Luckily, he's well practiced when it comes to operating on himself — it's only a few more seconds until he threads the needle with the suture and gets to work. He moves as quickly as he can without aggravating the wound; even if the blood flow has temporarily been stopped, the wound itself is still there.

He breathes; the needle pierces his skin.

"In a moment." Maybe. He probably should... but he can't stop to do anything else before he's finished with this. Little by little, he peels back the layer of skin he placed on top of the wound, exposing it, blood soaking his hands and the floor as he keeps stiching.

About halfway through, his head swims, and black spots dance in his eyes. Law jerks his head up, looking at Cora, and he can't help the way the panic that grips him bleeds into his voice.

"Shit. I can't — don't let me pass out, whatever happens. If I do, I don't know if —"

If he'll wake at all... or if he does, where it will be.

"Do whatever it takes... to keep..." And then he sways and slumps forward. Not unconscious, yet, but not far from it.