Author's Note: This is my first real attempt at fanfiction, so go easy.

I don't own Doctor Who or any of its affiliates.

Reader Discretion is Advised

Chapter 1

Evening had come early and the day's previous events passed through Madame Vastra's mind like coarse sand through a sieve. An easy looking job presented to her and Jenny a week ago had turned ugly too fast to recollect all at once, but analysis was necessary for the Silurian; she'd ignore her queasiness for a little while.

Learning from careless mistakes taught her how to live with them. A very wise, very old friend had taught her that.

To say that it all started when the task was offered would be a lie because it began long before that. The man she thought she could rely on had turned his back on Vastra and her partner for less then a few pennies, and it hurt. There was no use wondering why. She had tried, failed, and stopped many hours ago.

'Trust an ape? Bah!' She'd think to herself. 'Perish the thought!' Nevertheless, the idea persisted, incessantly clawing at walls of her skull. It screamed a name at her over and over, a familiar, warm name that raised too many questions and not a single answer.

It bothered her deeply, but whom could she talk to? She felt burned and beaten and useless but physically, completely untouched; Madame Vastra was too smart for that, but not smart enough to turn down an offer of unclean money.

The Silurian had long since discovered that there was very little pay in justice or detective work and that she could get by with occasionally killing a few stray apes, guilt-free, if it meant an income.

You could call her a mercenary, but that would be incorrect. A choosy, not particularly friendly, only-some-of-the-time assassin would be more accurate.

Jenny put up with things the best she could manage; Madame Vastra was her mistress after all. Killing didn't bother her, it was the low down, double-crossing thugs they had to deal with that struck a chord. Her and Vastra would walk into the designated spot (usually a dank alleyway) and leave with a new understanding of the term, 'sexual harassment.'

If the dealers couldn't keep their tongues civil enough, Jenny had gruesomely found out, Madame Vastra would quite literally not let them keep their tongues at all.

"It was close today." The young woman spoke, leaning on a white doorframe; lying upon a red-velvet settee in the middle of the room was her mistress, absorbed in the warmth of the nearby fireplace. Occasionally a stray ember would leap out and dance across the floor, traced by the Silurian's cloudy blue eyes.

There was a long silence before Vastra nodded, a 'yes' barely leasing itself from her dusky lips.

Not pleased with the simple affirmation, Jenny pressed on. "You could've gotten 'urt." Though the cockney twinge was normal to her, she felt an odd desire to dress up her language a small bit in front of the Silurian.

For a short time there was not the slightest sign Madame Vastra had heard the remark. Yellow from the nearby flames illuminated her sharp, serpentine features and splayed light between the hills and valleys of her scalp. A sudden crack in the wood changed the blaze to an intense red, revealing a frightening illusion that disappeared in seconds.

"We don't need to talk about this, Jenny." Vastra said quietly.

"I'd like to, mistress."

"We don't need to talk about this." The Silurian repeated herself with a firm tone, but the fold of her partner's arms showed that there was no satisfaction in that answer. Jenny was steadfast, determined not to give an inch; with a wistful sigh, Madame Vastra's eyelids fluttered closed.

Minutes later, Jenny began to dumbly wonder if her mistress was actually asleep and had been for some time. Knowing that was not likely the situation, she turned on her heel and headed towards the kitchen with a heavier than normal step.

"Wait." The Silurian gave in, causing Jenny to pause and look back with a told-you-so smirk.

"Yes?"

"Please sit down." Madame Vastra adjusted herself to allow space on the chaise sofa.

"Shall I get us some tea first?" Jenny didn't wait for a response, but instead continued her walk towards the kitchen; the kettle was already on and screamed from the stove. Filling two bone-china teacups, she steeled her resolve and reentered the room.

Evening shadows flashed across the walls, casting erratic patterns of dark and light to paint empty space. Though the area in which Jenny and Madame Vastra sat was tiny, there was no expense spared for decoration. Deep earth tones radiated coziness that was only amplified by Victorian era furniture; scattered candles presented another, almost sensual layer to the scene.

The Silurian sipped her tea and grimaced, but tried to smile when Jenny noticed her repulsion. "Don't take mind of my distaste." She asked, a sly grin briefly following.

"Very clever pun, mistress." The younger woman couldn't help but laugh at how proud her elder looked and the chuckle was returned. A more than capable grasp on the English language didn't stop the Silurian from being delighted with simple wordplay; this minor trait of childishness could prove adorable at times.

Two charcoal-grey gloves fell beside Jenny, revealing a pair of dainty fingers that started to unhitch the buttons of her vest. Her light brown eyes asked if it was appropriate; Madame Vastra nodded. "I'm sorry about what 'appened."

"I shouldn't have kept faith in that backwards ape." The edge in her voice caught Jenny off-guard; the term 'ape' could cut at times. What she didn't expect, however, was a quick apology. "I meant to say human."

"It's fine, he might as well a' been a monkey." They shared a smile and drank evenly from their respective cups; Vastra beamed with sudden intent.

"Seems like you've gotten this down to a tee, you'll have to leaf me the recipe." If one wasn't concerned with sounding too pretentious in their knowledge of mid-twentieth century literature or late-twentieth century film, they might have named the Silurian a natural Fezzik. It wasn't as much a passion as it was a passing fancy kept between the two ladies in private.

"Milady posses an unsurpassable intellect." Jenny chimed with an uncharacteristically refined inflection; her lack of a proper education made it sound forced but laughable all the same. Madame Vastra turned her head to snicker; an opportunity to let eyes drift was taken eagerly by the younger woman.

Her mistress was dressed in a thin, white linen shirt that fell short of completely covering her midriff. Short black trousers ended just before the knee and allowed sight of the Silurian's taut, muscular calves. The shirt was low cut enough to reveal a delicate upper chest, upon which sat a subtly framed neck usually hidden by silver rings.

The emerald reptilian scales that adorned almost every inch of the woman's body inspired awe in the fading glow of twilight; the sheen of her face was dull, but the torso and legs farther down sparkled with luminosity even when dry. The hungry look on Jenny's face at that moment implied that she'd certainly like to see them wet.

A quick glance upwards showed a pair of near-perfect breasts, and even higher then that were a gorgeous face and eyes; those robins-egg blue beauties that stunningly contrasted the jade of her skin. Those eyes… were looking directly at Jenny in mild confusion.

"What is it? Something wrong?" While the younger woman blushed, her mistress brought a cautious hand up to check for any imperfections.

"N-no, nothing like that." Jenny stammered, then lifted her teacup as a sort of barrier that withheld Vastra's prying gaze and took a lengthened sip; to her discomfort, the Silurian was still staring when the cup was lowered.

"If it's any consolation Jenny, you did a fine job today. I do not know what I would do without you." Though the comment was intended to be light-hearted and sounded as such, it filled her heart with a sort of shy bliss.

A strange thing was happening and Jenny knew it; man was supposed to love woman, woman was supposed to love man. She didn't need schooling to know those terms were what society expected and accepted, yet… At the same time both clarity and murkiness made their home in the crystal that was her life.

The taught against the known.

The known against the feared.

When boiled down to its most quintessential form, Jenny found the truth to be quite self-evident: she had feeling for her mistress, for Madame Vastra, for the Silurian, for the older woman.

Hellfire was bearable if it meant heaven on earth.

Accepting this opened forgotten, long ignored avenues; they were little emotions, namely, that gradually matured. Feelings like anger, confusion, doubt. That was the strongest: doubt. Did she really… like, Madame Vastra? Was that even possible? Was she fooling herself?

The decided answers to those questions, in order, were 'yes', 'maybe', and 'no'. Nearly as fast as it had arrived, the uncertainty vanished back into whatever self-deprecating portion of Jenny's psyche it had emerged from.

The beast of doubt was slain, which would've been good if not for the greater foe left in its wake.

How was she to approach the fresh situation? The thought of courting her own mistress seemed wholly unacceptable, but she had to start somewhere. 'The Madame admires confidence,' considered Jenny.

Three situations presented themselves.

Number one: Jenny would, when the mood was right, formally address her mistress about certain… contemplations. The whole notion seemed too cold and distant to mull over any further.

Number two: Jenny would, whenever passion reared its head, wildly kiss the Silurian full on without restraint. 'But what if she thinks I'm attacking her! I could be cut to ribbons!' she worried. There goes that tactic.

Number three: Jenny would, after years of restraint and regret, die alone by herself a bitter old woman with only short-lived memories for comfort. It was definitely worse than the first but superior to the second.

'It has to be number one then,' the woman sighed.

Meanwhile, Madame Vastra was preoccupied with her own bout of sightseeing; allowed the pleasure of freely examining her partner's body without hesitation, she did exactly that. The magnificence of her porcelain skin or that charming little mole just above the left side of her lip would have stood her hairs on end if she had any.

Jenny's white dress shirt, partially unbuttoned, was clearer now without any vest or tie and allowed sight to the younger woman's milky white collarbone. Midnight black hair lolled lazily upon her bust and flowed down the cloths parting where a modest bout of cleavage could be spotted.

Vastra knew she needed to hold herself from doing any irrational. Where else would she find another partner both adept at swordsmanship and at ease with her alien appearance? This impossible question was to be answered if the Silurian's sudden lust was unrequited.

On the evening of October fourth, eighteen-eighty, Jenny was yearning for devotion and Madame Vastra was yearning for, if one wishes to blatant, sex… two dilemmas, two sides of a dangerous coin that was moments away from being flipped.