Disclaimer: Doctor Who and any related material does not belong to me.

A.N. The vague makings of a Vastra and Jenny fic has been rattling around my head for the past week. Unfortunately, I'm not entirely sure where it's going. I'll try and update every week/ten days or so. Anyway, enjoy!

Overcoming Victorian Values

Prologue

Jenny ran, leaving the matchbooks she was carrying and their contents trailing in her wake. Behind her, she could hear heavy footsteps demolishing the little sticks of wood as they thundered after her. Jenny didn't know what the fellow who was chasing her wanted, but from the way he had been leering at her as the sun began to set, and from how he had approached her only after darkness had fallen and the people had deserted the streets for the comfort of their own homes, she could guess.

The man, bigger and stronger than her, was Chinese- possibly a member of the Tong that frequented the dockyards. When he had approached her in the streets, she had, as her duties required, offered him a matchbook, "Only three ha'pennies, Sir." He hadn't spoke, but when he reached for her face, to tilt it up towards him for a better look, she had thrown caution to the winds, and her matches in his face, and took off. If she could make it back to the match factory in Whitechapel she might, might, be safe. But she couldn't be sure- she didn't know the people there like she knew those back in Finchley. They would have protected her, hidden her. She couldn't be certain the same thing would happen here.

But she had to make it there first. Jenny risked a glance behind her, relieved to find that her pursuer had fallen back. If she kept running she could lose him entirely! But before she could turn back to the street in front of her, she collided with a heavily muscled chest. Panic rose in her throat as she scrambled to pick herself up, frantically crying out her apologies. Panic turned to hysteria when the man she had run into grabbed her in a firm grip and called out something Jenny could not understand. Her hysteria grew as she came to realise that the language was Chinese, that the man who was holding her was Chinese and that the three men behind him, swiftly approaching, were all Chinese.

How, exactly, had young Jenny Flint, match girl, originally of Finchley, managed to attract the attention of the Tong?

It didn't matter that she couldn't understand the words of their conversation. The actions and the body language of the men spoke clearly enough. They were looking for her. Her, specifically. From the way they inspected her, her face in particular, she knew. They meant to rape her- the way two of them grabbed at her dress, told her that. And finally, when they were done, they would kill her.

The machete that the biggest of the five men was holding could mean nothing else.

Her hysteria broke loose as she was dragged into an alley. She screamed, not words, not coherently anyhow, but she screamed like a feral animal as she kicked at the men that forced her onto her knees and ripped her clothing. One man tried to cover her mouth with his hand but she bit it and clawed at his face with her nails, digging her thumb into his eye when she came across its socket.

She was vicious but so were they. They were bigger, heavier, stronger and greater in numbers. All seemed lost. It might, a traitorous voice in Jenny's head whispered, be easier if you let them take what they want. It might not hurt so much.

But she couldn't. Perhaps this was a punishment sent from God for her unnatural proclivities. Perhaps this was to be her final test.

But for all that her father deemed her an abomination, and her mother called her a monster in the eyes of her God, Jenny was a decent girl, and decent girls didn't simply spread their legs for any stranger. That and, if she was going to die, if they were going to kill her, she was going to make damned sure that at least one of them remembered her.

The clatter of two more sets of feet approaching was lost on Jenny, too immersed in the present to even consider what the two approaching people could bring with them. More danger or a helping hand? The latter was unlikely. No one stood against the Tong. What did register with her, however, was the scream that came from someone other than her. It was noticed by the men she was struggling with as well, and that, perhaps, was her salvation.

Two figures had caused the scream, that had been cut short as the man's throat had been cut. Or, rather, one figure, cloaked and carrying a thin sword, the likes of which Jenny had not seen on these shores before, had caused the scream. The other figure, a man with floppy hair, too short trousers, a tweed jacket and a horrendous shirt, all topped off with a bow tie, was edging away from the bloodshed, with a look, not of horror or fear, but that distinctly said that he would rather not get involved. He approached Jenny as the Tong engaged and were dispatched with chilling efficiency by the cloaked individual, but she forced herself to her feet, tried to run, only to trip on the tattered ruin of her dress. At some point, her screams had become loud, thick sobs and she was shaking. The man reached out to her, but drew away as she flinched.

"Hey," he said soothingly, over the racket that was going on in the background, "it's going to be okay. I'm the Doctor, I'm here to help."

Kind as he seemed, the Doctor was a man. Try as she might, Jenny couldn't resist the instinct to lash out at him as he tried to examine the bloody cuts on her face.

"Doctor," a woman's voice called out, and the cloaked figure strode towards them, wiping her sword on a piece of cloth she had ripped from the clothing of one of the, now dead, Tong. "You're scaring it." Her voice was terse and proper, like that of a real lady.

"Her, Vastra. I'm scaring her." He turned to Jenny and it was only then that she realised that they were talking about her. As the woman knelt down before her, Jenny stared beyond her at the dead bodies of the men who had tried to rape her, feeling light headed. She was safe now, she hoped, but she still couldn't stop the harsh sobs from erupting from her throat. "I'm not scary, am I?"

But Jenny couldn't even think of answering the Doctor's question, for behind him, one of the supposedly dead bodies moved and let out a groan. Both the Doctor and the woman, Vastra, turned around quickly and something darted out of the hood of Vastra's cloak, sending the man back into oblivion.

"Uhhh..." The Doctor turned back to Jenny to see how she might have reacted to this impossible feat. But Jenny was too grateful to care.

Turning to her saviour, she murmured, "Thank you," before her body, deciding it had been through a bit too much in such a short space of time, finally gave up, and she slumped forward as unconsciousness claimed her. The last conscious thought to flutter through her head was that this would never have happened if she hadn't kissed that pretty scullery maid.

A.N. So, that's the prologue! I'm assuming that there was more than one match factory in London, by the way. The first chapter will be how poor Jenny got into this situation in the first place! I hope you enjoyed it and please let me know what you think!

~Sweetdeath04