A/N: This feels rather weird to me, this fic. It's another one inspired by a song, this time, a song in Spanish, but it's less so than "Sometime Around Midnight" in that the song only suggested an overall feeling rather than actual scenes. This one was also written some time ago, but not as long ago as some of the other "finds" that I've been posting up lately. I think I must've been in a bit of a darkish mood when I wrote it.

I rather like some of the writing in this, but I'm not sure about it overall. It feels kind of like a variation on a theme to me.

Futurefic. Oh, and the italicized lines are from a song. And yes, I know they're in Spanish. The translation is at the end. You should go to youtube and listen to the song as you read. Even if you don't understand what it says, the rhythm and melody of the song is a great backdrop.

I think, if this one goes over well, I might be willing to do a prequel to this. So, once you've read it, weigh in on whether you think one would work well, or if it's better as a standalone.

Disclaimer: Not mine. The song quoted in italics is "Hay Amores" by Shakira off of the "Love In The Time of The Cholera" soundtrack.

Some Twilight Interim
By Em

"...come in some twilight interim, / When the gloom is soft, and the / light is dim."
- Too Solemn For Day, Too Sweet For Night, William Sidney Walker

He found her in Spain. A little village between Toledo and Segovia where the signs of occupation by the Mors could still be seen in doorways and the stones of ancient walls littered once boundaries like scattered toys.

The night was balmy and full, the almost lazy strumming of a guitar sounded clearer as he walked through the stone archway, picking his way to the back courtyard. Las Molinas was definitely not the kind of place that welcomed tourists, and the locals -- olive-skinned and dark eyed, cigarette butts pressed between thin lips -- kept their eyes on him as he advanced, like they were wondering what he wanted.

By the time he found himself in the courtyard, the guitarist had been joined by the wail of a trumpet and a stray breeze carried the song across the space to him.

His eyes fell on her the moment they turned from the softly lit dais where the guitar player and trumpet player were joined by a singer approaching a microphone.

She was looking at him -- he knew that, even though the courtyard was lit by little more than the moon and the scattered and inconsistent flame of tiny candles in blood red table top vases.

He waited a moment to see what she'd do. He half thought she'd bolt, but the other part of him knew she wouldn't. Not now that he'd found her.

He made his way through the crowd which he barely noticed, stopping in front of the wrought iron table. She looked up at him, her liquid amethyst eyes shining like crystal.

The singer had begun her song, but her voice had gone unnoticed by him until that moment.

"Hay amores que se vuelven resistentes a los danos..."(1)

She was the first to move -- she nodded gracefully toward the empty chair in front of her. He took it, and looked at her in surprise when she pushed the small shot glass that had been sitting in front of her toward him.

"You look like you could use a drink," she spoke.

Her voice hadn't changed -- it was the same as he remembered and to stave off any reaction more than for any actual thirst, he raised the glass to his lips and drank it back quickly, hardly tasting it -- feeling the burn travel down his throat only secondarily.

And then he was left without a thing to say. After years of looking for her, he found it ironic that once she was in front of him, he couldn't think of a damn thing to say.

Her gaze flitted from his momentarily, and she nodded at someone over his left shoulder, but he didn't bother to see to who. He didn't need to. He still trusted her.

"Ay mi bien, no te olvides del dia / que separo tu vida de la pobre vida que me toco vivir..." (2)

He waited until the waiter set down two more shot glasses -- one in front of each of them and with a quiet "Gracias" from her left -- before leaning back in the uncomfortable wrought iron chair.

"Why'd you run?"

The glass halfway to her lips, she paused for a moment before completing the action and taking a sip from the glass. Her gaze shifted to watch the singer. "Did you come all this way just to ask me that?" she asked.

"...que no haria yo por ti / por tenerte un segundo, alejados del mundo y cerquita de mi?"(3)

He shook his head and tossed back the drink in front of him. "No," he answered. When she looked at him, he leaned in so she would be sure to see his face in the wavering light from the table-top candle. His expression was almost chiding. "I came to make you tell me to my face what you wrote on that paper."

She sighed and looked away. "You never were one to take a hint."

"I was never one to let you run away," he corrected. Her eyes turned to his again. "I'm not about to let you start now."

"Stubborn bastard," she said, her voice soft and not at all angry as she took another sip from her drink.

"Hay amores que parece que se acaban y florecen / y en las noches del otono reverdecen..."(4)

He smiled, but it was a far cry from the happy-go-lucky grin of his youth and a little closer to the mature, content show of happiness from his adulthood than anyone had seen in years. There was another drink in front of him that he didn't remember ordering, but he didn't even look at the waiter as he left.

"You loved that about me once."

"Tal como el amor que siento yo por ti."(5)

She looked at him, really looked at him, and raised the glass to her lips again as she looked away. "Maybe more than once," she answered softly.


Special Translation Notes: These translations are done by me. It might not sound very flowy in English, but I wanted to keep the imagery as it was in the Spanish, so I translated more or less directly rather than trying to just keep the feel.

(1) There are loves that become resistant to being damaged

(2) Oh my goodness, do not forget the day / that separated your life from the poor life that was my fate to live...
- Translator's note: "ay mi bien" = "oh my goodness", but it's really meant as an affectionate term, kind of like saying, "my dear" or "my darling" something like that. Like all the goodness that is in this person speaking comes from the person being addressed.

(3) ...what would I not do for you / to have you for one second, far away from the world, and close to me?

(4) There are loves that seem to end but flower / and in the nights of autumn turn green again...
- Translator's Note: By turning green again, is meant like, is reborn, the way a flower or a plant that seems to die is reborn every spring. Of note, flowers or plants don't grow or turn green again in the autumn, so the symbolism here is that despite it being autumn, the love grows and is reborn.

(5) Such as the love that I feel for you.

A/N: So, what do you think? Worth a prequel? Do you want to find out what Raven's note said? If I were to do a prequel, it would be from Raven's pov, as she decided to leave.