you sent them a message; you're concerned about earning money for basic necessities, and you're willing to both mend and wash my clothes and blankets as compensation to me for helping you. You were most likely raised in a poor but civilized family. You mentioned that your mother is dead. You've also mentioned that you've been living rough, which indicates you've lost your home, but you also said 'the last few months.' So being a street rat, as you called yourself, is likely a fairly recent change for you. Originally I thought you were an orphan. I'm not so sure of that now."

"You don't like gin. Or rather, you don't like excessive drinking, and are wary of me when I drink, especially when my temper is up. You try to stay out of reach, and in places where you can escape if you need to. Which means you've learned to do so in the past.

"The Black Scorpions were attacking you. You've told me what they wanted. You have not said why they chose you."

"If I am right, then you have no safe place to go if you step back out on the streets." I stop and take a deep breath. If my suspicion is correct, her story has taken a very ugly turn. I decide to let her finish if she wants to. So I just give her the opening: "You have not mentioned your father at all."

She hangs her head, and sighs. When she looks back up, she seems to be having trouble controlling her face. Her voice is...broken when she replies:

"My younger brother and sister died of the flu last spring. Ma bled to death birthing my baby brother in the fall. Da and I, we lost them all. Da was never the same after that. He started drinking an awful lot. When anything made him angry, he'd lash out and hit things. Tables, doors, walls..." She took a breath, "Me."

"I took it for a couple of weeks. Hoped he'd get better. He didn't and one day, I hit him back." She waved at her body, where her shirt covered her bruises. "He didn't like that one bit. He decided that he liked the gin better than me."

"I've seen what gin did to him, ma'am. How much he changed. He sold me to the Black Scorpions for a few bottles. I've been on the run from them since New Year's." She sighed deeply, and then continued, "Please, my Da was a good man who lost almost everything. And then the gin, it drowned whatever good was left in him."

"Please don't let that happened to him happen to you."

This surprises me. "Why would you care what happens to me?"

"Why wouldn't I? Costs me nothing to care a bit. And you did save me life."

Suddenly I round on her, growling: "Wait... Your own father sold you to the Black Scorpions to be a whore?" At her nod, I have a flash on anger so strong, I want to go out and slaughter every male Ape in the city. I thought it likely she'd been taken to repay a debt, not deliberately sold!

Only two nights ago I was seriously considering slaying this child simply because she saw my face. Now I have this strong pull to ensure she is never harmed again. I'm such a hypocrite.

"Stay here for a few days more, until my leg heals. Let me look at your situation and see if I can do something to help. If it makes you feel better, you can continue mending and cleaning; certainly my room could use it and it would be a kindness to me."

She eyes me for a long moment. "I'd like to stay. It's nice to feel I don't need to watch out for Scorpions all the time. But your drinking and your temper worry me. I don't want to be hurt, and I don't want to hurt you."

"I understand." I try to defend my poor drinking habit, but I have no heart for it. "The gin...helps a little. It lets me forget."

"Forget how much you've lost? How lonely you are?"

I look up at her, about to make a sharp reply, and realize...

I'm not the only one here who has lost everything. She too has lost her family and her home.

I'm not the only one who is alone. At least no one whom I loved and depended on ever betrayed me.

"Yes." I sigh. "This winter has been tedious, and I can't afford more than the occasional second-hand book for entertainment. Since I left my previous career in the fall, I admit I've been unable to determine what my next endeavour should be."

"You need something to do. Keeping busy always helps me." She's quiet for a moment, clearly thinking, then whispers, "Teach me that sword thing you did. Teach me to protect myself, if the streets aren't safe for me."

And again my tongue outraces my brain: "Why would I ever want to teach an Ape to do tricks?" And then I wince: by any standard that was so rude, I want to slap myself!

She closes her eyes for a moment, as if to shut out the pain my stupidity has caused her. However, to her credit, the monkey stays focused on what she's saying.

"You're bored, miss. That's why you're drinking so much. Being injured makes it worse." She sounds exasperated, "Teaching me for a few days will be a destruction."

"A Distraction. Although possibly your destruction as well." If she becomes overconfident with a little training, she could easily get herself killed.

She moves in front of me, takes a deep breath; the look she gives me would be called 'solemn' on the face of one of my people.

"Let's make this simple, ma'am. Teach me until either you get bored again and decide not to, or I don't want to learn any more. Whichever comes first. Then we part company, and are done with each other. You can stop at any time. Do we have a deal?"

I could argue, but with all the emotional turmoil I've been through, thinking about this young monkey and her shattered life, I'm beyond tired. She's given me an easy out though, if I just give in for now: "We have a deal. We'll start tomorrow."

If she lasts two days in training, it will be a miracle. I'm a warrior-scientist; I don't believe in miracles.

"Right, then." She gathers up the laundry, and I stand, and step out from the alcove. With my hood up, I look around the roof.

Evening is falling. It's been a pleasant but emotionally painful afternoon. Still, I think this day may be a good memory to come back to until summer finally comes, and I can be warm again.

The folded laundry is put away. The monkey started to remove my old shirt, but I simply told her to keep it for now. I think she took advantage of that little alcove on the roof and the screening laundry to have a quick wash earlier, before she came down to get me, as she smells clean (for an Ape) and a little soapy. The bruises around her eyes are fading and she seems a little more relaxed. Excellent.

I hand her a single tablet from the Doctor's box to help with her aches, and take another one for myself and we both washed them down with water from a battered tin mug.

All in all, I think it's been a very good day.

"Good night, ma'am." The little monkey slips off the chair where she's been sitting, and curls up in the blanket on the floor, settling in and trying to get comfortable. I watch her for a moment from the bed. She's still bruised and sore. She must be exhausted from dealing with me, and worrying about her immediate future, though she tries not to show it. Not to mention doing the laundry! She was whimpering quietly in her sleep throughout last night. The medicine will help, but the wooden floor isn't soft, and the room is still damp and cold and...

I sigh. Kind eyes indeed. I'm too gentle-hearted for my own good..."Get up here."

"Ma'am?"

"Get up here. If you're going to do any training tomorrow, you need some real sleep."

She scrambles back up. "Thank-you, Miss Lizard."

"I've just realized something else," I said, "When you went into shock two nights ago, you became disoriented, didn't you? You don't remember my name. And you never did finish telling me yours."

She stops and stares at me, her face slightly flushed. I recognize this look from my old friend, the Doctor. She's embarrassed. I smile a little, and execute an exaggerated bow from my place sitting on the bed. "Vastra. My name is Vastra."

"Right. Nice to meet you, Miss Vastra. I'm Jenny."

"Nice to meet you too, Jenny."

She curls into a small spot behind me. As I drift off to sleep, my last thought is that it feels rather nice to have my new pet sleeping on the bed again.

At least my feet will be warm.

End

Author's Notes

This story was inspired by a comment in one of the first Jenny/Vastra fanfics I read: "The Wyrm and the Maiden Fair" by Daystar Searcher on "A Teaspoon and an Open Mind" where that author said: If someone would actually write how the story of Jenny and Vastra meeting, and the slow building of trust, and then friendship, and then love, I would worship them forever.

I liked the challenge, although I understand that this version of their story will not be everyone's cup of tea. This story is based in part on notes from the Brilliant Book 2012, and comments by Neve McIntosh (Madame Vastra) and Catrin Stewart (Jenny Flint) from Doctor Who Magazine 437. In that semi-cannon, Vastra and Jenny met in 1881. They'd been together for about 7 years by the time of "A Good Man Goes to War" when they are picked up from London in late 1888. Jenny was "about 20" at that time, so the "almost 13" comment here is based on that. In the back story that was created in the Brilliant Book, Jenny was a Match girl who was rescued by Vastra, and Catrin mentioned that she thought Jenny was an orphan. I stuck close to that; Jenny is almost an orphan. We'll see what develops there.
Details such as Jenny being attacked by a Chinese Tong for "a mating ritual," Vastra living above a Gin Palace with a drunken landlady when they met, and having been a member of Jago's "Monstre Gathering" are also from the Brilliant Book 2012. Don't worry though, Paternoster Row has not been forgotten.

Tsokesh: what one felt when scales were stroked in the wrong direction is a Silurian word invented by by Lyricwritesprose for the story Torpor, also on "A Teaspoon and an Open Mind." I've started a little dictionary of Silurian terms found on the Internet, so words will pop up from time to time.

Neve McIntosh speculated in the DWM interview that Vastra saved Jenny from the streets, and Jenny saved Vastra from herself - that's where the love between them comes from. Hopefully I've started to capture that.

There are additional bits from interview and books that will come into play in the upcoming stories. Wait till you see what mischief our mis-matched misses were up to before Vastra became the Great Detective... but before that, they should eat something, and it will be Jenny's turn to tell the story.