A/N: I blame this on having too many TV channels that run shows older than I am, and a Twitter conversation.
The Warlock's Wife
One
Looking in the mirror before her, Clara Oswald attempted to not cry as she gave herself one quick look-over before things got under way. She never thought she'd see the day, which was really saying something given the fact she was still fairly young, but after the freak traffic accident that had claimed the life of her old boyfriend Danny, a hole had been left in her heart and soul, telling her that she was doomed. It had been confirmed when she found an engagement ring in his flat while cleaning it out, hidden in a drawer between his old iPod and a box of trinkets he'd kept since childhood—she was cursed.
Except, as mourners had come and gone and people began to console her less and less, Clara had found herself becoming increasingly attached to one of her coworkers with alarming speed. Basil was the music instructor at Coal Hill, a long-standing hire that encouraged the students despite being rather standoffish in most situations. It had started as a bit of coworker solidarity, but as time went on, she had found the aging, semi-tamed punk to be full of interesting stories and not yet done thrashing about in life. He always knew she was feisty and caring, though the depths of her persona really would shine through when they were alone and no one was around to judge. Both of them were aware that they were treading the fine line between desperate rebound and respectfully moving on, and were therefore as cautious as possible when it came to their budding relationship.
Now, a little over two and a half years down the line, Clara was standing there in a wedding dress, waiting in a church alcove to be walked down the aisle and meet Basil at the altar.
"Clara?" Her father poked his head in as he knocked at the door, the man beaming with pride. "Ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," she replied. They hooked arms and waited in the vestibule as the pre-ceremony music played. "I'm so glad this is happening—it's like a dream."
"The fact that you're happy is all I need," Dave mentioned. He kissed her on the forehead and held on tight as the song that was their cue swelled up. They turned into the main space of the church and slowly made their way through the pews filled with family and friends. At the very front near the vicar was Basil, who nearly burst into tears at the sight of his bride. His tuxedo was as white as her dress, his silver hair slicked back into a semblance of tame, and the lines on his face nearly seemed to melt away as he grinned at her.
The two men passed Clara's hand between them and the ceremony began.
Letting her eyes flutter open, Clara turned her head and glanced over at her husband. Her husband, God, it was good to think. He was laying on his stomach, arm draped over her midsection and using her shoulder as a pillow. She kissed his grey curls and gave his back a pat.
"Hey there," she murmured sweetly. "I didn't wear you out that much last night, did I?"
"You mean we can't take advantage of the lack of pudding brains to rush towards?" he answered. Basil clutched his wife closer and rubbed his face between her bare breasts. "It's what summer holidays are for."
"Yes, but we've got to get going if we want to make it up to the cottage before nightfall," she reminded him. "It's going to end up being a good nine hours' drive."
"Only because you're going to have us stop too often," he teased. With that they got up and dressed, picking up their things from last night and thankful for the foresight to pack along normal clothes for their one-night hotel stay. They were about to live out of a suitcase for an entire month, so the thought of clothes were all concentrated on then.
After a decidedly unromantic breakfast in the hotel dining area (children running around screaming, businessmen in their pajamas, unbathed legions not yet ready for the day) and dropping off their clothes from the day prior at Dave's, Clara and Basil got in his car (which his bride suspected was older than she was) and headed north out of Blackpool and towards Scotland. It did take nearly the entire nine hours Clara had predicted, but they had finally rolled up to their cozy little cottage surrounded by Cairngorms National Forest and little else other than a private drive and a caretaker's house half a mile away.
"Now this is exactly what I was dreaming about," Basil grinned, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. He was looking out over the park, with patches of field and forest over rolling mountains that hid their cottage from the others in the cluster. "You can't find privacy like this down in London, not when you're piled atop one another like a bunch o'dead fish. A pair can have a proper honeymoon up here."
"Sounds like someone regrets giving his nephew the spare key to the flat," Clara chuckled. She hugged him from behind, resting her forehead on his back. Troy was a good guy, the man everyone had expected Basil would introduce her to after she'd healed from Danny's death, but instead she'd fallen for his uncle, twenty-five years their senior and much more insufferable than anyone else thought tolerable. Instead the two were good friends, to the point where he'd stood up in the wedding.
"If the cat hasn't eaten the fish by the time we get back, I'm going to be amazed," he snarked. He turned, facing his wife before taking her hand and kissing it reverently. "This next month is going to be about us—no family, no friends, no students—nothing but you, me, and the Scottish wilderness."
"Let's get inside first before you start romancing—it's bloody cold out here," she frowned. Basil smirked inwardly as he listened to Clara complain about single digits in the middle of summer, knowing he had made the right choice to marry her. She was feisty and driven and knew precisely what she wanted… and what she wanted was him. It was enough to make his trousers tight at the very thought.
Rushing to beat the oncoming storm that announced itself with a rolling wave of thunder, the newlyweds quickly unpacked the boot and settled into their temporary home. It was tiny, with a sitting room that opened into the kitchen, a large bay window, and a fireplace ready to be used at a moment's notice. The bedroom was at least attempting to be spacious, which gave it points, and the bathroom was the only normal-sized part of the whole house. It would do for the month, but it was definitely a place that neither Clara nor Basil would want to live in permanently.
Once the bags were unpacked and the utilities flicked on, the honeymoon officially began. A vicious game of rock-paper-scissors determined that Clara would make dinner while Basil strummed idly on his guitar (electric guitar, because it had apparently been essential to haul an ancient amp up to Scotland) to serenade her. The kitchen was well-stocked with everything they'd need for the week, so she had no problem coming up with something to eat. Basil cleaned up afterwards and grinned madly as he flopped into the couch, cuddling up atop of Clara.
"You sure this is where you want to start?" he asked cheekily. He kissed the side of her head and curled around her, enveloping her body with his. "There might be an extra cleaning surcharge."
"Oh, I think we'll move into bed when the time is right," she purred. They then began to kiss, languidly caressing one another. "You know, I'm already considering looking into how much the family-sized cottages might be around our tenth anniversary."
"You don't want to find a sitter instead? I think Dave would be all about that."
"Dad would do nothing but spoil them rotten; maybe if Troy and River have kids by then…"
"Ha, Troy and kids…" Basil laughed. He then continued to kiss Clara, until something he would have rather done without interrupted them.
"You called?"
Clara gasped and pushed away from Basil, sitting straight up on the couch to find Troy standing only a few feet away from them, grinning at them cheerily. Her eyes went wide as she stared at him in an admixture of terror and confusion.
"How the bloody hell did you get here?!" she demanded. "You should be sopping wet! Where's your car?!" She turned towards her husband, who was currently white as a sheet. "This better be a joke!"
"I didn't think I said his name that loud…" he moaned in anguish. Troy looked from Basil to Clara and back, realization violently hitting his strong-jawed face.
"You didn't tell her," Troy gathered. "Uncle Basil, why didn't you tell her?"
"…because I told you: I'm going to live like her!" Basil replied crossly. He stood and got in his nephew's face, completely exasperated. "Why would you even answer what might be a call from a man on his honeymoon anyhow?!"
"Okay, hold up, wait a second; what is going on?!" Clara asked. "What do you mean you're going to live like me?! Basil, you know that you are the only man left alive for me, so you better start talking before I decide to take the car down to the village and spend the night in a pub."
"…I, uh, better be going then," Troy cringed. He snapped his fingers and vanished, only causing Clara's eyes to go wider.
"I'm sorry, Clara," Basil apologized, "but I didn't want you to know, not unless it was absolutely necessary…"
"…know what…?" Her voice was quiet now, and she took a cautionary step backwards.
"I'm… not… twenty-five years older than you."
"If you're not fifty-four, then how old are you?"
He wrenched his eyes shut, not wanting to see her reaction. "I'm actually five-hundred forty-nine years old."
"…five-hundred forty-nine…?"
"…and I'm a warlock."
"Basil, look at me," Clara ordered. He did so, seeing that she was far from looking pleased. "Wouldn't you think that would be something important to tell me before we got married?"
"Clara… Clara… Clara…" His brain was sputtering, nowhere near possessing the sharp tongue he was normally graced with. Instead of facing her dead-on, he hugged her, avoiding looking her straight in the eyes. "Clara, I'm sorry. I figured, if I had lived as a mortal for as long as I have, what's another seventy years? I would do that for you."
"Basil McGuiness Smith," she hissed as she pushed away from him. "I am going to have a lie down, and by the time I get back you better have a good explanation for all this, because I am not starting off our marriage being lied to." She stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her, attempting to keep himself from breaking out into a full-blown panic.
"TROY!" Basil bellowed at the ceiling. His floppy-haired, bow-tied nephew appeared almost immediately, though with the couch between them this time.
"How'd she take it?" he inquired.
"I might be heading towards my personal worst as far as marriage to divorce," Basil growled. "This even tops you and Marilyn."
"Okay, to be fair, we were not married, because River would have likely crashed the wedding," Troy defended. "Second, you know a union between magic and mortal can only work if the mortal knows what they're getting into! The two of you want kids! What would happen if out popped a baby witch? 'Oh by the way dear: our daughter will levitate when her nappy needs changing'? I don't think she'd like to have the news broken to her then."
"I know how it works, you wee piece of shite," Basil snapped. "I also know that magic doesn't always beget magic. We could have mortal children and live like the rest of them do. I just want to spend a life with Clara, even if it's only hers."
"You know I'm tempted to tell Granddad about this…"
"…but Granddad hates Clara anyhow—refused to go to the ceremony, refused to even meet her—he'd thrilled to hear I got divorced after a day because you teleported your way to my honeymoon!" Basil stopped for a moment in thought, furrowing his brow. "Don't you have a shift tonight at the shop?"
"I very suddenly had too much water before I punched in," Troy deadpanned. "You've been happy since you and Clara started seeing one another, Uncle Basil. I'd hate for it to all go sour because you couldn't admit who we are."
"…a music teacher and the manager of a department store's toy section?"
"…people born with the inherent ability to use magic." The younger man walked around the couch and put his hands on the elder's shoulders. "Considering how unpleasant you are normally, I think if you explain this to her calmly and rationally, she'll come to understand."
"I am perfectly pleasant; it's the rest of the world that doesn't know how to behave," Basil frowned. He shoved off Troy and turned away from him. "Just go—you've done enough already."
"Alright," Troy sighed, pushing back his quiff with a hand. "Just give me fair warning if you need to sleep on the couch, since that's where River's Egyptology stuff is dumped while she's moving offices." He snapped his fingers again, leaving Basil alone in the sitting room once again.
Cautiously, Basil padded his way through the cottage and opened the door to the bedroom. Clara was sitting on the bed, curled up while clutching a pillow, staring at him as the storm raged on outside. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, halfway down the bed. Her eyes were so wide, so terrified, so set on him, that it hurt.
"What's going on…?" she asked quietly. "What are you?"
"I am your husband, Basil—"
"—not who are you, but what; what happened out there that was such a secret that you couldn't trust me with it before we got married?" Her voice grew sharper with each syllable, adrenaline kicking in.
"I am a warlock—a male witch—sort of like all that Harry Potter shit but without the early-installment whimsy," he explained. "No one knows how it happened, but all over the world, since prehistoric times, there have been people that have been able to use magic. Well, I say magic, but a lot of it has to do with science and our inherent ability to create a temporary manipulation of natural laws and…" He then caught himself, noting that he was beginning to ramble and talk with his hands. Refocusing, Basil sat on one hand and placed the other palm-down on the bed between him and Clara. "I may not have told you everything, but I haven't lied to you aside from my age. Even the most open-minded mortals have a difficult time believing in magic, which was why I didn't say anything definitive on the matter."
"Troy said our kids could be magic," she recalled. "Do you think I would have been happier to learn then?"
"My son from my first wife wasn't," he said. "I watched him and his mother both grow old and die before I had a single grey hair on my head. There was a daughter from that union too… she was like me, but didn't make it out of Napoleonic France. It's been a long time since I've known what it is to have a family, a marriage, a relationship that lasts more than a couple years because they've noticed that I stay the same while they wither away… I would have told you, once you noticed, but for now I'm perfectly content not bringing it up because it doesn't matter."
"It does matter. That's tricking me into marriage by withholding information," she mentioned. "How do you even do magic?"
"Like this." Basil glanced towards the nightstand and waggled his eyebrows. Immediately a bouquet of flowers in an elegant vase appeared without so much as an incantation. "See?"
"…and it just came out of thin air?"
"No; the flowers are from various hothouses, but the vase is one that's been in my attic for a long time," he said. Clara stared at him, trying to make sense of it. "Well, the stuff has to come from somewhere, doesn't it? Just because it's magic doesn't mean there aren't any laws to abide by."
"So they're stolen…"
"No, they're from magic-friendly establishments—they let us take one or two every now and then with our abilities and one of us gets a call once in a while to help with the growing processes—we're not out in the open, but most of us aren't that xenophobic."
"Then which ones of you are?"
He paused, reluctant to answer. "Grandfather."
"Is he your granddad or Troy's granddad?"
"He's… he's the eldest warlock, one of the Old Ones from the beginning. The Old Ones are sort of like a high council of sorts. Few call him something other than Grandfather, or Granddad informally. He is my grandfather though, Troy's great-grandfather, and considering he wasn't thrilled about my first family, I knew he wouldn't be thrilled about you and then decide to pretend I don't exist for a couple centuries." He slid down the mattress and took Clara's hand in his, kissing it gently. "I don't care about being ostracized for a few hundred years, because instead I will have something that Granddad can't even begin to fathom."
"…and what's that?" Clara wondered.
"You," Basil replied. "I will have you, and eventually the memory of you, and a family whom I not only care for, but care for me in return. Being so long-lived, warlocks and witches forget sometimes what it's like to live instead of merely exist. I live when I'm with you, Clara… and it's something that will keep me going for many, many years to come."
Sitting there, Clara gazed into her husband's eyes as he kept hold of her hand. They were the same eyes that proposed to her, five months earlier as they had a night-in because the Spring rains cancelled their picnic. He had said something grossly poetic, bent down on a knee in her flat's tiny sitting room, and silently pulled a boxless ring from his pocket. She looked down at her left hand, staring at the new ring that had sat there only a little more than twenty-four hours at that point, frowning as her chest grew tight and she began to tremble.
"I bought those—no magic," he assured her, reading the emotions on her face. "I'm serious about playing by mortals' rules for you. Our house was paid off by the rules, as was the car, our rings, our wedding… I might take shortcuts here or there when it comes to tidiness, but if that bothers you, I know how to do everything the old-fashioned way."
"Basil, I…" she started. Clara exhaled heavily, taking her hand back and turning her gaze towards her lap. "I want to be with you, but can you give me a bit of time to digest this? Hiding something this big… it could make our relationship different."
"If it is, then I hope it is for the better," he said. He gently tilted her chin up and pressed their lips together. "Turn in early? Storms are excellent sleeping weather."
She nodded and they both began to ready themselves for bed. It was luck now, Clara thought, that she had brought a flannel nightie with her as well as the more revealing things she'd brought for fun, though the reason why was lost on her now. She slipped into it and slid into bed, soon joined by Basil, whom had stripped down to his question-mark pants. He laid with his back to her, so she could snuggle up from behind and wrap her arms around him.
"Mmm, Basil?" Clara wondered, half to the dark room and half to his hair.
"Yes, Clara?"
"How old would she have been? Your daughter?"
"Five hundred-seventeen," he replied. "She only made it to three hundred-fourteen—an Old One had something to do with it, I know it deep in me, and she wasn't the marrying or child-bearing type, so she was the end of her line."
"…what about your son? Did he have children?"
"Yes, but by that time his family had been wiped out by measles and smallpox—epidemics worked much too well in those days." He took one of the hands from his chest and kissed the fingertips. "You are my family now."
While part of her was still undeniably on-edge, Clara couldn't help but feel incredibly honored.