Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing.

A/N: Err… Yeah I'm still alive… and I'm going through a writing dry spell. I've been working on Lonely Day and White Shadows and everything but it's not coming along that well. This idea has been bugging me so I wanted to write it. Maybe a new story will help me start writing? We can only wait and see. Sorry!

And I guess I'm obsessed with Duo POV. It's just fun in his head. All weird thoughts and runon sentences and stuff. Hehe

Well... let's see if anyone likes this one...

A Little's Enough

Prologue

20th Jan 2008

Hello! My name is Duo Maxwell. I, my friends, am what is called a nothing. A nobody. I suck at everything I do and I don't care which makes me suck even more which makes me care even less and well… you get the point.

I am a temp. I do small jobs here and there where I get paid minimum wage by the hour and then going back to my dingy little apartment in the middle of no man's land. Yeah… that's what I call my area. Only prostitutes and smugglers and gangs live in my area. The apartment came cheap so I took it. Nevermind that half the time I can't open the door and have to climb in through the fire escape.

But I love my place. You know why? Because it's mine. It's a single bedroom apartment with a small kitchen and a small washroom. The living room I've turned into a bedroom and the bedroom into a studio. Why? Because I wanted it that way.

The walls have water stains on them, the bathroom does not get hot water and the stove cannot be switched on. Wait, that's a lie. You can switch the stove on, but you'll burn the apartment building down.

My landlord doesn't give a shit, and frankly I don't either. It's not like I have enough money to buy groceries which then I have to cook. Technically, that stove belongs more to the spiders living in the oven than to me. They use it more. It's their house.

I own three pairs of shitty but DAMN THEY'RE COMFORTABLE jeans. Two shirts and once jacket for those cold days. I have a bed, but if you do anything more than sleep on it it'll collapse. As it is when I sit on it, I feel the wooden legs bucking under my weight. Add anything more to it than my weight and it'll probably break down. I have a lamp. It works. End of statement.

I have a computer that is my life. I take care of it more than I take care of myself to be honest. Except my hair. I get the best damn shampoo there is for my hair. I love my braid. Yes, I have a braid. And yes I am a man. Why do I have a braid then? Because I wanted one. Fuck you.

In my spare time, which I have lots of, I paint. I suck at that too. The most expensive painting I sold went at twenty five bucks. The canvas and paints in total cost me about eleven dollars. I patted myself on my back and said 'good job, fourteen dollars profit.'

I have a couch. I sleep on it a lot. It's by far the most stable thing in my apartment. It can stand up to ANYTHING. Believe me, I've pretty much tested its limits and I've learned it has none. That doesn't mean it looks good. It looks like shit. Literally. It's brown with black burn marks all over it and it doesn't smell all that good either. But it works.

I'm twenty-one years old and going nowhere. I have one best friend. My dear old rich ass Quatre. He's a millionaire. He may even be a billionaire, never asked him. He has offered me financial help several times in the past but I refused. I have pride. I hate stepping on my pride.

I have one obsession. Mr. Heero Yuy. He's a god. A GOD! He has dark brown hair with the most amazing blue eyes and the sexiest voice. It's husky and deep and… yeah… it's my orgasmic heaven. He has a beautifully golden tanned skin and the most gorgeous lean body. He is also a model. He is also out of my league. Way, way, way out.

I have his posters all over my apartment. I have every magazine he ever had a photo in. I have downloaded every interview he has ever given, which are not that many. He's a little on the quiet side. I suppose. I've never actually talked to him. Just obsessed over him. A lot. From afar.

I have painted him the most. Those are the paintings I don't sell, because I just can't make him look good in them. I suck remember?

Those paintings are my dirty little secret. I hide them.

"Hey Mac, anything for me to do today?" I said rather loudly knowing that old man MacDonald was hard of hearing. He ran a little pawn shop and he was an old, old man. He never told anyone his age but I'd guess he was a hundred and three.

"Oh… oohhh…" Mac drawled his toothless jaw quivering with the sounds. "Duo?" He squinted his eyes to see me better. "No, no go away. No work for you today. No work. No work." He said distractedly as he busied himself with staring at his collection of knick knacks placed rather randomly on shelves behind the counter.

"Mac." I said trying to get his attention again. "Mac? Mac! MAC!" I yelled and he tilted his head a little to show he was listening to me. "Let me do something! I'll dust the shelves! How about that?"

"Dust? You dust I pay and then it gets windy and dusty and the shelves get dusty and you dust and I pay and…" He kept going around in circles until I threw my hands up and left the shop, the bell above the door tinkling merrily at my departure.

Shoving my slightly cold hands into my jacket pockets I tilted my head down and watched the ground as I walked. This was my 'I mean no trouble' walk and it made me practically invisible as I shuffled along the damp and perpetually grey world. Even the sun refused to come out that day. I kept walking until I had walked all the way to the downtown area with the big shops and the tall buildings towering over sharply dressed men and women moving mechanically through the bustling city.

I loved the downtown. I would stand and stare at the tall glass buildings, the grey cloudy sky reflecting off the mirrored surfaces, the black and silver cars rushing down dark asphalt roads for hours sometimes. I went and leaned against a fountain that shot out jets of water in patterns looking ahead at a shop window which had TV screens stacked up in the display. The news was on. I watched disinterested until a very familiar face popped on the screen.

"Heero Yuy?" I said his eyes widening. I pushed myself off the fountain edge and walked quickly to the display window watching the news.

"Earlier this morning police apprehended renowned model Heero Yuy in his Mississippi Estate. He has been found guilty of the murders of international models Armand Zoucks, Loren Cross and Sang Walker. Mr. Yuy was the last person to see them alive and has been unable to come up with a suitable alibi as to his location on the night of the murders. The police have found clothes with the victims' blood on them on his property and he has been taken into custody. The trial date has not been set as of yet…" The lady explained and I felt faint. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't have killed them! This was ridiculous! And why would he kill them anyway?

The show cut to a footage of Heero Yuy being handcuffed and forced into a police van, the brutish police officer almost manhandling him.

I needed to do some research.

With that thought in mind I ran all the way home to boot up my computer and tax my sucky little dial up internet connection. A quick search told me the basics of what had happened. Turned out the three models had been murdered last week and Mr. Heero Yuy had been the last one to be seen with them. According to the mortician, the death had taken place at the time that Heero Yuy had been suspected to be with them. As of yet he has been unable to come up with an alibi as to his location at the time of murders. His clothes were found in his house soaked with blood and apparently he had resisted arrest.

This didn't look good.

Heero couldn't have killed all those models! Why would he?

I sat back pulling on my hair lightly as I stared at the small clip of Heero being pushed into a police car. Even in that tiny moment he could see the stubborn set of his shoulders as he refused to go into the car willingly. The police officer actually had to put a hand on his head to push him down into the car.

I felt a small smile playing at my lips at the clip even though I had no reason to smile. Heero didn't look like a pushover. Far from it.

Several weeks after that, the subject of the trial of Heero Yuy was on everybody's lips. He had denied every charge, claiming 'not guilty' for everything but even his lawyer had trouble proving his innocence and in the end… the jury had decided.

Guilty.

I had howled at the TV screens in the window display at the shop when it happened. I had watched the live coverage of the event, the cameras trained on the image of Heero being escorted out of the courtroom by police officers… and then it happened. As the crowd watched on Heero punched the police officer closest to him and dodged one that jumped at him trying to restrain him. He darted from person to person, running so fast that the police were unable to shoot him down. He dodged several more attempts to tackle him to the ground and he managed to break into the crowd. The people parted before him giving him ample space to run. The camera was only able to follow him as he disappeared into the trees beside the courtroom followed by a mass of police officers and the crowd going nuts.

I gaped, plastered to the glass that separated me and the TV screens.

Heero Yuy was being chased.

Heero Yuy had escaped.

Heero Yuy was a fugitive.

Oh god this was ridiculous.

A/N: So like it? Don't like it? Hate it?