It was hard for him to remember her face. He had seen her when she was a child, at the very beginning of her training, but not since then. When she donned her mask at ten years old there was still a bit of roundness to her face that would be the only image he had of her for many years. He would still catch glimpses of course, just enough to make him wonder if there really was an older sharpness or angles that had not been there before. But the mask would be back on in a flash and he would be left to wonder if he had imagined it or not. He saw her eyes sometimes to, but he was rarely allowed to get close enough for him to see them properly. He figured they would never change much though.
In Amestris, her mask had been destroyed, just for a few minutes, and her face was still pretty round. But she was older, he could tell. Of course she was, so was he. Her eyes were the same always, he was glad to see. Filled with youth and fire.
Then they fought wrath, and he swore that as she lunged at the homunculus, her eyes burned so intensely that it scared him.
She cut off her arm, and he wasnât concerned with the close look he got at her face, twisted with determination and pain. She grabbed a stray dog by the extra skin on itâs neck. It yelped, and she ripped the white fabric off her waist. She thrust the fabric into his hands and used the arm that was still connected to her body to hold her dismembered one onto the dogâs back. âHelp me tie it. Itâll lead a false trail.â Her voice was thick, her face dirty, covered in sweat and tears. He didnât think heâd ever heard her say the words âhelp meâ before. Tears threatened to fall from his own eyes as he tied it. Lan Fan threw the dog a few feet into the street, setting it off into a run. He had seen blood before. Heâd seen the assassins his siblings had sent after him lose their lives in an instant when they threatened his. He had seen bones left in the desert heat and guards be injured far worse than her. But he had never seen one do it to themselves, never seen a face he loved but hardly recognized force itself into determination as her body begged to sob.
When he left her under the city, when she ordered him to leave her, and he ordered her not to die, he didnât know what the emotion on her face was.
And when he came back for her she was nearly unconscious with blood loss, but he recognized her weary look of disbelief from when they were kids and he had thrown mud in her face to wake her up.
At the doctorâs- he didnât remember his name- she finally let the pain overtake her features. And he found he couldnât even look. He didnât want to, he didnât need to memorize that expression of pain on her face, because if he had anything to say about it, it would never sweep her round, grown up features again.
Then she was gone, for months, and he was overtaken by greed. He couldnât remember what she had looked like before. All he could think of when he tried was her armorless , and armless, with a face transformed by defeat. Greed thought she was still pretty, and he said couldnât wait to see her strong again. Ling couldnât either, Â but he didnât know what that would look like.
The next time he saw her he had taken control of his body so he could fight with her, and he sensed she was strong again. Greed mentally celebrated with him. The next time he saw her up close he realized she had aged again. He knew just by looking at her eyes as she held Greed on the roof with her one automail arm. He reminded himself that he would have to see her without her mask again to document the difference, and make sure she no longer felt weak.
She took off her own mask at the end of the battle, and she was strong and beautiful. Her eyes had changed, but he decided that was okay. His had changed to, and he knew her eyes were still hers.
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