Revival

Chapter Nine

Snowflakes whirled into Monet's hair and feathers as she dipped her left wing and circled above the lake. Law's blurred silhouette sank deeper into the water and she gave an annoyed tsk. She hadn't meant to drop him, but the additional weight was too much for her wings to bear and she'd loosened her grip as soon as she ran the risk of tumbling out of the sky.

Before Law's body could sink out of sight, Monet held her wings by her side. With nothing to hold her in the air, she rocketed down headfirst. The wind tore her tresses by the roots, the snow shielded her eyes and choppy grey water rushed up to meet her. Seconds before she hit the surface, Monet splayed out her wings and extended her talons out to cut through the water and clutch the back of Law's coat.

"Guh!"

Monet gritted her teeth and flapped, desperate to gain traction but the lake refused to give up its victim. Icy water surged around her thighs, numbing her legs and threatening to suck her in, while the wind scoured her feathers and batted her wings down. Monet strained against the pulls and it took every ounce of strength to stay in the air.

Taking flight in these conditions was impossible; there were too many elements against her and she had to make a choice. Would she rather waste her efforts and let Law drown, or would she rather continue this fruitless rescue and drown with him?

She was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

The first time that happened, she was a child and wanted to take the coward's way out. It was so much easier to give up. But Joker, who chose to oversee training that day, crouched next to her and whispered a piece of advice she'd never forgotten: there was always a third option if she was brave enough to create it.

Of course Monet dared. She dared every time. She had overcome impossible obstacles more than once and that cemented her belief that she could push herself beyond any limits. Everyone else referred to those instances as miracles and she scorned them for it. The only higher powers at work were her mental fortitude and uncompromising mind-set. For a short time, she loathed them for invalidating her efforts until she realised she shouldn't worry about the opinions of mere sheep.

Another time. Just another.

Monet shouted above the howling wind and beat her wings into the water, gaining enough elevation to lift her body free. She gasped in success, and hovered for a moment to gather her strength. The wind blew water droplets across her skin and took what little body heat she retained with it. She twisted her wings let the wind catch them to push her towards shore, allowing her to skim the surface and drag Law along.

When his body scraped against the lake bottom, Monet sank her talons into the mud and hurled him into the snow. His body flopped and he didn't react, no groan, no twitch. Could he possibly be dead? She sank to her knees and placed her wings around Law's head to tilt his head up and open his airways. She leaned in, listening for the telltale huffs against her cheek to tell her he was still breathing.

Nothing.

Monet cursed and placed her wings on the centre of his chest, pushing down to compress it. She hadn't thought he'd die so quickly but then again, it'd been Vergo who dealt with him. She shouldn't have underestimated that man.

Eight, nine, ten…

Monet continued counting until she reached thirty compressions, then pinched Law's nose and pressed her lips against his, forcing air down his lungs. Even in death, Law's lips were warmer than her own. It said so much about the state of her heart.

Law's body seized and he doubled over onto his side, chest painfully heaving in air as he choked and coughed out the water he'd swallowed. The last drops trickled from his parted lips into the snow and he slowly turned his gaze to look up at her. His eyes glimmered with recognition, but what was that look etched into the lines of his face? It was something ugly, something that went beyond simple disdain and ventured into the realm of derision. It was not a look that should be plastered on his face, not when she just pulled him out of death's grasp. Even at his lowest point, Law looked at her like she was his inferior.

Monet threw him a withering glare and rose to her feet. She stood tall and proud looking down on him, the way it always should have been.

"How unexpected. You rescued me," Law croaked. There was a note of bewilderment and a hint of wonder in his voice.

"I did," Monet curtly replied, resting the tips of her wings in the snow, ready to strike him if it proved necessary. "I hope you know better than to think it's for altruistic reasons."

Law's breaths came in quick gasps, his body desperate to send provide air to his deprived cells, and he took some time before managing to say, "No, I'd be a fool to think that. What do you want from me?"

"My heart," Monet said. "Tell me where it is."

It seemed, for a moment, that Law didn't understand what she said. Then it dawned on him and he began to laugh, only to splutter and enter another coughing fit. Once it subsided, he rolled over onto his back and said, "I knew you were weak but I didn't think you were pathetic. You asked the enemy for a favour and now you ask for information too? There really are no limits as to how low you will sink."

Even brought back from death and on the brink of it, he still irritated her. Perhaps it was best they hadn't interacted when they were children under Joker's tutelage. At the time, she did not have such fine control over herself and might have taken it out on him, which would've be an awful idea because he was Joker's most prized possession.

Monet hated to admit it but Law had been right when he gloated over the fact that Joker paraded him around like a trophy because she never received that sort of glory. She wasn't smart enough or strong enough. Just mediocre, as everyone kept telling her. Too mediocre to ever bring the change that Joker wanted to see in the world.

It was maddening to hear those words parroted from every mouth and it spurred her to work harder than anyone else in the family. She rose before any other member and slept long after they settled down for the night. No matter how much she trained, she was never quite on par with others but her persistence struck a chord with Joker. He acknowledged her loyalty and presented her with a Devil Fruit, making her one of his closest agents.

Some of the lower members of the family abated their jealousy by gossiping behind her back and arguing that her power was artificial because it was derived from a fruit. There was sense in their logic but it didn't bother Monet because nearly all the members of Joker's inner circle relied on fruit powers. The snow was a part of her now and there was no reason for anyone to belittle her abilities, least of all Law.

Blood boiling in her veins, Monet curled her talons around his throat and squeezed. Law's face immediately turned purple and she took great delight in watching his mouth open and close to try and suck in air. After a few seconds, she relented and loosened her chokehold enough for him to breathe but not resist.

"Are you that desperate to prove I'm not as strong as you?" she asked. "I admit I thought the same at first but I did manage to throw you into that little prison cell. I know I'm stronger however I also know I'm too prideful to let an enemy have a hold over me. So. Tell me where my heart is."

"Don't indebt yourself to me when you already owe me a favour."

"I pulled you out of that lake and revived you, so you can consider that favour null and void," Monet snapped. "We are on equal playing ground now."

"Didn't Caesar and Vergo say they would find it for you?" Law asked. "Or don't you trust them enough?"

Monet curled her upper lip. Those two did assure her that the subordinates would find her heart but she didn't think they would have much luck because it was such a small and precious object in such a large and unforgiving place. This was Trafalgar Law they were dealing with and he wasn't stupid enough to hide a bargaining chip in plain sight. There was a chance it was so well-hidden that they would never find it again and Monet couldn't leave that up to chance no matter who made that promise.

Her silence was enough of an answer.

"How ironic." Law chuckled. "Even though you defeated me, you can't win against me."

Monet's jaw twitched. "It's not a competition."

"You're the one who is fixated on strength and let it affect you so. You shouldn't flaunt such weaknesses in front of an enemy."

"What enemy?" Monet sneered. She dug her claws deeper into his skin. Blood seeped from the gash in his neck that Vergo dealt and stained his collar. "Look at the state you're in. You are nothing but a victim now."

"I hold your heart over you. It's in your best interest to cooperate with me."

Monet blinked.

Then she threw her head back and laughed into the sullen sky, slapping a wing against her thigh. How could Law have said that with a straight face? To betray Joker after all the time and effort she put in earn her place in his inner circle was nothing short of absurd. "Ha! Aren't you a petty little man? What a pitiful comeback when your own heart has been tossed into a box as a souvenir for the young master."

"You've suddenly grown bold," Law remarked. "Are you not so attached to your heart anymore?"

Monet rested the crook of her wing against her chest and closed her eyes with a smile. There was a cube-shaped hole where her heart should be but it had made almost no difference when it came to her health. The only drawback was that she could not handle her usual amount of strenuous exercise because the lack of a heart meant less oxygen being pumped around her body.

"Now that I think about it, is there a reason why I should be worried? I seem to function just fine without my heart so this means the only way this transaction affects me is if you injure it. Am I right?" Monet watched as Law's face twist into a surly look and confirmed her suspicions. "Ah, what a waste of time. You can't harm my heart anymore; you hold nothing over me. I will find it and make this redundant."

"I applaud your proactive approach." Law let his head drop back into the blanket of snow. "Will you kill me then?"

"Oh no, I couldn't commit such a heinous crime." A wicked grin slitted her face open and she traced her teeth with the tip of her tongue. "You're on the verge of death and the elements will take their toll soon enough. I suppose I can make it easier on you because I am such a kindly soul. I could toss you back into that lake. Or would you rather I leave you here to freeze to death?"

"You certainly enjoy lording your power over me," Law muttered. "What's the point? You believe you're superior so my fate is in your hands."

"I'm showing you kindness, Law." Monet nudged him. "Take it as a gift from a sister whom you never deigned to speak to."

Law closed his eyes and let a drained smile touch his lips. "How ironic you're the one at my deathbed when I never considered you friend or family."

Monet resisted the urge to hit him. "What's your answer, Law?" she snapped.

"Here," he murmured. "Leave me here to die."

Monet removed her talons and ruffled her feathers in impish amusement. "Sleep well then, Trafalgar Law. You'll go peacefully."

Her wings opened up to the sky and she lifted herself upwards, soon enveloped by the blinding weather.

Alive.

Against all odds, he was alive.

But he wouldn't stay that way for long. Each breath ghosted out slower and shallower than the last. How cruel it was to fall into the arms of death when he'd just escaped. He wanted to get up but after being deprived of sleep for days, and being beaten and drowned, Law had no strength to fight death a second time and win. It was so much easier to succumb to the cold, cold snow.

Something squeaked to his right. It came again, then again, then a splash of orange coloured his vision. A palm appeared out of nowhere and whipped him across the face. White spots exploded in front of Law's eyes, then it cleared up and the torso in an orange gi raised its massive arm again to backhand him.

"Stop," Law weakly snarled, trying to swat the offending limb away. He wasn't fast enough and another slap careened across his cheek. "I'm awake!"

The torso hopped back and folded its arms, one finger tapping against its forearm impatiently.

Law groaned and took a moment to collect himself. His thoughts had been fuzzy but the torso had slapped some sense into him. How could he have thought about dying when it meant he would achieve nothing of his goal and his name would make no impact in the New World?

He refused to die on a pathetic island like this.

With frozen fingers barely able to curl, Law reached up to his neck and rested his palm against the laceration which still bleed.

Room.

A small sphere of blue encircled his neck and gathering all the remnants of strength in his body, Law closed his fist and sped up the process of clotting, until a thick red scab formed. It was all he could do under the circumstances and with no more strength in him, Law let his arm fall and shuddered into the snow.

With nothing to occupy his thoughts, Law allowed himself the rare privilege of blanking out his mind and listening to the fire crackling at close proximity by his left side. The heat was starting to burn the skin on his cheek and he itched to sit up and move farther away, or at least roll over so that his other cheek would glower with the same shade of red, but he knew that movement would result in a flurry of angry hands slapping him back down to rest.

If Law had been given the chance to guess who would save him from certain death, he never would have come close to suspecting it to be the torso he'd almost thrown into the lake, because it was too strange for enemies with nothing in common to work together. But the torso ignored their circumstances and nursed him back to health, even going so far as to accommodate him by seeking fish and fresh water each day to build his strength. Law was recovering at a faster rate than he could have hoped; having a heart in his chest certainly moved things along.

His lips quirked at the memory of Monet, green hair tousled by the wind and amber eyes cutting into his soul, demanding to know where he had hidden her heart. For a moment, Law had wondered if he was dreaming and had great difficulty finding his voice to state his disbelief because how could she not feel it beneath the tips of her wings when she breathed life back into him? She had a hole in her chest while he did not; surely that was more than enough of a clue.

Obviously not.

It was a great boost in his favour that the people around him were not as intelligent or apathetic as he, as it prolonged the amount of time he had to recover. In the first day when he drifted in and out of sleep, he had strange thoughts where these coincidences were masks to cover acts of kindness instead. Law then let his mind wander—when was the last time he experienced kindness? He had to dig deep into the recesses of his mind to dredge up the memory of the time he escaped from the Don Quixote mansion with Penguin in tow.

The two of them avoided major cities where Doflamingo's influence was greatest, and every step they took resounded in dirty alleyways and filthy backstreets where vagrants lived and crooks loitered. These people showed loyalty to no-one, but Law couldn't discount the possibility that they might change their minds in favour of the ludicrous amount of money Doflamingo offered to get his property back.

Property they were so long as they carried his mark on their skin, so their first stop was at a seedy tattoo parlour with dingy pieces of art hung up on the peeling walls. Law hadn't paid much attention to his surroundings when his focus was zeroed in on the tattooist who'd raised her eyebrows when two children walked into her shop. He watched her carefully, saw her eyes flicker over their scars and light up, but before he could cut her throat with a scalpel she threw back the curtain and told them to sit.

Perhaps she saw the light in his own eyes, cold and daring, and knew that he thought her life was worth less than their freedom. She covered their scars and the only sound throughout the parlour that night was the sound of the needle buzzing as she ran it down their skin. It was soothing, and Law let himself relax for the first time since they ran away. After everything was done, the two of them left with a word of thanks and she let them go without saying a thing.

Her silence was true kindness and since then there had been no parallels, not even this torso who took it upon itself to aid Law's recovery. There were so few people in this world who would go out of their way to help another for nothing in return. No, rescuing him from the cold and bitter brink of death wasn't kindness, not when the torso would demand compensation. It wasn't hard to imagine what the deal would be—to piece the samurai back together and help him find his son.

Law didn't have much of a choice when this favour was being roped out of him like he had ironically roped one out of Monet. He gave a wry smile because drowning did wonders for his attitude—helping out a stranger who accused him of kidnapping and subsequently tried to kill him? He would have rather kissed a flapping fish in front of his crew and let them take embarrassing pictures.

Speaking of his crew, he had to contact them. But patting down his coat, Law couldn't feel the familiar bump of the den-den mushi and it wasn't in his pockets either. He must have lost it in the lake. Law grimaced, knowing that not checking in meant Shachi and Bepo would have worked themselves up into a frenzy while Penguin would be gnawing on a teacup and pretending it was normal. Law would have to wait till he got his hands on another den-den mushi when he sneaked back into the laboratory.

Law pushed himself up onto his elbows and immediately the torso bounded over and began to push him back down, but Law smacked the large hands away with an irritated growl.

"I've rested enough and if you try to knock me out again I won't take you to your son."

The torso froze, then twitched its fingers.

"I didn't kidnap him, but I know where he is," Law quickly added. The sword glinted in the torso's sash and while Law did feel a lot better, he simply didn't have the energy to deal with a lunatic waving around a very sharp weapon. "I've seen him in the Third Research Institute. He is a young samurai boy named Momonosuke: a small but loud boy who is loyal to those he calls friends."

The torso waved its hands in excitement.

Ah, so Law had been right. Then again, it would have been difficult to mistake their father-son relationship, given their unique clothing and hairstyle.

"I can take you there, but I must warn you now: we won't get inside without a fight. It is territory to a War Lord and overseen by people with Devil Fruit abilities… magic users, if you will," Law added, remembering that the samurai had been confounded when Law chopped him up into pieces. "We could be overrun by guards at any given moment so we must be at full strength, which is difficult seeing as we are both… out of sorts."

While it would have made more sense for Law to put the samurai back together so that he'd have a full-bodied samurai accompany him, he had no idea where the head and the legs were and didn't want to waste time searching. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that the children were test subjects and were being fed that strange compound, NHC10. Law hadn't heard of it before but knowing Caesar Clown, it wasn't something to help the children's bones grow. They would have to make do with their current arrangement.

"Are you still willing?" Law asked.

The torso hit its hands against the ground. Law took that as a yes.

"I'll sleep once more," he told the torso. "Once more, and then we'll head out."

He closed his eyes but didn't really falter into sleep. This was a skill he acquired long ago; it began when he had to memorise inane passages in all those medical textbooks and forego sleep to keep up with Doflamingo's demands. But no-one, not even Law, could function without rest so he did the next best thing: he closed his eyes and recited the material until he dozed off. But instead of blacking out, his mind made connections between concepts and expanded his knowledge. That eventually gave way to taking actual six hour rests while his brain was active and thinking, a form of lucid dreaming where he could still bury himself in medical thought.

It was one of the reasons Law was now feared for his intricate plots—his body might fall victim to weariness but his mind did no such thing.

It never rested. It never needed to.

A.N.

Shoutout to Cherryappleblossom9201 and Remui who were massively helpful and supportive while I was stuck on this chapter!