Author's Notes: The famed and honorable Liltigre requested of me, and I can not do aught but obey. She requested of me a story involving one of my favorite muses to fit 'Walking In My Shoes' by Depeche Mode. She even went so far as to give me a copy of the song. After I listened to it I realized this song was the perfect background music for any RPG I was playing at the time. But, what it fit most was my lovely muse. So I have done my best to show you why it fits dear Reeve more than Vincent as I suspect people would assume. I do feel as if it wasn't quite enough though.

Theme: Writer's Choice

Stumble

Over the years, Reeve had experienced many sorts of pain. He'd had his legs broken, he'd been stabbed, he'd been shot, hell, he'd watched the first Cait destroyed and thrown away his life, past and present, more times than he could count. He'd been in the hospital at least twice for cases of dehydration because he'd overworked himself, and so many stitches had been put in his head that he'd given up keeping track. Two different women had given him back his ring, one divorcing him after a year as the wife of an executive of Shin-Ra, the other when she realized just WHICH Reeve Tuesti he was (not that there was another). There were three men that laid in their graves because of bullets from Reeve's own gun and he mourned them each morning and each night, even though it was him or them. Hell, he'd even stood by and done nothing really to stop the plate of Sector 7 from being dropped and killing more people that he really wanted to think of. But this… this was a greater pain than he'd ever known.

"What do you know of suffering, Tuesti? Your life has been more pampered than that of Prince ShinRa. Speak not to me of letting things go when you don't understand them!"

The words hung in the air and the former Shin-Ra yes man could see the moment they were spoken that Vincent almost wanted to snatch them back. Of course, he could also see that little defiant gleam in crimson eyes daring him to prove the former Turk wrong. And to think all he'd said to provoke Valentine's reaction was to tell him to stop moping around, though in less gentle words.

Despite the fury, the indignation he felt at those words, Reeve was calm, and utterly so. To the right audience it would almost seem as if he were a highly annoyed Tseng, bordering on explosive, while dealing with a particularly suicidal Reno. One who knew him better, or Tseng for that matter, would realize that the total serenity of his face was merely a wall, repressing his desire to shoot the man before him. The pen that had been in his hand was placed so carefully down on the desk that it might have been a piece of paper thin glass, or an ancient parchment from Cetra days that could be broken at the wrong inhalation. With the same care and look of eternal patience he pushed back from the desk and rose, all in one fluid motion.

His path brought him to the door, and he carefully, calmly, told his secretary to reschedule all his appointments for the rest of the day. After that the president of the WRO slowly closed his office door so that it made no sound. Then, before Vincent could even back away or ponder just what was going on, the timid man rounded on him. Next thing the crimson clad man knew, he was laid flat out on the floor and the whole left side of his face was hurting like mad. All he could do was gingerly touch his cheek with his 'normal' hand and stare up at Reeve in shock.

The façade of calmness had melted from the man's face, replaced by the pain, and the fury, and the near hatred had held for the gunner laid out below him. There was no regret there, much less worry for Vincent's state of health.

"How dare you?" Reeve hissed through clenched teeth. "You, of all people, to say something like that. You're damn lucky I didn't do something a bit more lasting."

The fallen gunner was about to respond when Reeve went so far as to put a foot on his chest.

"I want you to leave Vincent. Leave here, leave me, and don't come back until you can live with your past like the rest of us. If Cloud can do it, if I can do it, then you sure as hell can."

With that Reeve removed his foot from Vincent's chest and returned to his desk. Vincent said nothing as he stood, nothing as he brushed off his clothes, and nothing as he moved to the door.

"Tell me, Reeve, what do you know of suffering?"

There was a bit of a sigh, and the man looked up from his work. "If you tried to walk a mile in my shoes… you'd stumble and fall."

Those ended up being the last words Reeve would ever give to Vincent.

That night a rogue, former Anti-ShinRa terrorist shot the president of the WRO, claiming him working with the last remaining ShinRa.

Only six beings attended the funeral. The one that really should have been there was not. There was what the others felt to be a weak excuse of 'walking a mile' in some shoes or another…