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    Back to the songfics!! This is "Cigarette" by one of my favorite bands, Splendor. I highly recommend their album, Halfway Down the Sky. Anyway, the lyrics were written by Waymon Boone. I really love this song, and when I first really sat there and listened to the lyrics, I almost fell out of my chair cause it was so perfect for Reeve! I knew I had to write a songfic for it.
 

    She was to blame for this. This nasty habit. Now whenever he was bored or lonely or nervous, mostly nervous, he would light the thin roll and lean back in his chair. He couldn't stand the smell of it, just like the stench of her perfume made him ill. But it wasn't all her fault....

    How he used to love this company...once he had been so happy here. Now the initial feelings had all but fled him, and left him with only a trembling guilty conscience weighed down with worry...worry he was doing something terribly wrong with each second he spent here.

    And it wasn't just her on this one. It was the President too. And Heidegger. The image of the scar faced man beating Tseng...the very thought of it made him flinch. He put the cigarette to his lips and took another drag on it. This is it. My last one, he weakly promised himself. But a voice in the back of his brain quietly urged with whispered words.

    He shook another out of the pack and lit it quickly, fingers shaking. Feebly he tried to fill his mind with something else, but more stinging words came back to him...

    "You're in charge of this city, Reeve. No one else."

    "Aren't you proud, Reeve? So many people are counting on you."

    "They have you to thank for this, Reeve. You gave Shinra a home when you designed rooves over their heads."

    Pushing black hair off his forehead, he took another quick puff. Everyone's dreams were on his shoulders. Everyone's failures were his fault. After all *he* built the city. He designed the foundation, and if it crumbled he would receive the blame. Sometimes the pressure resting on him was so overwhelming he just had to crawl away into a small, dark place for awhile and cry

    And when he couldn't....there was always his pack of cigarettes.

    Right now he needed the drugs so he wouldn't collapse in a fit of tears. It was the only way to keep his sanity sometimes...

    What was the worst that could happen? That the smoke would corrupt his lungs and kill him? Well everyone had to go sometime.

    And death didn't scare him at all. Then he could be with his mother, whom he missed terribly...

    And if he was dead he wouldn't be part of this any more, and he wouldn't suffer...

    How badly he had wanted to be like them, to learn from them and be accepted as one of them... Now, deep within the depths of his shredded soul, he knew that his conscience would never let him. He couldn't lie and steal and use violence like they did. The people he had once stood so proud besides made him violently ill now. To think the people thought he too was like them....just another heartless executive...

    A sudden knock at the door shook him as he reached for another one of the foul smelling objects. With a trembling breath he brought it to his lips and called, "come in." His voice was hoarse, and he coughed to clear it.

    Tseng, the young Turk, slid inside carefully closing the door behind him. "Hello, Reeve."

    He leaned back in his chair. "Is there a problem, Tseng?"

    The young man stood just looking at him in shock a moment. Then it turned to disgust. Obviously he didn't enjoy the idea of Reeve smoking. He just said, "don't you know?"

    The older man flicked some ashes off his cigarette. "No...." lowering his voice he whispered, "mostly because I don't want to..." and brought the substance to his lips.

    He said something bad. Something he didn't like. So he just pretended he was listening, relaxing as he smoked away his existence. There was no way he could hear any negative news. Not now.

    "....that's the report that was filed," the young man stopped speaking and simply stared. "Reeve?" He blinked. "Are you listening?" He took a step up to the desk. "Reeve," he asked, "are you okay?"

    He just nodded, reaching for another. "Yes, sir. Perfectly fine. Are you?"

    A frown fell upon his lips, a look of genuine concern sweeping over his features. "You know those are bad for you. And you just smoked one."

    "Sit down, Tseng," he suggested calmly, hand shaking as he gestured to the chair across from him. "You seem rattled."

    The young man sat, black eyes narrowing slightly. "You're the one who's rattled, Reeve." Picking up the half empty carton and holding it up as evidence he continued, "how many did you poison yourself with before I came in here, Reeve?"

    The older man snatched the box back. "It's none of your business."

    "As your friend, I think it is." Slowly his hand covered Reeve's, which was still gripping the carton. "What happened to you?" His eyes pleaded. "Reeve...."

    Reeve shook the younger man's hand off and avoided eye contact. "I'm not someone to look up to, Tseng. I never was."

    The young man squinted, trying to see into his friend. "What are you talking about?"

    Turning the chair to the wall, he ordered, "leave me alone."

    A momentary silence passed before the words, "all right," fell upon the older man's ears. He heard the squeaking leather as Tseng stood, then the words, "but I'm taking these with me."

    Reeve voiced a protest and whirled around but it was too late, and the cigarettes were gone.

    He held onto that last one as long as he could, nursing it down to crumbling a she's as thought his life force was dependent on it's survival.

    He thought of better things as he drove the butt into his ashtray. There was nothing left to soothe him now, and he sat perfectly still, breathing shallowly and trying to keep his emotions bottled up inside him. Pleasant things...pleasant thoughts...anything to keep his unsettled mind off Shinra and Midgar.

    Mother. Oh mother. Reeve held his head in his hands as the most painful thought of all slipped into his head. Oh how sorry I am...I was once so proud to have named his city after you. But it doesn't seem like a city so much any more....more like a concentration camp. Can you ever forgive me, mother? It can only get worse...

    They drag me down with them. I have been grouped with them, but I will never truly be one of them. I'd only hate myself if I was. It's too late for me to escape, mother. But I won't be like them. I'll never do the things they do. I can promise you that much.

    But it's like quicksand...always sinking furthur...already there's no room for escape...will I die here? Will I die with this weight on my back and guilt in my heart. How much longer till it drags me to the ground, mother? He pulled at his hair, eyes squeezing the world out.

    When I die, will you welcome me? When that hazardous smoke claims my last breath will you embrace me? Will I even see you or will I go straight to hell? If I do....will you be sad, mother, or will you think I deserved it. Do you even believe me? I say I'm sorry so often...I can only hope that you're listening.

    A knock at his office door made him jump and running his fingers through his hair he cleared his throat and called, "come on."

    Tseng again, looking timid. He entered quietly and placed the carton back on the desk. "I'm sorry," he apologized, stepping back. "I shouldn't have. I was out of line."

    Take them back, he wanted to scream. Take them back so I won't be tempted to kill myself... Instead he said, "thank you for bringing them back."

    "I can't help interfering," he said.

    The reply was cold. "It's none of your business."

    The Turk grew visibly tense, upset that Reeve would ever say such a thing. "Yes it is," he hissed firmly, angry tears brimming in his black eyes. "You're my friend."

    Reeve kept his neutral expression.

    Since he received no answer, Tseng turned away. "If you'll excuse me, sir." His words chilled the air as he exited.

    He wouldn't understand. He doesn't know what it's like to be down here...

    He picked up a cigarette and lit it unwillingly, fingers trembling.

    I've failed.

    I let my only friend down.

    I built a nightmare.

    I killed myself.

    I ruined my mother's name.

    Reeve took another drag on his cigarette and knew he would finish the pack. Something inside him needed it. With every breath...