Collusion

Chapter 7: Good Night

SUMMARY

Lumine has no phone to call and warn Kaeya and Albedo. She doesn’t have a landline, because those are things of the past, honestly—and she didn’t think an assassin would steal her phone. But I guess this is my life now. Plus, it’s past midnight and they’re passed out drunk most likely. Lumine will need to go there and warn them personally.

And hope Tartaglia hasn’t gotten to them first.

“What just happened?” Lumine croaks out, her voice rough and hoarse. Her knees buckle; she slides down to sit on the floor, her clothes dragging against the magnets on the refrigerator door.

Her head is still spinning. She brings a hand to her neck. It feels tender. It feels… wet and sticky, somehow. Lumine glances at her hand and realizes there’s congealed blood all over her fingers. She palpates the skin around her neck, examining for any open wounds. Nothing. Where is the blood coming from?

Lumine stands and immediately feels a sharp stabbing pain in her stomach. She looks down and sees her shirt stained dark red. Oh. That’s right. He stabbed me.

The pain sobers her up, but it is quite too late for her cognizance to return now. The damage has been done. She’s wounded, and for what? She did not even get any substantial answers from him. Tartaglia’s gone, and he—

Oh, no.

Lumine checks the table for her phone. She needs to call Kaeya and warn them, quick. Where did she last put it? She roots around in her bag. Not there, either. Then she remembers. He had it. What was he doing? He had held it up to her face… She remembers the sound of her phone unlocking, and…

No. No, no, nonono.

The pizza is about to make a reappearance. Lumine quickly hobbles to the bathroom, kneels over the toilet, and lets it all go.

So much for sobering up. It was a miracle she could hold it in up to this point. Still, Lumine is in absolutely no state to be doing anything else other than sleeping this all off, and she wants to, really wants to, but she can’t. Closing her eyes to sleep might end up actually killing her.

Lumine stands up and bends over the sink, opening the faucet and letting the cold water run over her face. It feels cool and clean and she can just stay like this, let the water wash away her hangover and everything else. Rest and relaxation does feel nice when Lumine thinks about it.

“Fuck,” Lumine mutters. “I need to focus.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep, controlled breath. Holds in the air, then exhales slowly. Her mind clears of all thoughts, then the gears in her brain turn, doing its best to strategize a game plan.

Lumine has no phone to call and warn Kaeya and Albedo. She doesn’t have a landline, because those are things of the past, honestly—and she didn’t think an assassin would steal her phone. But I guess this is my life now. Plus, it’s past midnight and they’re passed out drunk, most likely. Lumine will need to go there and warn them personally.

And hope Tartaglia hasn’t gotten to them first.

First things first, her wound. Lumine stands up straight, or as straight as she can, holding on to the bathroom counter for balance. She takes out a sanitary pad and presses it against the wound. For a secret agent, she really should have a first-aid kit for times when an assassin enters her home and starts stabbing people. Lumine tears her blood-soaked shirt and ties it around her stomach as a makeshift gauze. She’ll get it looked at later. For now, there are more important things at hand, like Kaeya and Albedo’s safety.

Second, water. Lumine pours herself a cup of water and drinks, almost spilling over herself in a desperate attempt to actually sober up. Another cup. Another. She still feels lightheaded, but at least she no longer feels like she is about to melt into a puddle of blood and pizza vomit. Good enough.

Next, she needs to clean up. Lumine washes her hands and her face again and replaces her shirt with a clean one.

All clean. The pain in her abdomen has dulled, but she has to be careful, still. That means no running. Lumine continues taking deep breaths, elongates her exhales, focuses on her chest falling and rising with every ragged breath. She has to keep calm.

Lumine grabs her car keys and strides to the parking lot. She turns the key, and the engine comes alive. The car only speeds up to a few meters when Lumine realizes something is wrong. The car is dragging along, like there’s something heavy tied to it, or the tires are made of lead. Or worse, deflated.

Her heart starts racing ahead of her thoughts. Lumine steps out of the car. The tires don’t look right.

“Are you kidding me?” Lumine kneels down and inspects the tires closer. She finds a gash on both of the rear tires. No one else could have done this but him. “That fucking asshole!”

God, he is so going to pay for this. Financially, physically, figuratively.

The curses pour out of her like a dam finally breaking. Her brain and heart speed back into overdrive. There’s no use calming herself. Lumine needs to leave now. She looks around. The parking lot is full of cars, but it’s not like she knows how to steal, much less hot-wire, one. There’s a bike shed, and it will be good enough. Inside, rows of bikes are chained. Unlike cars, though, it does not take an expert to cut a bike free with bolt cutters. It does, however, take sheer force, and Lumine can feel more blood gushing out of her wound as she cuts away. But the hardest part is done, she thinks. All that is left is for her to ride a bike from here to Kaeya’s apartment. Shouldn’t be much of a problem.

Lumine was wrong. Biking for a long distance with an open wound in your stomach is the hardest part. She can’t pause to think at all; all her brainpower is laser-focused on moving her legs and making sure she does not faint from losing so much blood.

The ride isn’t long, really, but her legs feel like 500 pounds. Lumine gets off the bike and almost keels over, but by the miracle of adrenaline she keeps herself upright. She barges into the apartment building, thankful for Kaeya keeping a spare key to the building underneath a potted plant, despite his landlord’s refusal. The building is only three storeys tall, and Kaeya’s apartment is on the third. There are tears pricking at her eyes from all the pain, but Lumine wills herself to keep going. She can’t lose another one. Not again. Not after Aether.

Lumine grabs the key to Kaeya’s apartment under the doormat and enters the room. In the past, she berated him for being so damn predictable, and that he should really secure his place better. You know, being a secret agent and all. But now, Lumine is grateful for it. Not that she’s any better with her own security, anyway.

She rushes to his bedroom, uncaring if she finds them both naked. She violently shakes the mass of bodies underneath the blanket. Kaeya wakes up first, popping his head over the blanket.

“What the... Lumine—?”

“We need to leave, now.”

“What?” Kaeya says, but he’s moving, shaking Albedo awake. “Wait, are you bleeding?”

Lumine looks down and sees bloodstains on her shirt. Again. Shit.

“No time to explain. But he’s coming.”

It’s dark in his bedroom, but Lumine can see the outline of Kaeya’s body snapping straight, alert and awake. Albedo gets up, too, though not as alert. Kaeya gets out of bed—thank goodness he had underwear on—and roots around his closet for something. Lumine turns her attention to Albedo.

“What’s happening?” Albedo says, rubbing his eyes.

Lumine sits down at the edge of the bed and whispers as calmly as she can, “Listen, I believe that one of you might be the target of an assassination.”

“Okay,” Albedo replies groggily. “Can it wait?”

“No, come on.” Lumine drags Albedo off the bed.

“Which one of us is it?” Albedo croaks.

“Uh. Um...” God, did he say anything? “I–I’m not sure, actually. He–he didn’t say.” Her voice cracks. Why, oh, why, didn’t she ask him that?

“It’s me,” Kaeya says. He’s fully dressed now, with a backpack slung on his shoulder. “Come on, Albedo. Get dressed.”

Lumine blinks. “Wait, what? How are you sure he’s coming for you?”

“Long story. I’ll explain later. But first, we need to move.” Kaeya gives her a once-over. “Though you might want to clean your wound and re-bandage it first.” He gestures to the bathroom. “There’s a first-aid kit over there.”

Lumine obliges and enters the bathroom. Her reflection emerges from the dark; her skin is terribly sweaty and pallid all over. She pulls up her shirt, and, god, how is she still standing? The pad absorbed so much blood and it’s still going. The biking did not help, but what choice did she have? Lumine pulls out the pad slowly, wincing from the pain. She examines the wound. It does not look that deep, but she might need stitches.

She takes out cotton, pours sterile alcohol on it and wipes away the dried blood around the wound. She pinches away another ball of cotton and drenches it in alcohol. Lumine takes short shallow breaths and braces herself before pressing the cotton against the open wound.

“Ah, fuck!” Lumine groans from the pain. In a flash, a memory surfaces: she remembers him—Tartaglia—and the way he looked at her when he stabbed her. The way he looked exhilarated, his mouth slightly parted and wanting. It was worse when he had his hands on her throat. The sight of her elated him, like he was fucking her, not strangling her to death. Maybe to him, that is the same thing. It might as well be.

Lumine remembers the sensation. Black spots pricked at her peripherals. His hands on her made her feel heady, though that might have just been the alcohol. She remembers closing her eyes, making her senses much more amplified. The cool touch of his glove, the tightness of his grip, his enraptured sigh. She remembers trying to pull his hand away, trying so hard to breathe—

Wait.

Lumine can’t remember, or maybe her brain refuses to remember, but something must have happened for Tartaglia to get off her so quickly. She doesn’t remember doing anything particular, but he had backed off so suddenly, a stunned look on his face. Was there something that happened? Lumine doesn’t know; her memories are still a bit hazy, but whatever it was, it certainly saved her from certain death.

She knows one thing for sure: she will make him pay, will make him wish he had killed her right at that moment.

Lumine presses a dressing against the wound and wraps gauze around her to keep it tightly wound. She feels much better now, though she still can’t risk doing a lot of running around.

She steps out of the bathroom and sees Kaeya take a duffel bag from the closet. He opens it. In the dim light, Lumine can’t see what’s inside, but she hears sounds of metal. She squints and sees Kaeya assembling something.

“Is that—”

“Yes, it’s a sniper rifle.”

Since when did the Knights of Favonius issue military-grade weapons to their humble desk jockeys?

Unless...?

Lumine shakes the thought away. This is not the best time to be asking questions when they should be moving.

“Okay, I have a plan,” Lumine says. “But you so owe me an explanation for all of this.”

From afar, Childe can see Lumine entering the target’s apartment building with the classic key-under-a-potted-plant trick. He parks the bike a block away, so as not to alert her and the target. Rosalyne steps off the bike from behind him. She takes out two rifles from the duffel bag slung around her shoulder and hands one to Childe.

“Hand me the scope,” he says, offering his palm. He attaches it on his rifle and props it up on his shoulder, looking through the scope. All the lights in the apartment building are off. No movements by the window. Smart. Very smart, Lumine.

“I’ll go through the front door.” Childe gestures toward the alley heading to the parking lot. “Check the back, the emergency exits, in case they try leaving.”

“Ugh. I hate perimeter duty,” Rosalyne grumbles, but she follows the dark path and disappears.

Childe poises himself, his right side facing the door. The door looks old, just like the rest of the building. He brings a knee to his chest, then kicks down the door, breaking the knob. Now they know they’re here. There’s only two exits, and they’re both covered. No way out.

“Come to me, Lumine,” he whispers, his gun aimed in the dark, expecting the gold strands of her hair to emerge like the rays of a rising sun. But nothing comes.

He creeps up the stairs; the rifle poised in his arms, ready for action. The building is quiet. When he arrives at the door, he carefully places his ear against the gap in the doorframe, listening intently. It is too quiet. Childe swallows, and slowly, he turns the knob. It’s unlocked.

He pushes in the door with light, deliberate steps. The lights are off, making it dark and hard to see, but he does not open the lights, or even use his little flashlight. They had already lost the element of surprise, what with Lumine coming to warn them and all. Childe will take what little advantage he can get.

Childe walks around until he gets to the bedroom. The door is slightly ajar. He approaches it, his back on the wall beside the door, listening for any signs of life. Nothing. There’s no way they aren’t here.

In one swift motion, Childe kicks down the door and aims the gun at the bed. It is empty. The bed is made, even: the blanket and pillows are in place, not a crease in sight. Very clearly taunting him, like they had the time to make the bed before making an escape. Despite himself, Childe finds a smile playing at his lips. The taunt works, but not in the way Lumine intended. Only she would have the idea to do this; she knew he was coming. His heart pounds with excitement. She is making him work for it, and he loves it. It thrills him, a fire igniting in his chest.

Childe calls Rosalyne on the phone. “Any sign of them?”

She hums. “Nope. I’m guessing no one’s up there?”

“Negative,” Childe says, turning the lights on in the bedroom. “But stay put. I’m coming back down in a second.”

Childe examines the room. The closet still has clothes in them, including underwear and socks. He steps inside the bathroom, and there he sees a bloody mess. The counter has blood prints on them, along with an opened first-aid kit. There’s a sanitary pad in the trash, looking more like a sponge of dark blood. His fingers trail along the outline of blood on the counter.

She was here. Cleaning herself up after he stabbed him.

He is amazed, really, with how Lumine could still come here so quick. Not even slashed tires could stop her. Not even a literal stab wound. All inconveniences courtesy of him. Childe is smiling again, amused at her relentless will.

Just then, he hears a gun cocking behind him.

“Put the gun down and put your hands up.”

Oh? He recognizes the voice. Lumine.

His heartbeat races faster, but he remains steady. Slowly, Childe follows her, setting the gun on the bloody counter and putting his hands up.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

Childe obliges her demand, turning around to face her. It is her. Lumine. Standing in the doorframe. A gun in hand, aimed at him. Her arms are shaky, but with point-blank distance between them, even shaky hands will not miss a bullet in his face.

“Suits you,” Childe says, nodding at the gun. And he means it. Replace her clothes with a form-fitting tailored suit, and Lumine could easily pass off as one of them. He takes that mental image and lodges it in the dark recesses of his brain. Something he’ll... look back on later. For research, of course.

“He’s gone,” is all she says.

Childe takes a tentative step forward. Lumine keeps the gun trained at him, but she doesn’t shoot.

Does she know how to?

“So, why are you still here?” he says. “Don’t you want to run from me?”

“Don’t move any closer or I will shoot.”

Childe follows, but only to give her a false sense of security. He nods at her injury. “You should get that checked.”

Lumine snorts. “You really got some nerve to say that—”

“What do you want?” Childe interrupts. “I have a target to get to, and I don’t enjoy wasting time.”

She’s silent. And then it hits him. This—she is a distraction. The target is still here somewhere, biding time until he can make an escape. Most likely, he’s hiding in the parking lot, ready to escape when Lumine gives the signal.

Except Rosalyne is down there, hunting him down. A factor Lumine did not account for in whatever plan she’s cooked up.

Lumine must see the realization dawn on his face, because she hurriedly speaks to keep his attention: “You know what I want. Answers.”

Childe takes another step forward. Lumine won’t shoot, he knows. He takes another, and another, until the barrel of the gun touches his chest. Childe places a hand on the pistol, steadying Lumine’s grip on it, fixing her stance. He tries to weigh the weapon in his hand. It is light, but he can’t be sure if it is loaded or not. His fingers discreetly feel around for the safety in the gun.

“I told you, Lumine,” he taunts, “if you want answers, you will have to do your worst.”

Lumine does not let go of the gun, but her grip tightens. There’s a cold, hard expression on her face, as if she’s considering pulling the trigger.

“Go on. Shoot.”

Her breathing is heavy. Up close, it looks like every single cell in her body is working hard for her not to collapse. She’s lost so much blood, and if she keeps this up—

A gunshot rings.

No, not from her gun. The shot comes from below. Another shot comes. And then, a roar of a car engine.

Rosalyne.

“No!” Lumine screams.

Childe takes advantage of Lumine’s shock and swipes the gun from her. He points to the safety and turns it off, the red dot exposed. “Turn off the safety next time.” He aims it at her. “Now, don’t move a muscle.”

Childe steps backward, in the direction of the bedroom window. He doesn’t take his eyes off Lumine, who has collapsed to her knees. He sighs, putting down the gun. She’s no harm like this.

He looks out the window and yells. “Rosalyne!”

Rosalyne looks up, rifle leaning on her shoulder. “I got him!”

Childe scans the open parking lot. “Where is he?”

“What? I can’t hear you!”

“Never mind, I’m coming down.”

Childe turns around and approaches Lumine. “Come on, let’s see your friend.”

“No.”

He offers a hand. She swats it away.

“Okay, if you’re gonna be like this—” Childe pulls her up by the arm, eliciting a groan from her.

“Don’t touch me,” she pushes him away, but at least she’s standing now.

Childe rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Stay here and bleed out if you want.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He steps into the bathroom, takes his rifle, and leaves.

Lumine cannot take much more of this.

Nothing was going to her plan. Tartaglia had an accomplice, a partner, whatever, staking out the parking lot. Kaeya and Albedo couldn’t leave. The plan was she would stay and distract Tartaglia so they could freely drive away. Kaeya did not want to leave her, especially in her state, but Lumine insisted. She still needed answers, and she wasn’t about to let Tartaglia get away for good.

It was not an excellent plan, admittedly.

Now, here she is, limping down the stairs, begrudgingly following Tartaglia out of the building. Lumine doesn’t want to see her friends dead, but she doesn’t have anything else to do, really. No phone, no weapon, and an injury slowly bleeding her out, to boot. Might as well follow an assassin to her likely death.

They take the back exit into the parking lot. Lumine immediately scans the area for Kaeya’s car. A flashy convertible. Very hard to miss. There’s no signs of the car around, but she sees skid marks on the asphalt. Lumine suppresses a sigh of relief. God, I hope they’re all right. But considering shots were fired...

A tall, blonde woman comes up to them. There’s blood on her shoulder, but that doesn’t stop her from aiming the rifle at Tartaglia.

“You,” she says with a snarl.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Tartaglia steps in front of the woman, blocking Lumine from her view. “Rosalyne. Where’s the target?”

“I shot him.”

“Okay... where is the body?”

Tartaglia finally notices the tire marks, swerving to the side before taking off. “He got away, didn’t he?”

“That’s because he wasn’t alone!”

Tartaglia turns to face Lumine. “Is that true?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Who the hell is this?” the woman, Rosalyne, demands, pushing Tartaglia aside with her gun.

When Rosalyne sees Lumine, her face softens a fraction, then she laughs. “Oh. You again.”

“Again?” Tartaglia repeats. “Wait—you know each other?”

Lumine nods. She could not forget a face like hers. Especially not the one that killed Venti, a famous singer, under Lumine’s watch. She was supposed to protect him. She failed and got demoted. Because of her. Rosalyne.

Rosalyne nods at Tartaglia. “You know her, too, don’t you? Is she the reason you took so fucking long coming down?”

“She was trying to distract me.” He looks away. “Didn’t work.”

Rosalyne rolls her eyes. “Well, isn’t this grand? Instead of a dead target, we got this wounded little thing here.” She aims the rifle back up at Lumine, wincing ever so slightly from the wound on her shoulder. “Maybe we should put it out of its misery.”

Tartaglia draws his stolen gun, the gun that Lumine borrowed from Kaeya, and aims it at Rosalyne. “Put it down, Rosie.”

Rosalyne laughs bitterly. “What’s gotten into you? Why the fuck are you trying to protect her?”

“Because we need her. She’s wounded, and clearly she’s good friends with our target. He’s not going to leave her behind like this. Especially not with us.”

Shit. Lumine did not consider that angle in her plans. To be fair, she also did not consider she might end up in a shitty standoff like this. All that, and Kaeya probably got shot, anyway.

Rosalyne regards Lumine for a second, before slowly putting the gun down. Tartaglia puts his down, too. Rosalyne’s still staring at her. Her eyes drift down to the wound in Lumine’s stomach. She smiles.

“Oh, no, you don’t—” Tartaglia starts, but he’s too late.

Two consecutive gunshots fire. Lumine collapses to the ground. She looks down at her stomach, trying to feel for any gunshot wounds. As her arm reaches, Lumine feels a hot, sharp pain flare out in her shoulder. Fuck. She got shot. Lumine’s head leans on the wall behind her, heaving short, shallow breaths.

This isn’t happening.

She hears Rosalyne screaming in the background, “AJAX, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” Lumine can’t see where she is, but her voice is so loud in her ears. Another gunshot rings, and then, silence.

Lumine closes her eyes. Everything feels so heavy. Her arms and legs are so tired, so goddamn tired of keeping her up all night. She just wants to lie down and sleep.

She hears a voice beside her. Not Rosalyne. “Hey, look at me, Lumine. Don’t sleep.”

Lumine groans. “Yes... sleep... five... minutes.”

“No, no, stay awake.” Fingers lightly slap away at her cheeks.

Her eyelids feel heavy. Even if she wants to open her eyes, she can’t. “So... tired,” she wheezes out.

Lumine feels arms around her, wrapping around in a warm embrace. It’s comfortable. Like a blanket. A cozy blanket to sleep with.

“Good... night.”

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