There isn't much time. Cora knows it, because he's done this before, and he knows the exact number of seconds he has, through trial and error, to make sure this is not the end for his boy. That this is not the thing that kills him, that Law is not another notch in the belt of this low-life scum that thinks he can take down a shichibukai just because he's young and a little too full of himself for his own good.

He only has so many of these seconds, and he must use them wisely as he gathers his son up to his chest and holds him, carrying him down, down, back to his body where this soul belongs for a while yet. It's not his time, Cora refuses. Outright refuses, he can fix this. He will fix this.

Law is crying. He knows this familiar embrace, this warmth beyond words and the heavy, big hands that hold on to his shoulders like they're never going to let go and he can't stop the tears. How could he? He knows what Cora is doing. He knows exactly what his guardian is up to: just like back then, he is ensuring Law lives. Even if it's against his will.

They stand on the ground, both of them looking at the shell, Law's shell, where it lays covered in the snow that is flurrying around, most of the doctor's heat leeched away in his fight with the bounty hunter that took him down; none of it has melted and it's going to be a bitch once the body fires back up to life and heat. They are both standing in front of this body with the cruel gut shot in it, with the sliced shoulder that got lucky and nicked an artery, with his own Kikoku snarling her agonized fury as she rages from where the enemy plunged her into her own master's leg to pin him in place.

All it will take is one push and the seconds are ticking away.

Cora pulls Kikoku out- that many seconds gone, but she is ready to leap to her Master's aid again as the tears stream thicker down Law's cheeks, steam wafting from the heat of his pain and his grief in the cool air.

Precious seconds, less than a handful left and the soul will never be able to rejoin the housing. Fifteen. Thirteen. He still doesn't know what to say, wishes he could explain, apologize-

Ten. Nine. Eight.

"I'm always with you, Law," is what bursts from his mouth, desperate and counting and knowing he is not selfish enough to let his boy stay. Not this soon. No.

"I love you."

A hard push, just like the harsh hands that had stuffed a devil fruit, whole, into a confused child's mouth and made him swallow, and Law comes awake with a howl of pain and rage as he rises up and the whole island knows his fury when he screams "ROOM!" and Kikoku drinks deep.

In the imprint he left, there in the bloodstained snow, all that remains of the whole thing is a heart shape, hollow in the center as though drawn with fingers, like paint. It lies right in the center of where Law's back had been, where his pirate symbol rested, and it was the only spot not utterly soaked with the surgeon's blood, spanning almost eight inches square. It is remarkable such a white space could exist when a man bled to death there not long ago, but there is no one there to see it, and it is soon covered by the falling snow, fat flakes blotting out the shape and hiding the grisly stain until all is erased.