DW Fic: Janus
Title: Janus
Author: nancybrown
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG
Words: 800
Characters/Pairings: Jenny Flint/Madame Vastra, Jenny Flint/OFC
Warnings: non-explicit mentions of sexual exploitation of women and children
Beta: I'd like to thank bookwormsarah for her particular expertise. :D
Summary: Sometimes her name was Jenny, sometimes James.
AN: Written for halfamoon and for Trope Bingo square: crossdressing
***
James Flint existed in the church records, if you didn't look too closely, and no-one ever did. Baby James had died a week after his and Jenny's mum did, four months after his birth. The less said about Jenny's dad, the better, and the kindest thing he did for her was vanish from her life. The orphanage was not as terrible as some, lending their children out to sell their work rather than their bodies. Still, Jenny had her fill of nearly-empty bellies each night, and as soon as she was twelve, she stole a change of clothes from the boys' dormitory and disappeared into the night.
Jenny shed her plain frock, cropped her hair, and called herself by her brother's name. The jobs offered to James meant backbreaking work but no stares or worse from men she passed by on the street. By fifteen, she made enough in intermittent wages, supplemented by the occasional picking of a plump pocket, to keep her belly full. She found a safe place to sleep, mates who didn't ask questions, and enough sense to keep her head down.
At sixteen, she lost all three.
Regina had chestnut curls, and prettier dresses than Jenny had ever worn. Regina liked the rough but well-meant manners James showed every time they met outside her father's shop. Regina smelled of rose water, and when she and James stole kisses behind the old shed, she tasted like lemons. The affair lasted two glorious months, before a love-struck and sleep-deprived James made a tactical error changing clothes back at the flophouse. Jenny got out alive and unmolested, thanks to a well-positioned knee, but she had to flee. She went to Regina's home late that same night and asked her to run away. They could go into the country, or sail over the sea together.
"Please," said Jenny, and she was Jenny when she asked. And Regina kissed her and said, "No."
By seventeen, Jenny Flint had taken work in the scullery of a nice home on the other side of the city, far away from the adventures of her last life. She cleaned and scrubbed until her hands were raw every night, earning half the wages she'd made unloading crates at the docks. The mistress of the house was kind. The master patted her bottom regularly but otherwise left her alone. She wasn't yet eighteen by the time she'd had enough of a maid's life, in both senses, slapped the master when he was mid-pat, then stormed out before he could call for the constables.
James Flint, now dressed in good workman's clothes, joined the crews digging tunnels for the underground trains everyone was talking about. James gave the age of sixteen to explain his youthful voice and bare chin, and he didn't socialise with the other blokes. Some had wives, and some had sweethearts, and not a one could suss out if James had either. He ate his meals keeping to himself, and walked alone to the boardinghouse where he paid extra to have his own room. Yet, when one of the men, Claude, started looming over a harried-looking girl of no more than fifteen, James got up from his lunch, and he punched the man so hard he broke a tooth.
"Sorry," James said, but it was to the girl, who nodded and kept hurrying away.
Claude caught up with James the next day. Jenny could fight, as long as she was quick, but Claude was bigger. He gave her a thrashing, though she made sure it cost him. Aching, bruised, she almost didn't go into work again, and some nights, some horrible nights when she can't sleep even with the restful sound of Vastra's breaths beside her, Jenny dreams she didn't. In her dreams, Vastra woke up alone, with Claude hovering in shock over her suddenly-stirring form, her gorgeous green body on display and her head still too sick with hibernation to defend herself.
On the terrible nights, Jenny has nightmares of what could have happened, had she not gone digging that day despite her injuries and James's wounded pride, too tired for a rematch but damned if she wasn't going to bite off Claude's ear for where he put his foul hand. She'd no idea the beautiful emerald lady would help as soon as she got her bearings. True, the beautiful woman would go on a bit of a rampage, and Jenny wouldn't meet up with her again for months, but these were small problems, inconsequential, for when they re-encountered one another, Jenny pledged to herself that they would never again be separated.
At nineteen, Jenny met the love of her life, while wearing men's garb and her dead brother's name. She wouldn't have it any other way.
***
The End
***
Author: nancybrown
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG
Words: 800
Characters/Pairings: Jenny Flint/Madame Vastra, Jenny Flint/OFC
Warnings: non-explicit mentions of sexual exploitation of women and children
Beta: I'd like to thank bookwormsarah for her particular expertise. :D
Summary: Sometimes her name was Jenny, sometimes James.
AN: Written for halfamoon and for Trope Bingo square: crossdressing
***
James Flint existed in the church records, if you didn't look too closely, and no-one ever did. Baby James had died a week after his and Jenny's mum did, four months after his birth. The less said about Jenny's dad, the better, and the kindest thing he did for her was vanish from her life. The orphanage was not as terrible as some, lending their children out to sell their work rather than their bodies. Still, Jenny had her fill of nearly-empty bellies each night, and as soon as she was twelve, she stole a change of clothes from the boys' dormitory and disappeared into the night.
Jenny shed her plain frock, cropped her hair, and called herself by her brother's name. The jobs offered to James meant backbreaking work but no stares or worse from men she passed by on the street. By fifteen, she made enough in intermittent wages, supplemented by the occasional picking of a plump pocket, to keep her belly full. She found a safe place to sleep, mates who didn't ask questions, and enough sense to keep her head down.
At sixteen, she lost all three.
Regina had chestnut curls, and prettier dresses than Jenny had ever worn. Regina liked the rough but well-meant manners James showed every time they met outside her father's shop. Regina smelled of rose water, and when she and James stole kisses behind the old shed, she tasted like lemons. The affair lasted two glorious months, before a love-struck and sleep-deprived James made a tactical error changing clothes back at the flophouse. Jenny got out alive and unmolested, thanks to a well-positioned knee, but she had to flee. She went to Regina's home late that same night and asked her to run away. They could go into the country, or sail over the sea together.
"Please," said Jenny, and she was Jenny when she asked. And Regina kissed her and said, "No."
By seventeen, Jenny Flint had taken work in the scullery of a nice home on the other side of the city, far away from the adventures of her last life. She cleaned and scrubbed until her hands were raw every night, earning half the wages she'd made unloading crates at the docks. The mistress of the house was kind. The master patted her bottom regularly but otherwise left her alone. She wasn't yet eighteen by the time she'd had enough of a maid's life, in both senses, slapped the master when he was mid-pat, then stormed out before he could call for the constables.
James Flint, now dressed in good workman's clothes, joined the crews digging tunnels for the underground trains everyone was talking about. James gave the age of sixteen to explain his youthful voice and bare chin, and he didn't socialise with the other blokes. Some had wives, and some had sweethearts, and not a one could suss out if James had either. He ate his meals keeping to himself, and walked alone to the boardinghouse where he paid extra to have his own room. Yet, when one of the men, Claude, started looming over a harried-looking girl of no more than fifteen, James got up from his lunch, and he punched the man so hard he broke a tooth.
"Sorry," James said, but it was to the girl, who nodded and kept hurrying away.
Claude caught up with James the next day. Jenny could fight, as long as she was quick, but Claude was bigger. He gave her a thrashing, though she made sure it cost him. Aching, bruised, she almost didn't go into work again, and some nights, some horrible nights when she can't sleep even with the restful sound of Vastra's breaths beside her, Jenny dreams she didn't. In her dreams, Vastra woke up alone, with Claude hovering in shock over her suddenly-stirring form, her gorgeous green body on display and her head still too sick with hibernation to defend herself.
On the terrible nights, Jenny has nightmares of what could have happened, had she not gone digging that day despite her injuries and James's wounded pride, too tired for a rematch but damned if she wasn't going to bite off Claude's ear for where he put his foul hand. She'd no idea the beautiful emerald lady would help as soon as she got her bearings. True, the beautiful woman would go on a bit of a rampage, and Jenny wouldn't meet up with her again for months, but these were small problems, inconsequential, for when they re-encountered one another, Jenny pledged to herself that they would never again be separated.
At nineteen, Jenny met the love of her life, while wearing men's garb and her dead brother's name. She wouldn't have it any other way.
***
The End
***