___________________________________6 years later_______________________________________
"Are you coming?" Martel yelled to her friend.
"I'm coming, I'm coming…" muttered Dorchet as he stepped over a large log.
He'd grown much taller over the summer. And was now at the average height for a 14 year old boy. At least Zolf wouldn't make fun of his height anymore.
"You're as slow as ever." Martel giggled, waiting for him on a near by rock.
"And you're still a jerk." Dorchet guffawed, pushing her teasingly.
Martel pushed back. Which caused Dorchet to do the same. And the push turned into a shove. Before they knew it, the two had began to quarrel in the muck of the creek. Pulling each other down into the water and putting each other in to headlocks.
"Hey! Archy, look!" a voice yelped.
The friends freezed at the very sound of the voice.
"They're making-out!" the voice said with a hint of disgust.
Dorchet's eyes narrowed and his facial expression dropped all together.
"Kimblee…" he growled.
Zolf J. Kimblee and his friend Frank Archer stood on the turf above the creek, staring down at them with curious eyes.
"We are NOT making-out!" Martel protested.
"So you were having s-"
"NO! We weren't doing that either!"
Zolf cocked his head to the side.
"So what were you doing down here?"
"That's not of your business!" Dorchet shouted.
The two looked at Martel and Dorchet, wondering why they had been down there in the first place.
"You're all dirty." Zolf said bluntly.
"Thank you for stating the obvious, Kimblee." Martel growled.
The boy only snorted at this response and headed back to the village.
"Whatever, c'mon Archy." he said, grabbing Frank's hand.
"Right, right. See you later, love birds." he called out as Kimblee dragged him out of the creek.
Zolf and Frank were strange that way. A strange attachment that almost seemed more than a brotherly bond and less than a relationship.
"Weirdo's. Calling us lovers when they hold hands half the time." Dorchet snarled, kicking up some muck.
"I think Zolf has a mental condition."
Dorchet let out a laugh.
"I'm serious."
"Oh."
Martel sighed, crossing her arms.
"I feel a bit bad for him, really. You know about his parents right?"
The boy nodded.
"His dad killed his mom."
The two stood there in silence, twiddling their thumbs and looking around aimlessly.
"Dorchet…" Martel began.
"Meh?"
She stared at him with a small smile.
"Oh…it's nothing. Don't worry about it."
The girl grabbed her friend by the hand and they continued down the creek. Though Dorchet couldn't help but blush. Because Martel had never held on to his hand so tightly before. And it made him happy.
"Why's your face red?"
"Huh?"
The blonde was giving the boy a worried look.
"Your face is red. Are you sick?"
Dorchet shook his head.
"N-no! I'm fine." he sputtered.
Taking her hand, he rushed down the river. Splashing all the way. They made it near the end of the creek in a matter of minutes, staring at the sewage.
"Ew…" Martel grunted, pointing at something furry in the filth.
It seemed to be a dead, rotting, carcass of some poor creature that didn't have the strength to go on anymore.
"Poor thing…" sighed the girl.
Dorchet made a noise that sound like a sick, elderly, man, coughing.
"We should go (cough) it's really (cough) gross here."
He led her away from the disgusting sight and continued back up stream.
"Dor…"
"Hmm?"
"My feet hurt." muttered Martel.
He turned to look at her.
"That's not what they would say in the military."
"Shut up."
The two decided to rest on a fallen tree close to beginning of the creek. They kicked up the water and engaged in small talk for quite some time.
"So…military…huh?" Dorchet mused.
"They're taking recruits for the Ishbal." Martel retorted.
The boy stared at his friend with wide eyes.
"WHAT!? You're seriously thinking about going to ISHBAL!? Have you lost your mind!!??" he screamed.
The girl put her fingers in her ears.
"Stop SHOUTING."
She unplugged her ears and gave Dorchet a stern glare.
"I've been serious about my career ever since I was 8, a little violent war isn't going to stop me. Besides, I'm under aged and haven't even attended a military academy. They won't take me now."
"But they'll take you later!" the boy said.
Terror filled Dorchet's soul and consumed his conscience. Marty couldn't survive in ISHBAL. What if she got sick? What if she got hurt? What if she got captured? What if he lost her?
"But I'll be skilled soldier by then. So it wouldn't matter." she informed.
"It still matters…it'll always matter…"
And there was silence. A sickening silence that made you want to scream. And Dorchet couldn't stand it. So he left. He retreated from his place on fallen tree and walked out of the creek.
"Hey!" yelled Martel, running after him.
But he paid no heed to the girl, he continued on his way onto the dirt path to the little village where they had lived for so long.
"Dorchet!" she yelped to her friend.
"Dor! Come back here!"
He stopped. For a short while, Dorchet stopped. Martel stared at him with curious eyes.
"Dor?"
The boy bent over and picked a perfect daisy, handing it to his friend. He picked another for himself. Without any words spoken, he took Martel's hand strayed off the beaten path and into the creek once more. As they reached the bank, he began to dig in the sand, throwing away stones and flinging mud here and there.
"Um…what are you doing?"
"I'm coming with you."
The girl gave him a contorted expression.
"What?"
"I'm joining the military with you."
Martel's jaw dropped.
"You can't do that! You were going to be an act-"
"Not anymore. You changed that Marty." he said.
He finally stopped digging. Brushing the dirt off his jeans, Dorchet smiled at Martel.
"Promise. Promise you won't die in the war, okay?" he said softly, holding up his daisy.
"I'll only promise if you promise."
The blonde was speechless. Dorchet couldn't survive war. The boy couldn't even survive algebra for the love of God.
"Dorchet…I-"
"Promise?"
She choked. A sob left her throat and she felt tears swell up in her eyes.
"Promise." she whispered, dropping her daisy in the hole.
"Promise." Dorchet agreed, letting his fall into the hole as well.
And that's when Martel broke. She sank to the ground, crying loudly like some child left alone at the market. She hadn't cried in 10 years, Dorchet was the one who always cried. She was the brave one. Now she felt pitiful.
"Hey now, soldiers don't cry." laughed the boy as he knelt down next to her.
"Come on. Stop crying…please?" he let his hand rest on her shoulder.
But the touch soon became an embrace when Martel fell in to his arms. She stayed there for quite a while, sobbing while he soothed her. And not so far away, was Archer and Kimblee watching.
"I knew they liked each other. The dumb one gave it away." Zolf said, referring to Dorchet.
Archer only let out a chortle.
"…We can use this as blackmail…right?" Kimblee asked with a grin.
"No." Frank mumbled.
"And why not?"
He only let out a sigh and smiled kindly at Zolf.
"Let them be. It's a special moment for them. Don't ruin it."
The boy groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Do you not know love, Zolf?" his friend asked.
Kimblee only beamed warmly at his companion.
"I wouldn't say that." he implied, taking hold of the other's hand
