A/N: This idea has been clawing away at me for months. It originally began as a segment for a massive Jori alternate universe story that would cross different points in time. I loved this part so much I thought it would be better as a standalone fic.

I really, really don't want to give anything away but it does become sad as the story wears on.

If you decide to read it, I guarantee one of the best Jori stories ever! I was so proud with how this turned out, I almost made it into a screenplay but the budget wouldn't allow it. Besides, I do not want to be accused of "baiting for an Oscar" when you start making a movie that deals with 1930's Germany if you know what I mean.

Please leave your reviews; I am so excited to see what you all think.

;-)

Victor Vega got off the regional rail at Alexanderplatz. He had never been to Germany before and was eager to get to its hottest town as soon as possible, even if that meant taking the railway used by the locals.

The names of the various districts threw him for a loop but looking at the well-lit shops, cafes and beer palaces told Victor that he was in the right place. Walking along the square, he was enchanted by the flashing lights and bustling crowds. It's hard to imagine that just a short decade ago, Germany was in financial crisis following the Great War.

It certainly was on the road to recovery by the young business mogul's assessment.

Apart from Spanish, Victor knew some English and French but only so many words of German. Naturally, he covered the basics for both survival (where is the bathroom?) and to be polite (please, thank you). French clicked with him straight away being how it was Latin based. English was essential because of the untapped markets in America, at father's insistence. German didn't seem all that important years ago but now the wealthy Spaniard was cursing himself for not picking up more than a meager list of words and phrases.

There could be some business opportunities here but Victor was not here on business.

Quite the contrary; he needed to get away for a while and decompress. Plus, Berlin's reputation for its scintillating nightlife was too much for the twenty-year-old to resist.

There were plenty of places to get a cup of coffee or a glass of beer. But Victor wanted more than just a drink; he wanted to absorb some of the local color. Other cultures, other countries, always fascinated him. Even though geographically Germany and Spain weren't exactly on opposite sides of the world, it felt like it to Victor after being stuck in either a stuffy classroom or a stuffy office his whole life.

One sign grabbed him right away once he saw it: Der blaue Engel.

The music bleeding into the streets whenever the door opened made him decide this was the perfect place.

The place was jam packed. All the tables were taken. On the far corner of the bar was an empty stool. Victor seized it and upon sitting down frowned at the deserted space behind the bar.

He looked around, trying to get a sight of somebody. He could barely make out a woman, black hair tied up back. She was scrambling around, waiting tables. Victor almost shook when she yelled at a drunk who was getting fresh in perfect German. Seeing the empty glasses as well as the new patron at the bar, she made her way over.

"What will it be, squire?" the raven-haired young woman asked.

Victor was taken aback when she asked him the question in English. She had a sophisticated British accent; certainly not from the poorest neighborhoods in London. He would put money on it.

"You're English?" Victor blurted out.

"Congratulations. So are you, apparently."

"Oh," he cleared his throat. "No. I'm from Spain and…"

The woman raised her hand for him to stop babbling. "I kind of figured from your accent and tan in the dead of winter."

"Right," he smiled embarrassed.

"So?" she looked at him a little annoyed. "You drink….anything?"

"What? Oh, what do you recommend?"

The bartender arched her eyebrow. "Seriously?" She shrugged and started grabbing a bottle of vermouth. "Alright then." After mixing some things in a shaker, she poured out the concoction in a tall glass.

Victor picked up his beverage and gave it a whiff before sipping it. After swallowing the first mouthful, he let out a big exhale.

"Take it easy," she chuckled and swiftly tended to the other thirsty patrons.

Slowly enjoying his strong but tasty drink, Victor turned around, leaning against the bar to take in the atmosphere of the place. It was decorated with movie posters, each perfectly presented with black frames and an individual light.

There was D.W. Griffith's Intolerance, Anne Boleyn with Emil Jannings and Henny Porten, and Night of Vengeance directed and starring Benjamin Christensen. Victor had seen all these films, imported into Spanish cinemas. He admired the art direction of the Danish films but what the German studios did was his favorite.

Victor also noticed some films he hadn't seen. One poster toward the end of the wall where the door was showed the famous actress Asta Nielsen. It was a poster for The Abyss, which wasn't shown in Spain at the time. What countries did allow it to pass was a censored version due to its erotic nature. He had wanted to see that one.

His thoughts on movies were interrupted by an announcement coming from the stage. It was in German but there was something off by the speaker's dialect. Looking at the stage, he saw the speaker sit down by the piano. He was the musician. Victor wondered what the big deal was because he's been hearing music playing since he came in. It was then his eyes locked onto the figure making it to the stage.

It was the waitress/bartender. What was she doing there? The woman undid her tie behind her head, setting her jet black hair free. It was shiny in the light and came just to the base of her neck. She reminded Victor of someone but he couldn't place her. Then, the barkeep put her slender hands on the microphone.

Avec le temps...
avec le temps, va, tout s'en va
on oublie le visage et l'on oublie la voix
le cœur, quand ça bat plus, c'est pas la peine d'aller
chercher plus loin, faut laisser faire et c'est très bien

avec le temps...
avec le temps, va, tout s'en va
l'autre qu'on adorait, qu'on cherchait sous la pluie
l'autre qu'on devinait au détour d'un regard
entre les mots, entre les lignes et sous le fard
d'un serment maquillé qui s'en va faire sa nuit
avec le temps tout s'évanouit

avec le temps...
avec le temps, va, tout s'en va
mêm' les plus chouett's souv'nirs ça t'as un' de ces gueules
à la gal'rie j'farfouille dans les rayons d'la mort
le samedi soir quand la tendresse s'en va tout' seule

avec le temps...
avec le temps, va, tout s'en va
l'autre à qui l'on croyait pour un rhume, pour un rien
l'autre à qui l'on donnait du vent et des bijoux
pour qui l'on eût vendu son âme pour quelques sous
devant quoi l'on s'traînait comme traînent les chiens
avec le temps, va, tout va bien

avec le temps...
avec le temps, va, tout s'en va
on oublie les passions et l'on oublie les voix
qui vous disaient tout bas les mots des pauvres gens
ne rentre pas trop tard, surtout ne prends pas froid

avec le temps...
avec le temps, va, tout s'en va
et l'on se sent blanchi comme un cheval fourbu
et l'on se sent glacé dans un lit de hasard
et l'on se sent tout seul peut-être mais peinard
et l'on se sent floué par les années perdues- alors vraiment
avec le temps on n'aime plus

This woman was full of surprises. Now she spoke French, too? He heard this song before and it was always wistful but he had never heard it sung with such pain. The patrons, already full of drink, were all sitting there with tears in their eyes.

Victor was certainly intrigued by this woman. When she stepped off of the stage, she talked briefly with a gangly-looking man with curly hair and glasses. Once he walked away from her, Victor steps in front of him.

"Excuse me, sir" Victor smiled.

"Can I help you?" he asked in a German accent; certainly a local.

"Permit me, but who is that woman?"

The man with glasses turned, indicating to the brunette. "That is Jadelyn West. She is the proprietor of this establishment."

"You're kidding!" Victor exclaimed.

"I never make light of business," he then squinted at the Spaniard. "And who are you?"

"Oh, yes" he extended his hand and the man accepted. "Vic…Victor Vega."

"Robert Shapiro; pleased to meet you." He then thought for a moment. "Hang on; are you the son of Adalberto Vega by any chance?"

Victor nodded, "Son…yes."

"Impressive…" Shapiro began to go on and on about his father's business. He had the largest construction firm in Spain and since Europe was ravaged by war, it was a lucrative affair.

But Victor wasn't paying attention to Shapiro's glowing praise on his father's legacy. Not just for the fact that he has heard it far too many times but his focus was on this Jadelyn person. Victor had never come across anyone like her and sought to congratulate her on her performance.

"I'm sorry," Victor lied. "But I must go."

"Okay," Shapiro nodded. "Please if you ever want to embark on anything around these parts, don't hesitate to ask me."

"I'll do that, thank you."

Victor was frustrated because that babbling fool made him lose her. Running through the place, he caught glimpse of Jadelyn walking down a corridor.

"Pardon me," Victor clumsily blurted out.

Jadelyn looked up and smirked at the familiar face. "Well, you're still standing. Good for you. Most guys around here can't handle my signature drinks."

"Sorry if I'm bothering you," Victor said. "But I was absolutely impressed by your singing and… "

Jadelyn put up her hand just like earlier at the bar. "That's nice but I don't think so…"

"I'm not trying to infer anything; I just wanted…"

She stepped forward. "Why aren't you taking the hint that I'm not interested?"

"Is there a problem?" a voice called out.

A tall man with long black hair; much longer than that of Jadelyn's, got into Victor's face.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked folding his arms.

"I was just talking to Miss West…"

The tall man leaned in, looking imposing. "I believe the lady told you that she wanted for you to go."

Victor looked over the other man's shoulder and saw Jadelyn rolling her eyes and walking away.

"I'm not here to cause any trouble," the Spaniard earnestly but sternly stated.

"I'll make it real easy for you, stranger" the tall man smiled. "You're out of here and you're not allowed back."

"Why?"

The man got a hold of Victor's shoulders and ushered him out the door, practically throwing him into the street like a garbage bag.

When the tall man returned, he was met with the hostile eyes of Jadelyn.

"What the hell was that, Beckett?" she scolded.

"That guy was trying to make a play for you, Jadelyn!"

She detested the way he said her name. "But throwing people out is not your decision," she poked him in the chest. "Not yours!"

"This is our place, dear" he said changing his tone.

"My place, Beckett!" she pointed at herself. "It's my name on the bills, my name on the tax forms, Mine!"

Jadelyn walked away from Beckett with a huff and went back behind the bar to clean the counter. She noticed the empty glass left by the Spaniard. Lifting the glass, she saw that there was a bill underneath it. Her eyes widened at the exorbitant banknote.

She smiled and ran for the rear exit. Poking her head out of the alley behind Der blaue Engel, she caught sight of the Spaniard.

"Hey stranger!" she called out.

Victor pivoted and turned to the brunette.

"Never mind that fool," she raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome to come back anytime."

Victor nodded, "I didn't think so at first but I think I'll stay in town."