The road less travelled...

Title: Redemption 35/?
Author: katherine_b
Rating: PG
Summary: When you have lost everything, what do you do to get it back?
Characters: The non-Doctor first glimpsed at the end of Name of the Doctor and a lot of old friends.

Part XXXV

“No, it’s fine,” the Vadlott promises Edwin. “I completely understand that they only have a table for two! You both go and celebrate, and I’ll meet you later. Yes, I do insist, so don’t argue, Dora,” he says, stepping away from his companions. “Have a lovely time and I’ll be back later.”

He moves away through the crowds, pocketing the psychic paper that persuaded the waiter to insist that the restaurant could only seat two of them. The Vadlott rolls his eyes in frustration. He had never imagined it could be so difficult to get people to realise their feelings for each other, which have been so obvious to him since day one!

From the other side of the street, he watches as Edwin pulls out Dorabella’s chair for her and then takes a seat opposite. He smiles as they toast, knowing that both are celebrating the fact that the tardis has completed her task and both of them, at least outwardly, look completely human.

Turning away, he is about to head for the tardis to kill some time, perhaps by finally making himself a new sonic screwdriver, when he finds himself accidentally bumping into a woman walking in the other direction, knocking the small parcel she is carrying into the gutter.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he exclaims, snatching up the bundle before it is dampened by the water trickling along the cobblestones. He turns to hand it to its owner, but the knock has also brushed back the hood of her cloak and he can see her features in the street-light above their heads. “Silurian!”

She hisses at him defiantly, about to dash away, but he grabs her wrist to stop her from escaping, having caught the glint of tears in her eyes.

“No, wait,” he says more gently, “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to see one of your kind here in Victorian London, that’s all. I mean you no harm. Please,” he adds, keeping a wary eye on her mouth in the hope of avoiding a lashing from her tongue, “I would like to help you, if I can.”

She sniffs, eyeing him defiantly. “Nobody wants to help me,” she snarls. “They only wish to kill me.”

“Humans, maybe,” he is forced to agree. “But I’m not human.”

“What are you?”

“Time Lord.” He reaches out with his free hand and gently pulls up the hood of her cloak, casting her reptilian features into shadow again. “I’ve been doing my best to help your people for a long time. Please let me do so again today, if I can.”

“The only person who ever tried to help us was the Doctor,” she spits.

“Yes,” he agrees.

Her eyes widen and she stares at him, all tension fading from her body so that the Doctor feels safe in letting go of her arm. “You’re the Doctor?”

“Yes and no.” His reassuring smile does not falter. “Perhaps I could tell you about it over a cup of tea? And you could tell me how I might be able to help you.”

He offers his arm in typical Victorian style and is pleased when she somewhat hesitantly takes it.

“I’m the Vadlott,” he tells her as he guides her in the direction of a small coffeehouse from which lights are still streaming despite the lateness of the hour.

“My name is Vastra,” she tells him. “Why ‘the Vadlott’ and not ‘the Doctor’? Have you disowned your people?”

“Quite the contrary. They have disowned me,” he replies, holding the door open for her.

“Fascinating,” she murmurs as she sits down in the chair he pulls out for her. “I should like to hear the story.”

“Only if you promise to tell me yours,” he bargains. When she nods, he gives her the briefest outline of his own actions and describes a little of the Doctor’s attitude, his tale interrupted only by the maid who comes to take their order.

“I have met the Doctor,” Vastra tells him when it is clear he has finished. “He was the one who persuaded me against the vengeance I sought for the death of my sisters when our homes were broken into by the digging of tunnels intended for underground trains.”

The Vadlott places a gentle hand on hers. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

She manages a small smile. “I have realised that he was correct in what he told me,” she says. “‘Anger is always the shortest distance to a mistake.’ It was that,” she admits, “that kept me from lashing out at you earlier.”

“Then I’m grateful to him,” the Vadlott replies.

At this moment the maid, a young brunette arrives with a tea-tray. “For you, ma’am,” she says, placing a cup in front of Vastra, “and sir. And I warmed up the tea-cake to make it a little fresher as it’s been sitting out all day. There’s some butter for you, too, if you’d like it.”

“Thank you,” the Vadlott says, beginning to pour out the tea as the maid returns to the back of the shop.

“A sweet young thing,” Vastra murmurs, her eyes following the girl. “Very thoughtful.”

The Vadlott smiles. “Not all humans are bad,” he points out.

Vastra tosses back her hood. “Interesting,” she muses, “that she made no comment on my appearance.”

“Ah.” The Vadlott’s tone becomes a tad sheepish. “My fault, I’m afraid. I tend to make use of a perception filter when I’m on my own, and I hadn’t turned it off when we came in. So she probably isn’t really seeing you at all.”

“Can you tone down its effects a little?” Vastra requests. “I would quite like to see what her reaction to me might be.”

No sooner has he done so than Vastra’s hand moves sharply, the small jug containing their milk flying to the floor with a crash.

“Oh, dear!” Vastra exclaims in a rather unnecessarily loud voice. “How terribly clumsy of me!”

“It’s not a problem, ma’am,” says the maid, appearing with almost startling suddenness from the back room. “Let me clean it up and I will fetch you another one.”

“What’s your name?” the Vadlott asks as the girl picks up the larger ceramic pieces from the puddle of milk.

“Jenny, sir,” she tells him. “Jenny Flint.”

“You will make someone an excellent wife one day, Jenny Flint,” remarks Vastra, although the Vadlott can hear the undercurrent of tension in her voice.

“Oh, I shouldn’t think so, ma’am,” Jenny replies with delightful frankness. “You see, it’s not really something I think I’d like, a husband.” She rises to her feet. “I’ll just get you some more milk and a cloth to clean that up. Won’t be a moment.”

Vastra’s eyes are alight when she turns back to the Vadlott, so much that he chuckles at the sight.

“Silurians are usually a little more discreet,” he reminds her softly. “I don’t think you want to give yourself away so completely, do you, Vastra?”

“The perception filter?” she demands, clearly not hearing this, or choosing to ignore it.

“It has only two states: on and off,” he confesses. “And it’s been off ever since you asked me about it.”

Her eyes widen to their fullest extent and he chuckles, picking up his cup to sip his tea. Vastra remains silent while Jenny returns with more milk and then finishes cleaning the floor. The maid casts a curious glance at Vastra as she returns to the back room, but she is clearly not put off by the Silurian’s appearance.

“Talk to me,” Vastra begs after a moment, once they are alone again. “Take my mind off... Tell me about your most recent experiences with my kind.”

The Vadlott smiles a little, but it is bitter because he knows how badly things went wrong. Still, he bravely tells her of the results of the huge drilling project, as well as the Doctor’s role and his own.

“I only wish,” he says slowly, “that things had been different. One day human beings and your people will have to live together. I have tried so hard to make it happen smoothly, but there are always people who are afraid, and fear presents itself in anger and death.”

“I suspect that is the case every time something new occurs,” Vastra suggests, checking that they have emptied the teapot. “And yes, it is difficult. I am disappointed,” she adds, “that so much of the blame lies with my own people on this occasion. Perhaps humans and Silurians are not so different after all.”

“No, I think you’re right.” The Vadlott shakes himself out of his reverie and focuses on the person sitting opposite him. “You’re an intelligent woman, Vastra. What will you do now?”

“I need somewhere to live,” the Silurian admits. “A place I can call home. But I don’t even know where to begin looking.”

“Perhaps I can help you with that.” The Vadlott smiles knowingly. “I know a street. Quiet and rather small. It doesn’t attract a lot of notice. Oh, and,” his eyes flicker briefly in the direction of the back room, “it’s not very far from here.”

“I would be interested in seeing it,” Vastra rises to her feet, “if you have time to show me.”

“Of course.”

The Vadlott crosses to the counter and pays the bill, adding a generous tip for Jenny, whose eyes are too fixed on Vastra to notice. The Time Lord chuckles, wondering if Cupid’s arrow has been redirected.

Vastra takes his arm again as they leave the coffeehouse, and since he has made sure to reactivate the perception filter, they are able to progress uninterrupted through the nearby alleyways to the street the Time Lord has in mind.

“Paternoster Row,” he announces as they arrive. “Number thirteen. Nice and peaceful, you see. I think you would be happy here, Vastra. Either on your own or, if you could find company...”

“Yes,” she agrees, smiling at him as she takes the key he is offering. “Yes, I think I could.”

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