Author Note: Still thinking about that multichapter story; there's going to be a wait for it since I'm still brainstorming and writing chapters in advance, but I promise it's coming. Feel free to ask about it if it takes a while to appear.
Ezaria Joule leaned against the dark mahogany walls of the corridor. She was far too nervous to sit down, anxious for her meeting with the man in the office she stood outside of. Granted, she was largely at fault and it was more than reasonable for her to be there, but it scared her nonetheless. She flicked her brown hair out of her eyes and rhythmically tapped her shoes against the floor. The knot in her stomach was getting tighter; why didn't he call her in already?
She huffed and looked toward the receptionist at her right. The woman turned her way and gave a small smile, seemingly used to the nervousness of her boss' visitors. Ezaria readjusted the tie of her school uniform and attempted to smooth out the wrinkles in her blouse. It wouldn't help to appear so disheveled.
A buzz sounded from the receptionist's desk, and a voice spoke out. Ezaria couldn't make out the words. The receptionist stood and motioned for her to approach. Opening the door, she ushered Ezaria inside, but not before offering a reassuring smile. Ezaria frowned. She was going to need more than a smile to save her from the wrath she was undoubtedly going to face.
She entered the office slowly. It was dark, the only light streaming through windows behind the large desk at the end of the room. She moved forward hesitantly, coming to stand directly in front of the desk. There, scribbling diligently on a stack of papers, sat the terror of her dreams, the monster from her memories, the horror of the PLANTs—
"Father," she spoke timidly, hands clasped tightly behind her back.
The man continued to write, ignoring her presence. Ezaria sulked. She hated it when he did that.
"Father—" she began again, only to be cut off when her father laid down his pen with a sharp clack on the desk. He leaned back in his chair and eyed his daughter carefully. Ezaria fidgeted underneath his harsh gaze.
She attempted to speak again. "It's not what you think, Father—"
"Ezaria."
"If you could only hear what he said—"
"Ezaria!"
Taken aback, she shut up immediately. Yzak sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"What I don't understand is why you give in to their taunting. You are very intelligent, Ezaria. You know they only aggravate you because you retaliate."
Ezaria gritted her teeth. "Because what they say is not true, Father. Have you heard what they call you? How they mock mother? He said you only married so low because you knocked her up."
Narrowing his eyes, Yzak studied his daughter. Did he blame her for attacking the boy at her school? She was clearly his daughter; he undeniably would've done the same. And while it was true he had knocked up her mother, it was hardly the reason he had married her.
"Did you attack him first?" he asked.
"…Yes," she admitted, lowering her gaze.
Yzak sighed. While the boy wasn't in critical condition, he would be bound to his bed for the next couple of days. Eyeing his daughter, he noticed she hadn't a scratch on her, her blazer still in perfect form. Inwardly, he was proud she had held her ground so well against the larger boy, but he didn't show it.
Standing, he walked in front of his desk and leaned against it. He reached a hand to his daughter's face and gently stroked her cheek, his eyes softening.
Ezaria was stunned. Her father was never one for physical affection.
"You look so much like your mother," he spoke, meeting her icy, blue eyes. At age sixteen, she was the spitting image of his wife. Ezaria couldn't speak.
Yzak sighed again, placing his hands in his pockets. "Ezaria, I know what they say."
She looked up at her father, brows knitting together.
"I am sorry for what you endure at school. But I hear everything you hear every day, and more. Our family is a very political family and as such, there is much to say about our actions. No doubt you've read of my exploits during the war in your history books."
Ezaria pursed her lips. She had, of course, and her peers had been unrelenting in reminding her of her father's betrayal of ZAFT, his gunning down of a civilian shuttle, her grandmother and namesake's support of Patrick Zala and subsequent arrest.
"It's a lot to deal with, I know. But the wounds of war are still fresh, and people will continue to talk, something I learned very soon after taking office as councilor. But you know who you are, and you know who your mother and I are. You have nothing to be ashamed of."
The words of her father struck her deeply, and Ezaria was still. She met his eyes, the very same ones she stared at in the mirror every morning, and stood tall.
"How long is your suspension?" her father asked.
"A week."
Her father was silent for a moment. "I have been needing an assistant."
"What?" Ezaria stuttered. "Me? Work for you?"
"You're not going to lounge around at home for a week, young lady."
"But...I have plans already, I mean, homework and assignments—"
Yzak gave her a sharp look. "You'll have ample time to finish your schoolwork after helping me."
"Father!" she protested.
"Ezaria!" he silenced her.
She was silent, but inwardly groaned.
"I'll have my driver take you home. Tell your mother I'll be home late. And be ready to work tomorrow. You're dismissed."
Ezaria glared at being sent away like one of her father's subordinates, but she told him goodbye and left his office. As she walked to exit the building, she could feel the stares of the other parliament members at her back, whispers following her like an unshakable phantom.
She straightened her back and held her head high. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
She was a Joule, after all.
