Author's note: This story is based on my interpretation of two songs by Metric: "Nothing but Time" and "Clone" from their album Synthetica. I have included the lyrics in a second chapter in case you've never heard the song and you're curious. You don't need to know the song to read the story.

This is a sequel to my other AU stories "Lost Kitten" and "Youth Without Youth" but I think it has enough back story to be read on its own.

AU Notes: In this universe, Lightning doesn't have a sister. Also, she is older, probably around 34. The events of Final Fantasy 13 and 13-2 never occurred. The name Yaag Rosch and Rygdea are used, but the characters are different. The Guardian Corps are the police force.

Nothing but Time

AU fanfic – Lightning's POV

"Steal once, pay twice… Advice to heed"

I watched from behind the one-way mirror as Detective Rosch questioned Miss Serah Leone. Only a week ago I'd been the one yelling at her in the same interrogation room. It wasn't like I thought I'd gotten through to her or anything, but it stung my pride to have her back at the station so soon.

Though she sat on the same folding chair as last time, she didn't curl up and hide beneath a curtain of her pink hair. In fact, from my vantage point in the listening booth, she seemed to be cooperating. However, the detective's gestures were getting wilder as he spoke, the words a steady stream of scorn and contempt. I turned up the volume of the speakers, thinking I'd missed something she said, but when I focused my attention on her face I realized that that wasn't the case.

Her big blue eyes were glazed over and her face was relaxed in a goofy grin. The tell-tale signs were all there: she was as high as a kite.

That was the reason I wasn't in there doing the questioning. In my shock of catching her running out of an apartment building in the midst of a gun fight next to a burning church, I hadn't frisked her. The drive to GC headquarters had been quiet, but I figured that was because she was thinking about what she'd done and what kind of trouble she was facing. Every time I'd glanced in my rear-view mirror she'd been staring forlornly out the window. How was I to know that she had been taking Synthetica when I wasn't looking?

But – I should have known. It was my job to know. I'd screwed up, and now I was waiting for my punishment, just like she was.

The smiles she was giving the detective were getting on his nerves. He grabbed her small shoulders and it looked like he was going to rough her up a little. I jumped to my feet, ready to intervene on her behalf. But she just laughed at him. No, giggled?

"I'm flattered, but I already have a boyfriend," she slurred happily.

I noticed how the muscles in the detective's neck bulged with the need to hit her. He was showing amazing restraint.

"And yes, he did buy me this dress. I'm glad you like it!"

She was having a conversation in her own little world, it seemed. I hadn't seen anyone on the "new stuff" yet, so this was a red letter day for me. It was a hallucinogen, no doubt about that, and the visions must be extremely vivid for her to believe the hard-nosed Detective Rosch would give her a compliment. To any outsider, this scene would have been hilarious. But to me, and to the detective, it was just pathetic.

I made my way out of the listening booth and knocked on the door to the interrogation room. Rosch stormed out, reaching for the cigarettes he doesn't carry anymore.

"I thought we scared this kitten straight," he growled, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "What are we going to do with her like this?"

"Just put her back in the holding cell for now. Let her come back down to Cocoon."

For a second the annoyance and stress were lifted from the detective's face and I saw real concern underneath. "Do we need to call her a doctor?"

I sighed, shaking my head. "I wish I knew. I don't have any experience with Synthetica."

Synthetica – aka the "new stuff" – was the latest drug on the streets. No one knew who was producing it, what it did or how to deal with it. Currently, it wasn't illegal, but that could change any day now. I wished the Sanctum would move faster on their verdict, because the ambiguity of the law made my job harder. Drug crime was unstoppable now because the dealers discovered the loophole. Addicts were getting high in the streets, defiant and belligerent towards us GC officers. It had gotten to the point where I'd considered making an example out of some of them.

It had been quite a shock to us when the priests of the Church of Eden came forward last night (my watch told me it was now the wee hours of Saturday morning), claiming the church fire had been a distraction from the theft of their stash of the new drug. At first I'd assumed they'd meant a personal stash, but when they told us they were missing a "full bag" – or a kilogram – I questioned why a church would need so much. We had only found half that amount on the girl in the room, so we figured she'd already divided it with her accomplices. But now I wasn't so sure. With no way of knowing how much she'd ingested, calling a doctor was probably a good idea.

Hell, I didn't even know how she taken the drug. I hadn't heard a sound from the back seat, nor seen any smoke. She couldn't have injected herself, nor smoked it. The crystal shards were too large to snort, but she might have found a way. Did she eat it? I wondered dismally.

"Maybe call an ambulance just in case."

"Yeah."

Agitated, I paced the tile floor of my office. The detective had left me here, with the promise that I wouldn't try to approach or speak to the girl. I'd done enough damage already, he'd said. Normally that wouldn't bother me, I'd screwed up, and I was ready to accept the consequences. If had been anyone else sitting in that cell I wouldn't have given a flying you-know-what. But it wasn't just anyone. It was her.

It wasn't reverse psychology or my rebellious nature that pushed me to disobey my orders, but an overwhelming need to be there for her. I'd call it my "motherly instinct" if I thought I deserved the moniker. I needed to talk to her. Someone had to explain the mess she was in, and how important it was not to play the hero. If she gave up the names of her accomplices she could get a lighter sentence. I weighed the risk in my head, my desire to help her against my desire to help myself.

I won't, I might…

Her going to jail now wasn't even the most pressing issue – she was guilty of theft, breaking and entering, arson, it was all just a matter for the courts to decide how long of a sentence she'd serve – I was more worried about whether or not she'd overdosed on a mysterious and unpredictable drug. Detective Rosch had called the ambulance, but it wasn't enough. I wanted to be there for her, to protect her from swallowing her tongue or any other accident that would be just as fatal and just as pointless.

My skin prickled with the realization that I had already decided to disobey. I couldn't just leave her alone. I knew it was too late for me to be anything to her – not a mother, a voice of reason, or even a guide on her path of life – but at least I wanted to do this small thing.

Besides, nothing I've ever done right happened on the safe side. It's the other way…

My past was just as sordid as her life was now. I was no stranger to drugs. As a teen I'd been a bar-star and amateur model. If I had to describe that time in my life in one word it would be "frenzied". Everything moved so fast, I was always out partying and getting into trouble.

I wondered: if someone back then had invited me to help knock off the Church, would I have done it? Would I have done what she did? I turned the question over in my mind. Well, if he had asked me to…

Who was I kidding? I scoffed at myself for trying to sugar-coat the truth. Of course I would have. I would have thought it was a riot. Hell, the fire would have probably been my idea.

As much as those memories were a constant source of regret, I'd forced myself to learn from my mistakes. I used my knowledge of the drug circles to become a better police officer. Now I was invaluable to Vice. If I could just get through to her, let her know that her life wasn't a waste and that she could still turn it around like I had… But I knew it was too late for that, too.

My eyes were drawn to the only framed photo on the beige walls of my office. It was a picture of my graduating class from GC training, taken over ten years ago. I easily picked out my sullen face in the top right corner of the group. The closed-off expression wasted the soft beauty of my young face, I noted with bitterness. But there, in that photograph, I could easily see the resemblance between myself and the young girl in the holding cell. My daughter.

I'd always said that love was not enough.

I should heed my own advice. Love wouldn't bring my parents back. Love didn't stop him from leaving. I had been a seventeen year-old high school drop-out. I had no clue how to raise a child. Though I loved the idea of her, I knew love wouldn't feed her, protect her or take care of her while I figured out how to live my life.

Even though I longed to shut it out, I could never choose.

I'd figured that, by giving her up for adoption, she'd have a chance to have a normal life. I'd imagined that some perfect young couple who couldn't have kids of their own would take her in. During the intense GC training, imagining her perfect little life was what kept me going.

I pictured the mother having soft brown hair that smelled like lilacs. The father was a warm and welcoming man, and wasn't afraid to kiss his wife in public. They'd take Serah on all sorts of vacations, to the beach, the fireworks festival, even the Nautilus theme park. Serah would be around eight years old, and insist on going on all of the rides, even though she wasn't tall enough for the scary ones. Her mom would watch as her father joined her on the carousel, waving every time they'd come into view. Afterwards, she'd complain to her friends how embarrassed she'd been. Even still, she'd cherish that memory for the rest of her life.

The reality of the situation was a lot crueler. No one had adopted Serah. She bounced around through foster care, never staying more than a year with each family. It wouldn't take her long to realize that she didn't belong anywhere. She didn't have a home like the other kids in school. I don't know when she dropped out, but I had a feeling it was a lot earlier than I had.

From what I could piece together from her bio, she'd given up on the system that had failed her. The last living arrangements she had on record where when she was thirteen years old. Since then, she was on her own, doing god knows what. Her first arrest was a year later, for petty theft. She served a three month sentence in juvie. She must have smartened up a little after that, because at least she didn't get caught again for another two years. I knew that she was a street walker, having personally brought her in only a week ago.

The events of last night made me think that she'd just been careful, that she'd been involved in some serious crime for a while now.

It was too late to take her on all the rides…

But - !

Unable to handle the crushing guilt, I stepped out of my office. I tried to act casually, as if nothing was wrong. I walked over to the coffee machine and, though I wasn't thirsty, I poured myself a mug of the black sludge.

Officer Rygdea nodded at me from the break room and I nodded back.

"Has the ambulance arrived?" I asked with a deceptively bored voice.

"Nah," he replied easily. "Guess our junkie isn't high on their priority list tonight, what with that church fire and all."

"Right," I conceded, and turned away without another word.

With controlled steps I aimed myself toward the holding cells. My own slow footsteps echoed infuriatingly in my ears. My legs ached with the need to run and my heart screamed that I might be too late.

There weren't very many of us officers in the station tonight, most having been called out to deal with the pandemonium at the Church of Eden which, for me, was both a blessing and a curse. If we'd had people to spare, someone would have been sitting with Serah this whole time, making sure she was alright. But, if that were the case, I wouldn't be able to visit her at all. Selfishly, I told myself it was better this way.

As I neared her cell, I tried to pull myself together. Half-imagined conversations bounced around in my mind, and I needed to settle on at least one thing to say to her. Why was I here? That would be her first question, for which I still didn't have a good answer. I wasn't a good enough actress to hide my feelings of concern and self-doubt. I told myself that the only excuse that I needed was my badge, the one I was putting on the line to see her. All that mattered right now was ensuring that she was still alive.

"Hello?" I called, rounding the corner and peering into her room.

The holding cell was nothing more than a toilet and a cot bed in a small white room. The concrete floor had a web of cracks spreading out from a dip in the corner opposite the bed. Despite being unimpressive, the room wasn't dirty or dark. Lying on the bed was Miss Leone, the top of her pink hair facing the bars and her hands clasped together as if in prayer. Upon hearing my greeting, she slid forward until her head hung off the edge of the bed and then craned her neck back to see me.

I tilted my head awkwardly as if trying to see her face right-side up.

"Why hello officer!" Serah exclaimed in an odd English accent. "Won't you come have some tea?"

Unconsciously, I shook my head in annoyance, lifting my coffee mug.

"I'm fine, thanks. Brought my own."

Serah rubbed one hand down her face roughly, as if trying to wake herself up. The gesture was sluggish, and her lips loosened to an expressionless state. Her arm flopped back, dangling off the bed bonelessly.

Fearing that she was passing out, I shouted, "Hey – Serah!"

She opened one squinting eye at me. "What now?" she demanded, her hand roaming across her torso and up to her chest. I watched her with concern. Then her hand massaged her breasts seductively, her eyes locked on my face. "Are you a lesbian or something?"

It was humiliating and sad that she was this high.

"Get over yourself," I scoffed, looking away until she stopped what she was doing.

I needed to regain control of the situation. If I continued talking, maybe something would permeate that fog around her brain. Maybe I'd even get through to her.

"I'm here to give you legal counsel. You should know that you still have rights even though you've been arrested. This isn't the end for you."

She didn't respond, but she did sit up, shaking her head sharply. It was a step in the right direction.

In my excitement, I forgot myself. For a second, I wasn't an officer talking to a criminal, but a mother trying to coach a troublesome child.

"We know that you didn't start that fire on your own. We need to know who else was with you. I'm disappointed that you've surrounded yourself with the wrong kind of people. Don't think you need to protect them. If you give us their names, no one will know. We'll protect you. Then you can take the first step towards leaving this life behind you."

I moved closer to the bars, wrapping my free hand around one of them tightly. So close… If I could just… get through to her somehow…

"You're better than this. You can be better than this."

For a while, neither of us said anything. My hand slid down the bar as I settled myself in front of her cell, which seemed to be as close as I'd ever get to her.

"…" she cleared her throat softly.

"It's too late in the day to tell me I'm off the path," she murmured. "We're already in the aftermath."

It sounded like she was giving up, and it broke my heart.

"No, Serah. It's not like that. You've got nothing but time. You have your whole life ahead of you!"

"Nothing but time…" she snorted sadly. "You're right. It's the only thing I have."

I could remember being her age, thinking that the future was so far away, and that growing up was something I'd never have to do. But then life happened – she happened – and all of a sudden I needed to become a responsible adult, making important decisions every day that affected my entire world. Those decisions, as hard as they were, had saved me. I gave up the partying and the drugs and it had set me free. When the glittering curtain of my fantasy life was lifted, I realized that there's nothing awaiting us better than the truth.

I kept thinking about how much like me she'd become. Therefore, I held on to the hope that she could be saved, too.

She was crying now. Soft, quiet tears slid down her face, dripping off her chin like perfect spheres of sorrow.

"I wanted to be part of something," she choked over the noiseless sobs.

I extended my hand through the bars, but my grasping fingers couldn't reach her.

"There's still time, Serah. Don't give up yet!"

"I've got nothing but time," she repeated, nodding in a way that reminded me of a parrot. "Nothing but time, so the future is mine."

I put down the mug of cold coffee and pushed my other arm through the bars. Still, I was too far away. She was out of my reach.

"That's right, Serah." I was crying too, but I didn't know when I'd started. "That's right."

Then, something changed about her. If I hadn't been staring at her the entire time, I probably wouldn't have noticed. It started on her toes. What looked like crystal ice had begun to form all around them. She didn't react, not even to flinch, as it slowly crept across the top of her feet.

"Serah!" I called in alarm. "Serah, what's happening?"

Her head remained bowed over her knees. She was still whispering, "Nothing but time, so the future is mine."

The crystal continued to coat her body, sliding over her ankles and up her calves. It reflected the bright overhead light into rainbows of shimmering color. It was as beautiful as it was horrifying.

"Serah, get up!" I jumped to my feet, my balled fists shaking the bars with impatience. "C'mon, move!"

Looking around for another officer, even though I knew we'd been alone this whole time, I panicked.

"Hey, somebody!" I shouted down the corridor, too afraid to leave her side. "Anybody, come help her! Something's wrong!"

When I turned back, the crystal had enveloped her entire torso. It was moving up her shoulders toward her neck.

"No!" I cried. "Stop it! Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

As if she'd finally heard me, she slowly turned her head.

"Serah!"

"Don't worry," she murmured. "The dreams… so real…"

And with that, her face froze, encapsulated in crystal frost. She looked serene, ethereal even. A single crystal tear fell from her eye and bounced off the cement floor of her cell.

When Officer Rygdea found me, I was shaking the bars so violently that he'd needed to call a second officer to restrain me.

The ambulance came half an hour later, but I was already locked up in my office. Detective Rosch was leaning against the door and had been staring at me for a few minutes now with a serious look on his face. I tried my best to ignore him, keeping my eyes focused on my hands which were folded tightly in my lap. We were waiting.

There was a knock at the door. Rosch turned around and opened it a crack. He nodded a few times and said something too low for me to hear. The person on the other side spoke a little louder, and I heard a "Yes, Sir!" before the detective closed the door again.

"Is she okay?" I hastily inquired.

Rosch shook his head sadly.

"She's dead, Farron. The paramedics believe it was caused by an overdose of Synthetica."

My heart stopped, or at least, that's what it felt like. It was like someone had carved away my insides, leaving me with nothing but fierce torturous tears to fill that hollow void. I crumpled in on myself, sliding from my chair onto the floor under my desk.

She was gone. It was too late to turn it around. I'd been afraid to think it, but now… But now…

"Lightning," Detective Rosch called softly, coming around behind the desk. He placed a hand on my quivering back as I bawled my eyes out.

I never told my superiors what happened that night, or why little Miss Leone's death meant so much to me. It's not like I had any right to call myself her mother, anyway. To her, I was just another officer of a system that failed her time and again. To the Guardian Corps, she was just another juvenile delinquent that died by her own bad decisions. To me, she'd been my hope for the future, my salvation and now my burden – a scar that cut across the face of who I was, and would never leave me as long as I lived.

But, I lived on.

I had nothing but time, after all.