Bona Fide is part of the GWCU: The Gundam Wing Cinematic Universe

This series of stories places our two (or more) favorite Gundam Wing characters in movie "universes". Not following the original story of the movies, but borrowing their worlds, events and/or premises.

For a comprehensive introduction to the concept of the GWCU - as well as an up-to-date list of movie adaptations that are completed, in progress or planned - view my profile page.

Bona fide

A GWCU fanfiction based on The Proposal (2009)

PART ONE

"I see your racism, and I raise you… moral bankruptcy." The bettor paused for dramatic effect.

Duo snorted into his coffee. "You play the moral bankruptcy card every time."

"Why wouldn't I, when it wins me the game every time?"

"Okay, so what did he do this time?"

"He is defending Arloft enterprises against a class act suit of over a hundred kids who have permanent cognitive damage due to lead poisoning, because Arloft didn't meet the safety standards for their plant, up the road from a fucking pre-school," Enmar boasted, sounding entirely too proud even though he knew how wrong it was.

"My boss told me if my surgical residency doesn't work out for me, I should try my hand at picking cotton!" Nick reiterated.

"One hundred and seven kids, Nick."

Duo watched the exchange between the two of them barely stifling his laughter with his to-go cup of coffee. They continued to bicker until the vendor intervened, after dutifully serving three other patrons.

"Come on guys," said the man. "Who's it gonna be?"

Nick and Enmar both looked at Duo.

"… Fine," he drawled and he stepped forward to hand the vendor enough cash to cover the order of four coffees. He winked at the older man and thanked him for his patience and the excellent coffee, then he followed his two friends as they slowly meandered to the other side of the park.

"What happened to our reigning champion of My-Boss-is-the-Most-Horrible-Person-in-the-World?" Enmar wondered.

Duo shrugged evasively and pretended to gulp down more coffee, while there was only a tiny sip left. He didn't feel like playing the game. Even though they played every day, since the three of them first met by chance at the vendor on 5th avenue by Washington Square Park, two years ago.

Enmar graduated Summa Cum Laude from the NYU School of Law on the other end of the park and now worked as an associate for a top-tier corporate law firm uptown.

Nick – Nicholas J. Williams the second, son to Nicholas J. Williams the first, most affluent African American businessman in Manhattan – was a surgical resident at Mount Sinai hospital, a hop and a skip and a metro ride away from his parents' 5th avenue penthouse.

Duo… well… Duo was assistant to the curator of the Mulls Kinney Art Gallery, directly overlooking Washington Square Park, and that fourth cup of coffee was for his boss, Heero Yuy.

The worst man in the world.

The game the three of them played every morning had been his idea. It stopped being funny yesterday evening, ten minutes after closing.

"Come on," Enmar prodded. "Yuy didn't do anything all day yesterday worth mentioning? Is he going soft on you?"

"Or going hard on you?" Nick chimed in, with a dirty look that left nothing to the imagination.

The two of them kept pestering him as they neared the subway entry where their paths would split and Duo was certain he wasn't going to tell them anything about what had happened last night. Until all of a sudden he stopped dead in his tracks on the sidewalk and when his friends realized five steps later that he had fallen behind and looked over their shoulder, Duo blurted:

"I might go to prison for five years because of my boss." The admission knocked the air right out of him.

Before asking any more questions, Nick produced a twenty from the breast pocket of his scrubs, to cover the cost of the coffee, conceding that Duo had won the game after all. Then: "What the fuck happened?"

Last night

Once the diplomat and his delegation had been guided out through the doors of the gallery, Duo released a deep breath and with some dread he dared to stick his nose in his armpit to have a sniff. Not too bad, he concluded, he mostly just smelled like the receptionist's floral deodorant that he had asked to borrow in this case of emergency.

The French diplomat had come into the gallery two hours earlier, trailed by body guards and superfluous staff, wanting to be hosted by the renowned curator of the prestigious Mulls Kinney gallery. Only the curator was nowhere to be found and Duo couldn't call Brian Mulls or Sondra Kinney to tell them that; he had to cover for his boss, who had been missing in action since last Monday. Duo had worked for the man for over two years and Heero had never taken a vacation, or even a personal day, in all that time – and so neither had Duo. For him to be absent, unannounced, for three days, was so bizar it might have warranted a missing person's report, if not for the single message Heero sent Duo on Monday morning:

Cover for me.

Duo had been busting his ass, hosting buyers – kissing ass -, coordinating the arrival of new pieces, overseeing the installation of the Peacecraft "light sculptures" and meeting with nervous new-coming artist Quatre Winner to pick six of his pieces for his exposition, even when the self-deprecating blonde thought only one of his works was worthy. In the meantime, he had to juggle the staff, organize the political fundraiser for next week and deal with walk-in wannabe artists begging for some recognition, in addition to rescheduling all of Heero's appointments and answering his calls, which was is actual job.

The French diplomat was a most unwelcome surprise. Made even more awkward when the man was clearly looking to buy, but Duo was not authorized to make any sales.

Every morning that week, Duo had come into work with a cup of coffee for his boss, expecting him to have returned. But he still hadn't been there.

Duo was starting to panic when he went back up to Heero's office to see there was another missed call from Brian Mulls himself. The gallery owner had been calling all day and Duo had alternated lying with simply not answering to avoid having to set a concrete meeting between the owner and his hard-working, perfectionist, always-there-when-he-needed-him, prized curator, whom MoMA attempted to steal from the gallery on the regular.

As was becoming of a good assistant, he made yet another note of a missed call before figuring he should find some time to catch up on those unread emails in his boss' inbox.

He ran into the same problem he'd been having all week… Heero was fluent in seven languages and Duo was barely proficient in one. There were Japanese, Chinese, Spanish, French, Italian and German emails that were all Greek to him. He moved them to a folder labeled "To Do" and then an automated message popped up.

Inbox nearly full. You have 4034 of 4048 MB in use.

"Shut the fuck up!" He snapped, making vulgar gestures at the Mac screen. "Shut. The fuck. Up." He closed the window, but another email came in and the message popped up again.

Inbox nearly full. You have 4046 of 4048 MB in use.

"I shouldn't even be doing this. I shouldn't even be here. This is fucking insane." He pushed his chair back, away from the desk, before he would punch a hole in the expensive screen. He wasn't even really an assistant. Not really. But God, did that sound dumb to even think. Just as dumb as all those times he used to say "I'm not really a waiter."

He was an artist – a starving artist, if not for this gig. He wanted to have his work on the walls of places like the Mulls Kinney gallery. He wanted French diplomats to stop in front of his pieces and stare in contemplation and awe. He wanted to leave something beautiful and memorable, in an ugly world where people cherish hardly anything.

The only reason he even had this job, was because the day he decided to come grovel at the feet of the curator of the Mulls Kinney gallery, after seeing a picture of him in the New York Times, happened to be day the man was interviewing for a new assistant. And Gisele at reception – bless her big heart in her big bosom – didn't quite understand and lumped him together with the other applicants.

Heero figured out his true intentions the moment Duo stepped into his office. The man asked to see his work and Duo gave him the USB drive he had with him, as his work was completely digital. Heero had spent all of ten seconds looking at over two dozen images and never commented on any of it. Duo was dismissed and he went home defeated. But Gisele called him the next day to tell him he was expected to start the next Monday at eight.

For about six months he had no idea why Heero had hired him, because it was clear the man was not pleased at all with his abilities as an assistant. Then he learned that Heero never managed to keep an assistant longer than a few months. They all quit on him, because he was insufferable. He was banking on Duo not giving up so easily, because Heero knew there was more that Duo wanted out of this. He was abusing that drive to get his work out there and make the necessary connections in the industry to make that happen, to motivate him.

"Abusing" because two years later Duo was still an artist in his own head only. Heero had never given him the break he was hoping for and the man had been nothing but a condescending prick every single day.

Every time Duo considered quitting, he didn't. Because it meant admitting that all that time and effort had been completely wasted. Instead he nourished the illusion that "tomorrow could be the day". Or the day after that. Or the day after that…

Your inbox is full. Please clear message to free available memory.

He was starting to smell his own sweat now. He was done. So done. He hadn't slept in three days and had barely managed to eat anything. Pure anxiety had kept him going. But he was exhausted now. "I'm quitting," he said to himself. "I quit. I have to quit."

"Put it in writing and leave it on my desk."

Duo jumped out of his seat – and nearly out of his skin - as his boss came strutting into the office. He stammered something along the lines of "I wasn't being serious" in response to the man's calm monotone.

"Too bad." In fluid motions Heero draped his cashmere coat over the back of the chair Duo had vacated and placed his leather briefcase by the left leg of the desk. His five-thousand dollar suit fit him impeccably, as every single one of them did. It was a black ensemble; black slacks and a black jacket with military-style buttons down the front and upright collar, showing only a hint of the black, silk shirt underneath. It was pouring rain outside, but there wasn't a single drop on him, like the weather just didn't affect him.

Duo felt like cursing up a storm. It was completely unfair for the man to have thrown him into the deep end like that without even the slightest hint of gratitude, but it wasn't exactly unexpected. "Where have you been?" He did demand to know.

Heero made eye-contact for the first time. Those cobalt blue eyes made the temperature in the room drop. "Just because I left you in charge for a couple days, doesn't mean you are the boss, Duo. I do not owe you an explanation."

Duo clenched his jaw and his fists and headed for the door. "You're welcome," he muttered under his breath.

"Oh, did I forget to thank you for installing the light sculptures in the wrong order? Or signing off on the poor job they did polishing the floor of the left wing? Or hanging the Gabo facing the window? Or placing the Dru by the Margaret?"

Duo turned to face him. As combative as he felt, he couldn't speak his mind. This job was the only thing he had and the only way to achieve his dream – and make rent. Tomorrow could be the day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. He had invested too much to throw in the towel now. And, frankly, Heero had thrown worse punches than that. The man was merciless. Moreover, although he was from Japan, he had studied in England, giving him the kind of sophisticated accent, however subtle, that made his insults even more scathing because they somehow sounded more valid.

"I saw all of that on my way from the entry to my office," Heero continued. "I can only imagine what other blunders I'll unearth as I try to undo the mess you've made of this gallery."

To think he had actually spent the past three days wishing for Heero to come back as soon as possible. Now he just wished his boss had fallen off the edge of the world. He swallowed his pride, there was so little left, it wasn't hard to stomach. "Brian Mulls has called for you eight times today. He wants to see you."

Heero redirected his gaze to his computer screen. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him you were busy, but that you would come by his office as soon as possible."

"He doesn't know I've been away?"

"I don't think so."

Heero pursed his lips. "You don't think so…" He covered the mouse with his hand and scrolled through the endless list of emails. "I thought I instructed you to cover for me."

Duo flared his nostrils.

"Is he still here, or did he leave already?"

Duo said flatly: "I don't think so."

Heero didn't even acknowledge the sarcasm. "I guess I'll go upstairs and see if he's still here." He clicked on an email, typed one of his characteristic one-word replies, clicked 'send' and then rose from his seat. He brushed by Duo in the hallway and motioned for his assistant to follow him when he was already at the end of the hall.

Attuned to Heero's minimal gestures, Duo leapt into action and followed with quickened pace to catch up to him. Mulls office was only three flights of stairs up, but they took the elevator anyway.

The first four floors of the building was the gallery itself. A lot of real-estate in Manhattan. The gallery was known for giving each piece plenty of space, rather than cramming too much work on one wall. The floor above were offices for the head curator – Heero -, sales representatives, marketing, administration and other staff. Then there were two more floors of storage and a separate floor which the gallery rented out as art studio, to select featured artists. The top floor was where the owners Mulls and Kinney had their offices, as well as a conference room the size of a ballroom. Kinney was hardly ever in New York, but Mulls liked throwing his weight around.

"Why am I…-" Duo wondered in the tight space.

"He's going to want to know why the gallery looks like a mess and why I haven't stepped in. I'm going to tell him that I was training you so you could take over more of my responsibilities."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Heero strode out.

"Am I?" Duo wondered, falling in step behind him.

"No. Hence why you're coming with me, so you can apologize for your failure."

Duo step faltered as he struggled to contain his resentment for the other man.

The door to Mulls' office was open and the two of them walked in.

Duo was surprised to see not just Mulls, but Kinney too. Mulls was seated behind his desk, whilst Kinney had a glass of whiskey in her hand and looked out the window at Washington Square Park and the lit-up buildings surrounding it.

The two owners acknowledged the curator as he stood in the middle of the room. Duo was being completely ignored.

"You called," Heero started, with that deep, boring tone that made Duo want to punch him. "I think I know what this is about."

"I trust you do," said Kinney, finishing her drink before setting down her glass.

"I made a judgment error. It won't-"

To Duo, it was refreshing how Mulls silenced the curator with a simple raise of his hand.

"You cannot downplay the severity of your mistake, Heero. You will regret the consequences this has for you and the gallery."

"It's a minor-"

The Japanese man was silenced again, by Kinney this time. Duo stood by grinning.

"I'm sorry, Heero, but there is nothing we can do. We can't sit around waiting for the axe to fall. We have to get ahead of this and find a new curator for the gallery. If you have any loyalty to us at all, you will help us find your replacement."

Duo blanched and his grin contorted. Was Heero being fired? Did Duo really fuck up that badly? Who cares if the Dru clashes with the Margaret? Two bulky movers can have either of the marble sculptures moved over to a different wing by tomorrow. He dared to glance at Heero. The man was expressionless as always.

"Excuse me? My replacement?"

"We got a call from the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services today, Heero. You're Visa is being revoked. You can't remain in our employment."

"That's absurd."

"You left the country during your reapplication. That's a violation grounds for immediate denial."

Duo frowned at his boss at hearing he left the country. Heero traveled often to meet with artists or visit galleries in Europe and Asia. But never unscheduled like this week and never without informing Mulls, so the owner could handle the things that Duo had been doing the past few days. And Heero was smarter than doing something that would cost him his Visa.

"And you didn't even tell us. You had your assistant run the gallery, for God's sake!" Mulls was getting heated. "I thought you took your work seriously, but you made the gallery look like a joke. The kid put the Dru in the same room as the Margaret." He chuckled but was clearly unamused.

'The kid' shrank were he stood and his stomach turned. He was on the cutting block too. They were going to fire Heero and then kick him out as well. Two years' worth of labor flashed before his eyes. All the coffees. All the insults. All the long nights. All the sleepless nights. All the humiliation. All for nothing. His heart was pounding. Never mind not being able to fulfil his dreams, he wasn't going to make rent at the end of the month!

"None of his mistakes are unfixable," Heero stated.

Mulls rose from his chair and pointed a finger at him. "But your mistake is."

Kinney explained: "You are being deported, Heero. You have to leave the country and your function for at least a year as you reapply."

Heero nodded along. "We'll hire an interim curator as my proxy and I'll stay on as consultant from abroad. I'll manage everything from Japan."

"No, Heero," said Mulls definitively. "It won't be like that. We need someone here."

"You'll never find anyone as good as me."

"We won't," the owner readily agreed. "But we have no choice."

"Actually…" Duo cleared his throat when it registered how meek and quiet his voice sounded.

Everyone looked at him like they had completely forgotten he was even there.

"It won't be a problem," he continued. He put his hands in his pockets, not to look casual but to surreptitiously wipe his sweaty palms. "I was going to do this… later. In private. But…" He turned to face Heero and hoped he didn't look as nauseous as he felt. Before his bravery would leave his body with the breath he had been holding, he took his hands out of his pockets again, grabbed hold of Heero's and knelt down in front of him. On one knee.

That was the first time he caught emotion on Heero's features. Surprised was an understatement. "What are you doing?" He hissed.

"Heero," he swallowed, "will you marry me?"