There aren't enough Madlax fictions out there. It was an EPIC series. Thought provoking and heartbreaking with some of the best music I've ever heard.

So anyway, couldn't resist writing something.

This is my first go at anything 'romantic'. Ever. And I'm a nervous WRECK when it comes to writing it, so reviews are a BIG LOVE.

Listening to Madlax OST to help me get in character, but I'm pretty sure I'll botch Limelda.

Insert EPIC PAGE LINE here.

An ever pressing shadow fell around her, shifting, growing stronger, fading once again. A light warmth stroked the soft skin of her cheeks, alighting them with an orange glow. The gentle scratch of hair made her jaw clench as the whispers of the air chilled her back with loneliness. Her pupils shrunk and grew with each passing moment, following the rhythm of her muted light source.

Movement shifted in a dark hallway, and the pale outline of a woman came into view. Limelda could feel the tension grow all throughout her body, but she bitterly reminded herself that the shine in Madlax's hands was that of a metal plate, not the glint of a gun. Part of her fell into a forced relaxation, and her subconscious tried to locate where she'd last left her pistol.

"Pasta again, Madlax?" she asked as the figure steadily became more visible the closer she came. A small smile lit on Limelda's face, her eyes studying the other with calm knowing. Yet, tonight, Madlax did not have the coy grin and devious appearance that left Limelda's heart begging on its knees. There was no playful response or knowing curl of the lips. In fact, the look she received sent an involuntary spasm cursing down her spine. It did not cover up the staleness of the air. There was something missing, and she couldn't quite put a finger on it.

The clatter of the plate wrung in her ears as the arm of a gun bearer shoved a meal in her direction. Limelda's brain put all the pieces together immediately. Madlax was upset, she had not made a dish of noodles, and Limelda had grown so accustomed to its fragrance. Dry, boring, and bland lay on the plate before her.

"A sandwich?" she dared ask the question, her eyes picking apart the bland object with defiance. Even in the many days she had not woven the hair of wheat and covered it with sauce, the eighteen year old would create a dish unique and rich in smell and flavor. Not, a boring sandwich.

There, Madlax had a slight expression change. No, brows furrowing was not what she'd wanted. "Have I disappointed you, Limelda Jorg?" There was a hint of playfulness there, but mostly it struck Limelda as an inescapable sorrow. This was not like a carefree Madlax she knew, and Limelda did not tolerate change well.

"Madlax," she said firmly, sliding her right hand over the fingers which still rested on a shining metal plate. She could feel the tendons in Madlax's hands tense, but the other had made no move to jerk away yet. Her head, however, shifted towards a candle dancing magic in her eyes. Limelda focused her own gaze there, creeping her own fingers softly up until they reached Madlax's wrist. She sensed the girl try to pull away but she grabbed instinctively and held her, refusing to break eye contact. Force was sometimes necessary. "Madlax, look at me." The tension in the air thickened, and finally Madlax's head turned. Limelda watched her swallow heavily, and stare back half-heartedly. She almost lost it and let go. "What is wrong? Tell me, right now," she demanded, narrowing her eyes, her grip tightening.

"Her sandwhich was awful," Madlax answered. Limelda never understood why Madlax always spoke around corners. She wanted a straight answer.

"Who?" Madlax simply answered with a hurt smile. "Who? Madlax. Who?" she said between clenched teeth.

"Vanessa Renee."

Her muscles unwound and Madlax's arm drifted from under her fingertips. For a moment there was complete silence, her own breathing became to disturbing for her to bear. The sound of her own life to morbid to understand, and she wondered how anyone could have ever been so crazy. The screeching sound of Madlax taking her seat broke the settling cloud of depression.

"Was that, did I-" From across a candlelit table a blonde haired teen nodded, shoving an oat-covered bread into her mouth. Limelda pretended not to notice the glint in the corner of her eye, or the plead written on her skin that screamed 'hold me'. Her heart was still too stoned over to know anything but gunpoint as a confession of love and understanding. It had always been how she'd read Madlax, but she was quickly learning why the girl had spared her life all those times. Nothing about Madlax was a killer. She could shoot, but beyond that understanding there was nothing.

Limelda, on the other hand, was a gun, or had once been one. Comfort was an act she would have to relearn, test, and reform. Madlax was not the person she wished to chisel it out on. Not with the kind killer in her current state.

What, though, had inspired the current state of being? Limelda picked up her dinner and bit hard, smashing her thoughts out of the lettuce and tomato bleeding over her tongue. It tasted particularly vile and Limelda knew that this, too, had been done on purpose. She wasn't sure how Madlax could stand eating such a concoction. Limelda didn't bother to chew all the way, she simply swallowed the dry failure. Madlax seemed transfixed by her own sandwich, her eyes existing on the brink of emotion and blankness. Unable to bear it, Limelda let out a long breath and bathed them both in darkness.

"Goodnight, Limelda," she heard Madlax whisper as she slipped away.

"Goodnight, Madlax," she answered to the melancholy shadow.

-

Madlax had dreamed, vivid, dark episodes. None of it was real, but it pounded against the side of her skull as though it was. The prickle of the raised hair on her skin was a reminder of what her dream had been.

Vanessa Renee.

This was the name of a young woman who had given a bullet to Limelda Jorg's skull. A final reminder that no one tried to take away Madlax's life. The shot made itself heard cleary in her head, ringing violently in her ears and Madlax had watched, her eyes filled with tears and her lips stinging with a memory of a soft kiss.

The real Madlax did not know the feeling of Vanessa's lips, but the dream had left a pounding in her chest. It had forced her to check on a sleeping Limelda and chased her away to the blowing winds of the outdoors. The chill did not bother her, but the stars did. They shone brightly against an empty background, smiling and laughing so joyfully she had to grin back, but they made her feel small and void of happiness. The real Vanessa had never fallen in love with a torn killer. The real Vanessa had only considered her a friend, but Madlax was a hopeless romantic. She grasped the emotion Vanessa had sent her way, and stretched every touch, every hug of comfort and turned into a desire which grew hot in her chest. She'd eaten the whole sandwich, because it had filled her up and let her hold onto the belief that maybe someone loved her in return.

Venessa Renee had, but not in the way Madlax could bear. She was not used to the unconditional faith of Vanessa's passion. She understood the voice of the young boy asking her on a date, the lust in the thick speech of an older man, and the insane desperation in Limelda. It was all an emotion near the lines of obsession. Yet, Vanessa's love could never grant her any of those. It was, for lack of a better word, innocence, and Madlax clung to it.

Her fingers traced along the cool surface of wood separating her from the ground of a quiet city. Her body leaned heavily against this, putting her full trust into a likely decaying structure. She could feel Limelda stir from behind her and listened to the soft shuffle of her feet as she came to close the room from the bitter breeze outside. Madlax could feel the gaze catch on her back, and there was a silence that stretched between them.

Limelda, no doubt, knew that Madlax had already noticed her, but still she waited. The woman liked to pretend she was oblivious, that perhaps she could still rise above Madlax and go once unnoticed. There were times that Madlax wished she could grant her the satisfaction, but if she could not live a lie then Limelda could not, either.

"Sorrow will not bring her back." Limelda was annoyed with her. Madlax smirked lightly. It was an emotion that perhaps spoke just a little more than desire.

"Are you going to watch the sun rise?" she asked, her eyes on the hint of a glow that was forming over far-stretching rooftops.

"It can not hurt," Jorg answered. Her bare feet slapped lightly as she took her place near Madlax clad only in the frail cloth of a long overshirt. Unlike her counterpart Limelda put no force on their wooden enclosure. Only her palms rested on the structure and her eyes gazed out into the steadily growing light. "If you watch me, you'll miss your treasured rising sun," the sniper mused allowed.

Madlax smiled gently, thoughts of Vanessa tamed. She'd been caught.

"I get to gaze at two beautiful things this morning. I feel sanctified." She watched as Limelda turned to look at her. She appeared slightly unnerved, but pleased. Having succeeded in her task, Madlax turned back towards her growing sunrise, feeling warmth begin to tickle through her cold fingers.

Red bathed the sky, alighting streaks among their vast cover of grey. It illuminated Limelda's sharp features, bringing out softness in her eyes. A rarity, but it reminded Madlax of the look that she so often had glimpsed in Vanessa's eyes. They were truly alike, the two of them, at least in Madlax's imagination.

"Did you and Vanessa watch the sun rise?" Limelda asked when the sky and begun to glow a golden peaceful hue.

"No, we watched the sun set," Madlax answered with a sweet smile, straightening from the balcony. She carefully worked her way towards Limelda, who eyed her warily. It didn't matter to Madlax, she hooked her arm around Limelda and rested her head against the soft muscle of a killer's shoulder, the smile never leaving her face. Limelda's body was warm, and the bare skin of her arms smooth. She smelled of freshly washed laundry, finely managed hair, and pasta.

"You didn't like your dinner?" Madlax joked, leaning her head back to gaze at Limelda. It was something she could never have done with Vanessa. Something she desperately wanted to do.

Her wishes were granted as the soft push of a hand started on her hip and worked its way around the lining of her stomach. She felt herself falter, her breaths coming heavier, deepening into a rhythm of which she was consciously aware. A tickle started in her throat and she closed her eyes, letting her lips part wider over white teeth.

"I felt like leftovers," came her reply and Madlax sighed, poking one eye open. "Clearly, it was a wise choice, that mess of food has clearly gotten to your head."

Madlax lifted her head and laughed long and hard.

"It may have, Limelda. It may just have." The first blinding light struck out from behind silhouetted buildings and Madlax broke away, her entrancement broken. She slightly regretted the comfort she left behind, but Limelda seemed to appreciate the distance, if only slightly.

"We have a long day ahead of us," Madlax chimed, dancing her way towards the inside of their home. She paused at the entrance to look back and offer Limelda a teasing look at her face.

"A long day, Madlax?" Limelda questioned with a raised brow from over her shoulder.

Madlax replied with a small gleeful chime.

-

When Madlax had said a long day, the first thing that had come across Limelda's mind had been pistols and death, not flowers and furniture among other pointless things.

She was reminded that Madlax was very much still a girl. A girl with yellow carnations overflowing the space in her arms and decorating her hair.

"What do you want for dinner tonight, hmm?" Madlax asked, taking a deep breath to absorb the scent of the yellowed petals. Limelda could smell their nauseating fumes from her location; she did not comprehend Madlax's desire to 'enjoy' it further. "I think I want pasta."

Limelda smirked, "You always want pasta." Except when she wanted sandwiches. Nasty, guilt-ridden sandwiches.

"Perhaps, calamari tonight, then," Madlax said with a grin and shuffled off towards a merchant who was displaying wares of bright clothing.

Limelda stopped in her tracks, her eyes set on the slightly damp cobblestones. Had she told Madlax it was her favorite dish? She had not recalled ever doing so. A girl Madlax may have been, but she was more mysterious than the eldest of people.

"This, matches your eyes perfectly," Madlax called from her newly discovered locale. "Here, I want to see how it looks on you."

Despite herself, Limelda smiled and ventured over to appease the child. With her hands full, Madlax could only send strange and distorted hints as to exactly which she wanted Limelda to hold out in front of her. They went through nearly twenty items of varying styles, colors, and customs before Limelda guessed that perhaps Madlax was being vague on purpose.

"They all do, how odd, guess you'll have to pick one then," Madlax told her with a wink. Limelda smirked. She'd been correct. "A smile, Limelda? Have you been eating sandwiches, too?" The merchant gave them a funny look.

"You will have to excuse the youth, they have livid imaginations," she said kindly, the weakness still residing on her mouth. Madlax gave her a dirty look, but both knew the other could rather care less. Happiness was apparent in both their features, and neither one was faking it.

She picked out something at random, not really needing anything fancy, but Madlax had insisted and who was she to deny the girl?

"To the market," Madlax chipped, heading off with fervor down the filling crowds of citizens. Limelda followed with new wardrobe in one hand and rubbing her temples in her other. "Long day, Limelda Jorg, long day!"

-

Lights burned power, power cost money, and money and power were traceable. So Madlax lit the darkness with candles. They were entrancing things that acted plays along the walls. You could never feel quite alone where they moved.

Steam wafted its way up and around her face, the scent of boiling ocean flooding her nasal passages. A white dress draped over her shoulders, hugging tightly around a well developed abdomen and falling lightly over thickened thighs. The flames took her in an orange embrace, and a million dark visages of herself looked back from the crème of the walls.

A tingle in her spine caused her to turn and look towards the exit. There, just barely visible among the faded candlelight, Limelda stood. A dress, for once, a deep blue hue embroidered with the faintest hint of black. Madlax would have preferred it cut lower above and higher below, but she could not deny the fact it looked stunning. She turned her attention back to the task at hand; she couldn't afford to destroy a perfectly good dinner staring in an inappropriate fashion.

"Wine?" came the question from behind her, the slight clink of glasses announcing that Limelda had discovered what Madlax had hidden so well. She smiled, the mischievous look shielded by her turned back. "Are you old enough to drink?"

Madlax turned, a red sauce spoon in her hand. "Are you here to tell me differently?" They both knew the cat and mouse game they were playing. Trying to pretend that nothing was going on, but Madlax knew that Limelda's obsession was far more than just a dominance complex, and Limelda knew that Madlax was desperate for love of any kind. Yet, whenever one took a step forwards, the other took two steps back. Limelda out of fear of being beaten once again, and Madlax out of some desperate notion that she could not break her need for Vanessa.

The cork popped, and the gentle pouring of liquid followed. Madlax paused to listen, her hand hovering over a nearly finished entrée. Taking a deep breath she shoved her fingers under the white porcelain and turned around. Limelda's gaze was in her direction, the neck of a wine glass resting between her middle and index finger. She swirled it lightly, as though she were bored and impatient.

"Sorry about the wait, madam," Madlax teased, whisking the steaming calamari towards the waiting party and gracefully depositing it before her.

"It's about time," came the playful retort.

They discussed Limelda's life, as they often did. Her rise to becoming a great sniper, the death of her parents and the fact that in war, nearly everyone is an orphan. They spoke of weapons, of the most gentle way to kill, but one question stood out most in Madlax's mind, for it was something neither dared to speak of.

"What was Vanessa like?" Limelda broke Madlax's trance laden speech.

Madlax sat back, setting down her nearly empty wine glass, and examined the shifting shadows of their barren ceiling. There was a long, strained silence. Without changing the direction of her eyes she answered.

"Like a friend," Madlax answered, her heart flooding with warmth as she closed her eyes. A friend.

Limelda said nothing but the words, "Oh," and they, too, whispered lightly to Madlax's soul.

"If you're done," Madlax spoke softly, turning her attention towards Limelda once more, "you should clean up." She had her characteristic coy smile spread across her face. She was sure Limelda had not been expecting to have to do work tonight.

-

The sound of the running faucet ceased and Limelda twisted the crystal handle off. The sweet taste of dinner still rested in her mouth, and she savored its flavor, ignoring the soapy feeling that now coated her fingers and palms. It was only fair that Madlax had made her scrub the dishes, but it did not mean that she had enjoyed it. Flicking her fingers free of any residue water, she made her way back towards the wax and carnation coated table where Madlax rested, her eyes dreamily following every movement she made.

Choosing to ignore the flirtatious individual, she stole her way to her side of the table with the full intention of sitting and pondering. It was enough for her to revel in Madlax's angelic presence.

Unforunately, that particular presence was now astoundingly close.

"Ma-" she was cut off as the gentle press of fingers covered her mouth. A hand tiptoed around her waistline, each touch sending a small tingle through her muscles. She felt herself pulled forwards, her body tight towards the gentle rise and fall of Madlax's chest. She could feel her own breathing involuntarily deepen and she leaned in closer to hear the other's heartbeat against her own. The heat of Madlax's breath intertwined with her own and flushed her cheeks. The tip of a nail slid down her jawline and she dared a glance towards those addicting eyes.

"Time for dessert." The words tickled her ear, but Limelda didn't have time for 'dessert', she couldn't bear the wait any longer. Dragging Madlax in until she felt her lungs would burst she met the dark blonde's lips with her own. The response from Madlax was quick and violent, and it left an ache on the tip of Limelda's tongue. But all good things in Lemilda's world quickly come to an end, and she soon found an endless void between her and that sweet sensation.

Madlax was watching her intently, her eyes scanning over every inch of her face and very slowly a grin parted over her features.

"I think I've had a bit too much wine," Madlax mused, slipping away, the whiteness of her smile glinting amongst the flickering lights as she disappeared from view. Dizziness overcame Limelda and she grasped a chair handle, sinking into its seat. If their game had truly ended the nights to come were going to prove to be very interesting.