A/N: This story begins approximately six years after the events of Dirge of Cerberus.
Time is Ours
Chapter 1
No Time to Explain
εγλ June 0017
The building was situated behind a rundown gas station, some distance away and rather nondescript, giving the impression it stored nothing useful. Reeve was insistent this was the place. 'Just off the road to Kalm,' he'd said.
Vincent punched in the code and didn't linger outside; his cape attracted the moths that couldn't find a flame. All bugs were especially vicious this time of year—this time of night—even in the wastes that still stretched outside of Old Midgar. He'd already arrived an hour later than promised, but then—Vincent was a sucker for bleating cubs in need of rescue.
Dozens of heavily armed WRO security personnel watched him slowly walk through the chairs, desks, and broken electronic equipment stacked in haphazard rows. He felt like he'd entered an overly guarded warehouse for rejected office furniture.
None of the guards stopped or questioned him. He knew they'd seen him coming, and they knew exactly who he was. One opened a door for him, and he stepped through, satisfied and relieved no one asked for ID.
The space was dark, windowless, and vacant; the others were below. He flipped the lights on and searched for the door marked '3' as Reeve had instructed him. He found it past a small office that smelled of pure Mako, the stench becoming stronger when he opened the door to reveal a sloped hallway. Sturdy railings lined the walls, offering a safety measure against the steep descent.
Vincent hoped he wasn't too late. He hurried his steps, wondering what his old companions had been up to the last five years.
By this time, Cloud and Tifa were at least the same age he'd been when Hojo shot him. But what led them down this path? Could he have been a voice of reason if he hadn't taken off on his own again?
But that was his way—he was the loner—the brooding introvert.
Vincent replayed Reeve's urgency through his mind, the commissioner's message clear. 'We need you sooner than expected—no time to explain. You'll just have to get up-to-speed when you arrive. The gist is: we've discovered time travel, and we're sending someone back. Come as soon as you can.'
He intended to talk them out of it.
His head nearly skimmed the low-hanging ceiling, so he stooped on instinct, feeling like he'd entered a bunker. The lights on the walls sputtered as he walked past. Vincent reminded himself where and when he was—this wasn't the ShinRa mansion.
A low hum reverberated through the building like the tremble of an earthquake. The light fixtures shook with a clatter and the floor vibrated under his feet. The tremor didn't fade, only continued to drone on in a slow crescendo. He turned a corner and descended further; voices carried through the darkened corridor.
He heard Yuffie's unmistakable, youthful whining. 'I can't watch! Tell me when it's over,' she groaned. 'Great Leviathan! I'm gonna be sick!'
Around another corner, the hallway came to an end. A door was propped open, and he saw Yuffie bowled over and puking into a small trash can. Behind her was a larger room where Reeve, Cloud, Cid, Shera, Barret, Shelke, and several other WRO scientists stared through a plate-glass window. Lights flickered on the other side like a strobe, and that's when he noticed—everyone was wearing protective shades over their eyes and held fingers in their ears. He could smell burning hair and Mako. A sour mix of atmosphere, radiation, and sterilized odors assailed his senses and scorched his nostrils. The humming grew louder, and he flinched at the growing ache in his ears.
Vincent leaned down and grabbed Yuffie's arm. She looked at him, finally noticing him. "Vincent!" She stood with his help and pointed toward the others. "We couldn't wait! She agreed—but she wanted to wait for you!"
He grabbed her none too gently by her shoulders, shaking her a little. "What? Who?"
"Tifa!" Yuffie pointed again to where the others stood, still watching the mysterious strobe and protecting their ears from the increasing volume of the rumbling hum.
Vincent sprinted to them and shielded his eyes from the piercing light. Reeve handed him a pair of shades.
"Sorry we didn't wait for you," Reeve yelled. "But we didn't have time. The window is only open every 10 years, apparently! It lasts for a short time, weeks maybe, and then is gone. Though we're hopeful it will last months. Don't worry, this is our test run."
Vincent turned to watch, leaning against a complex control panel pushed against the glass.
Down below them was a laboratory of sorts with a large machine that seemed to be the source of the sound and light. And there she was.
Tifa sat in an open cockpit centered within an orbital pendulum made up of several radial iron bars, the entire machine appearing like the shape of an atom. It revolved around her and accelerated from the centrifugal force. The flashing light emitted from materia, which was strategically inserted into various slots within the rotating iron arms. Tifa wore cuffs around her wrists, arms, ankles, and neck, also fitted with materia.
Vincent concentrated on her form, trying to see her face. Though the machine's rapid motion blurred her image ever so slightly, he could tell that she squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her hands into fists. It was unclear if she was in pain. He held his breath—fearful, stunned—fascinated.
The machine—and Tifa—began to glow as their own light source. The radiance shined the same color as the Lifestream. A beautiful emerald-colored, eerie haze turned slowly about her in a throbbing fog that strengthened as the orbiting pendulum continued to whirr around her.
The unbearably loud sound drummed in synchrony with the pulsating rhythm of the fog. It echoed through Vincent's chest, and his skin tingled with aftershocks from the vibrations.
A feminine moan echoed faintly from the control panel's speaker. Tifa leaned her head back as the thrumming cadence began to slow. The beating hum started to elongate—and her hair! Her long tresses seemed to be getting lighter. Her dark brown strands streaked into a strikingly platinum hue, the transition in color extended from her scalp down to the ends of her hair in tempo with the hum.
Vincent felt horrified and heard an audible gasp to his right. "My gods, was that supposed to happen?" Shera's voice wavered.
The humming rumble reached a nearly ear-shattering climax and then suddenly stopped. The machine froze, its orbiting beams ceased moving in an improbably abrupt end.
There was no sound.
The only movement was the glowing fog that continued to rotate around her, though now it appeared more like a glittering mist. And the radiance shining from the materia in her cuffs continued to pulsate, gloriously bright.
Tifa slowly opened her eyes and looked at them—finally, he could see her face. She looked different than the last time he'd been at 7th, a little more mature. But she looked—she looked—
She looked—
Vincent pressed his head to the glass, trying to get a clearer view.
It couldn't be. She couldn't be. And yet—
Vincent knew her.
The pulsating, effulgent glow slowed to a stop around her as the materia shot out rays of blinding light. Vincent shut his eyes for a moment against the brightness. He opened them hesitantly.
Then—she blinked out of existence.
Vincent's eyes widened. No.
"No," he whispered though someone near chuckled and clapped their hands together in glee.
"Ha! I think it worked!" Vincent couldn't make out who spoke, didn't care. It was her.
His chest pumped, then constricted uncontrollably, and he flattened a hand against the pane.
"No," he said again, louder as he felt a panic growing through his body. His heart raced, and he hoped it would burst, just to ease the pain of everything he suddenly knew. Tears fell from eyes, the first he'd spilled in decades. His gauntlet hand curled into a fist, and he struck the pane, sending an angry crack etching toward the ceiling.
He beat his hands on the glass and splayed his fingers, at once clawing and trying to get through.
"No! Tifa!" Vincent pounded his hands harder, and the others tried to pry him away. He swung at them, knocking someone to the ground—he didn't care who. "What have you done?!" He screeched at them.
"Vincent! Vincent, calm the fuck down!" Cid yelled at him as Cloud tried to subdue his rage.
"What's wrong with you, man?" Barret bellowed at him. "She volunteered! We couldn't talk her out of it!"
"I need you to take it easy, Vincent," Cloud said as both he and Barret tried to hold Vincent with their combined strength. He threw Barret off, leaving Cloud to strain alone with all his enhanced power. Vincent's wild-eyed gaze darted at Reeve, who grasped his broken nose as blood spilled through his fingers.
Vincent's chest heaved; wet rivulets continued to stream down his face—and he finally stopped his flailing, violent outburst.
He knew her. He knew her. It was her. Tifa all along. How could he not have known? What have they done? What have they done?!
"What have you done?" He cried at them and choked out a sob-crazy laugh at the confusion in their eyes. "What have you done?" His voice trembled down to a whisper, and he unclenched his fists, relaxing in their hold. Defeated. He'd just lost her—all over again.
"I'm sorry we didn't have time to fill you in, Vincent. But if all goes according to plan, we should see her blink back in a few minutes."
He gave Reeve a single nod and trained his eyes back to the machine, ignoring the panicked looks the others were now giving each other.
How could he not have known? All this time—it was Tifa.