Standard Dislcaimer: I don't own FF7, Vincent, Tifa, etc.

A/N: Updated 7.31.12 I started this story six years ago and I mean to finish it. In order to accomplish this goal I have gone back and rewritten some parts and added some more. I've got about 20 chapters written, and intend to update once a week. So if you read the original, please come back and read it again, and if this is the first time, please enjoy! Any feedback would be appreciated.

Chapter 1: Tifa's Blood

Vincent could remember the first time he smelled Tifa's blood. It was immediately after he had joined Avalanche's party in Nibelheim after awakening from a thirty year slumber. The Nibel mountains were filled with dangerous creatures mutated from their exposure to mako. The wolves, which had always been dangerous in their own right, were no exception.

It was a lone wolf, deranged and frothing at the mouth that snuck up on them and attacked. It struck at Tifa first who stood off by herself lost in thought, no doubt, still troubled by the ghost-like quality of the town that was hers in sight down to the smallest detail, but was nothing more than a Shinra cover up. Its sharp teeth shredded the delicate exposed skin of one of her long legs releasing a sharp metallic odor into the air that Vincent immediately identified as blood—Tifa's blood—and the crazed beast would have tried for more if a simultaneous kick from a hard metal-tipped boot and an precisely aimed bullet to the head from Vincent's Quicksilver had not quickly picked it off.

Cloud had anxiously rushed to her side to see if she was all right, feeling somewhat guilty that he too had been so lost in his own thoughts of their shared hometown that he had not been able to protect her. But Tifa had already touched the glowing green restore materia orb on one gloved hand and the jagged tear of bloodied flesh magically healed in a verdant haze. "I'm all right," she told several pairs of concerned eyes, and they all could see that she was. So they continued on the journey chasing after the black-caped man they believed to be Sephiroth.

One morning several days later, Vincent's heightened olfactory skills picked up the same iron scent emanating from the tent that Tifa shared with Yuffie and Aeris. He watched her slowly climb out of the tent with a soft groan and a small hand unconsciously resting on her stomach. He saw her go into the woods in the area they had marked off as the latrine area.

When she returned a few minutes later, Vincent could see from her expression that she was still feeling unwell, and smell the blood that clung to her body. For long moments he debated whether he should go up to her and find out what was wrong. He could not imagine that Tifa would keep it hidden if something were seriously wrong with her, but there was a part of him that desperately needed reassurance from her. He did not want to think about why it was that the dark-haired young woman that he had only known for a short period mattered to him so much already.

Having no desire to see her pass out or worse from an improperly treated injury, Vincent decided to walk up to Tifa as she poured herself a drink of water from one of the canteens. "Are you all right, Tifa?" Vincent asked, his concerned crimson eyes glued to her face, which seemed paler than usual. She was obviously trying to conceal her pain.

"Yes! I'm fine! There's no need to be concerned," she tried to reassure him, but her averted eyes told him that she was hiding something.

He stepped in closer and told her in low whisper, "I know you're hiding something. And I can smell…blood…on you…" Vincent was reasonably sure that the others in the party were aware of his enhanced abilities, as he had more than once warned them of impending danger due to his scotopic vision, and they had become acquainted with his transformation into the horrifying Galian Beast during battle. "Are you sure that you have not injured yourself beyond the capabilities of your restore materia?"

Tifa's mortified gaze flew to his face then and her pale cheeks reddened with embarrassment. "You can…smell my…blood?" she croaked out.

"Yes. It concerns me."

"I'm not injured, Vincent! I assure you. My…bleeding…" she let out in a horrified whisper, "is completely normal. Nothing you should be concerned with!" Then she spun away, putting down the mess kit, and darted into the woods until she was out of sight. But he could still smell her, and the pungent scent of her blood. Vincent stood there perplexed trying to think of reason why she should be bleeding so steadily, and then it hit him.

"Don't worry about the smell, you'll get used to it." Nanaki tried to reassure him, understanding where he was coming from since he too had a sensitive nose.

Vincent silently regarded him for a few moments and then nodded. "There are so many things I have to become accustomed to…" He looked down at his prosthetic left hand which wasn't really a hand anymore, but rather a claw. He studied how the gold mythril reflected the morning light, reminding him again that he was not quite human. Not anymore.

Vincent wasn't ever able to ignore the smell of Tifa. He could use her unique odors to gage her mood. She was usually the most relaxed and comfortable when her hair was clean and smelled of rainwater and shampoo. He could tell when she was afraid by the sudden sharpness of her sweat. And he smelled her sadness through her silent tears. He was surprised one day by the scent of her arousal when he knew that it wasn't the blond warrior who made her feel that way.

And now when she bled it told him of her sadness and made him feel guilty again for the sacrifice that she made to be with him. She would always reassure him that she loved him and that it didn't matter that she would never be the mother to his children, but his anger would burst into flame anew at the reminder of what Hojo had taken from him, and in turn had taken from Tifa.

Every time that Tifa's blood ran freely Vincent knew that he was one day closer to losing her.