Evilqueenofgallifrey on tumblr gave me an idea for a valentine I could give her: "Jenny teaching Vastra about Valentine's Day and them being generally adorable"

I wrote a few variations. I hope you like a fair few. (;

Please review! I love to know thoughts, even quick ones!

One might expect Vastra to have experienced Valentine's Day long before Jenny Flint, but one would (as the Madame often found) be wrong. She would hardly bother to point it out, however, for she had been up to more pressing things: namely, sleeping, for somewhere around 5000 years. She'd decided a nice long nap was in order; by the time she was awoken, rather rudely, she was considered a dangerous biopoedal dinosaur. By her own considerations she was something of a Draconian Lady, and thus she became a Madame of many trades.

Madame Vastra hadn't thought she'd miss anything interesting during her nap, but time-travel at least gave her a leg-up for reliving the more interesting past. It was only that Valentine's Day had never held much appeal to her before. She might have been accused of a certain sexual appetite occasionally requiring satiation yet it was little more than that. Casual things, play-things, voracious sampling of any given city's sapphistry—never a matter of the heart. That was, not a matter of the heart until Jenny Flint, thief of the London streets, stole hers in one glance.

So it was that seven months into their—arrangement—the bright and shining day of romance was upon them. Only it was Victorian London, so in truth it dawned grey and drizzling with a general ambiance of smog.

Perhaps it was the morose feeling of the day or the newness of them, the ambiguity of their sweethearted-ness, that inspired Jenny Flint to give her lovely lizard-lady a pass on her very favourite holiday.

She offered a minimal valentine herself: parchment paper, the illustration of a lizard heating itself on a stone by a roaring fire, and a poem.

Valentine's:
A day away afar the hustle and bustle,
A day to grasp her husk and bust 'til
Day departs to night come free,
Quiet and bright and washed in delight—
Just like she.

Jenny gave it to her Madame as they were out on the town, Vastra's veil covering all but the heat in her eyes, which Jenny could feel anywhere—and as the case was just then: everywhere.

They were nearly finished their meal when Vastra admitted defeat on the occasion, not recalling the importance of such a hall-marked holiday to the people of Victorian London. Jenny was ever so happy to dispense with her knowledge on the subject during their journey home.

Upon their arrival, she showed her Madamde the personal significance of the holiday to one Jennifer Izra Flint—twice, before they even reached the nearest bed. Jenny couldn't be sure, distracted as she was, but she thought her Madame might be reciting poetry with every sweep of the majestic draconian tongue between her legs.

Thus in the end her valentine—which was herself, always herself—came too, and all was right beneath the stars and the London smog.