Days went by with little incident, save for an update on Ingo’s tenuous peace with the Pearl Clan. The way he spoke made it clear he felt terrible about avoiding Sneasler, but it seemed that giving her some space-- supposedly a core tenant of the clan-- was the best he could do to avoid causing everyone a headache down the line. He said that he was headed east, toward the coastline, and Emmet took that to mean he was somewhere near modern day Veilstone City.

The travel alone must have been unbearably slow, even ignoring the hazards along the way. Sinnoh was a decently large region, its towns spread thin over the land, and that made it seem even more vast; with only the landscape to judge by, it must have felt never-ending. They had experience navigating on foot, but it was decades-old now-- from when they’d been children on a grand adventure through their home region-- and even back then, Unova’s rail system ensured that they could make it home within the day if they’d needed it. Putting all of the factors together-- the sheer amount of distance to cross, those unseen dangers that lurked in the landscape, and, frankly the solitude inherent to it-- it had to be a difficult commute to make.

Once he’d made it to the Cobalt Coastlands, Ingo had stayed there for a time; he spoke a great deal about the territory’s noble and warden. The former-- Windie-- earned his attention because it was caring for a pair of inseparable Growlithe pups, and the latter-- Palina-- because she would hold slow, patient conversations with him, helping him to get a grasp of the Hisuian language. For a while, it sounded like a nice break, even though it consisted entirely of stalking Pokemon and being stalked in return.

“What am I meant to do if Sneasler refuses to honor the Pearl Clan’s customs? I can put as much distance between us as is physically possible, but I have no means of stopping her from giving chase.” Ingo had said, after several days of news from the coast.

“Just-- just once, I wish the call would somehow connect. I wish I could let you know that I’m alright, and not to worry, because in spite of the delays, forward progress is still being made. I’ll arrive at station… not soon, but eventually. I wish I could ask your take on the situation with Sneasler, even if you would laugh at me for getting myself stuck as I have. I know it won’t happen, but…”

His voice faded, seeing no point in restating the fact that it was unlikely, but he just wished.

If it had only been a matter of the drama with the clan, Emmet would have laughed, but he was stuck on Sneasler’s behavior. She was causing problems by pursuing his brother, but he couldn’t blame her; if he’d had the knowledge and means, he’d have done the same. In a way, he was grateful for her stubbornness, because it meant that someone back then was looking out for Ingo, and as competent as his twin was… they were two halves. They needed support. For all that it stabbed him in the heart at unexpected moments, Emmet still had the rhythm of daily life; he had their Pokemon to fall back upon, family and friends to consult, and a home to return to. He was amazed that his brother had managed to pick himself back up without any of it-- not because Emmet doubted Ingo’s abilities, but because he knew how hard it was to stay on the tracks when there was only one component throwing him off. Hearing his twin stay firm in his goal-- holding his ideals so dearly-- made him feel like he could weather his half of their separation, too. He wished he could say to his face how proud he was.

But for every upswing, there was a downturn, too.

Sometimes, a call’s sudden change of track would take Emmet by surprise, but that wasn’t the case here. From the outset, it was clear that his brother had a lot on his mind, and that he was in a particularly somber mood.

It had seemed easy to anticipate, at first. He was scared to return to the Alabaster Icelands, but he couldn’t let himself avoid it. How could anyone blame him for being afraid? He’d had his entire life ripped away-- had been thrown into a blizzard, where he’d had to watch his death grow ever-nearer with each step. Who would voluntarily return to the place they’d nearly died?

“Sometimes, I look at the damage I’ve done to my coat, and wonder why in the world that Pokemon thought I was a good fit for this task,” Ingo sighed, and Emmet bristled before he even realized the thought was incomplete.

“By myself, at least.”

His building offense immediately plateaued, and he found himself unable to remain on their couch; it was too big, suddenly, too empty. As his brother continued to speak, he moved across the room to curl into the little-used armchair, instead.

“You’re better at communicating without words. You’re the one who knows the stats of a dozen species offhand. When you have a goal, you accept nothing less than victory.”

He understood. On Zekrom’s vision, he understood. Not a day went by where he didn’t miss his brother’s ability to channel thought and feeling into speech, his adaptability and quick thinking, his capacity to find a route through, no matter the circumstance. Each of the virtues that Ingo ascribed to Emmet had an invaluable counterpart, and it hurt to hear that he couldn’t recognize them on his own. Maybe there was something to take away from that; he’d have to come back to this message, to think about those traits Ingo had highlighted and try to see himself from his brother’s perspective-- but that would wait for another day.

“I wouldn’t wish this on you in a thousand years, but… but really, what good am I here without you?”

It was barely a whisper by the end, and Emmet found himself curling in again, insulating himself from the question. He’d asked himself before, too, had hurled it into an unfeeling voicemail in accusation-- and quite suddenly, it didn’t seem like this message had been meant for him to hear. The words were addressed to him, and there was no one else his twin could be speaking to… but he thought that might have been the point. On more than one occasion, Emmet had done exactly the same thing Ingo was doing-- he’d called his brother, fully aware that nobody would answer, for the sole purpose of voicing the feelings he couldn’t quite articulate. It hadn’t been elegant, it hadn’t been kind, and it hadn’t been meant for human ears.

He wondered if he should stop. Even though the messages had made it to his inbox, he didn’t have to listen to them; he could download them onto his hard drive for safe keeping and then clean them out each day. It would halt any progress in its tracks, but now that Emmet knew where to look, he could probably dig something else up.

Emmet thought it over throughout the next day, and while he tried to focus where he was needed, he couldn’t help his preoccupation. It had been weeks of this routine-- of preparing for the day while Ingo spoke into the void on whatever topic he saw fit, of checking in on his lunch break to see if anything interesting had happened-- and it was comforting. He could maintain that without the incoming recordings. It was entirely possible to cycle through older messages in the mornings, and he didn’t feel any guilt for reading the texts. When Ingo needed to work through something, he spoke out loud, and his written words were functional. Anything he took the time to write out was meant to be read.

Cutting back to only those messages he’d already heard and new texts wouldn’t be so bad. Emmet would still have a general idea of what was going on, it would just be less… what, exactly? Not “genuine”, because they carried the spirit of what his brother was saying in his calls. Not “personal” either, since there were some things that were even easier to say when it wasn’t out loud.

It would be less intimate, he decided, once he’d had the time to really think on it. Even the most unpolished, haphazard texts lacked dimension. He couldn’t read the subtleties of his twin’s voice or notice where his cadence rose and fell, and losing those cues was like trying to understand a jammed Klink.

He found peace with it at lunch time, as he scanned through their labyrinthine text conversation.

Isn’t it enough that I’m here at all? Do I have to face the entirety of it at once?

I’m afraid of returning to that place, and I hate it.

Maybe Emmet had been projecting. He’d thought of the texts as a way to potentially replace the incoming calls, but they were intertwined-- either medium meant to supplement the other. When he went home that evening, he tentatively played the first of the new messages, and it put his lingering fears to rest.

Hadn’t Ingo said as much, before? That, though he knew the call couldn’t connect, he’d always hoped it might? Even those recordings where Ingo was thinking aloud were meant for him, and the realization was a warming one.

Emmet’s lapse wasn’t without consequence, though. He wasn’t sure how word reached Elesa, but the following day, she strong armed him into going to lunch with her-- and then confronted him.

“You’re being a different sort of weird than usual.” She said without preamble, chin propped delicately against the back of her hand, her eyes utterly unyielding, “Whatever it is, spill.”

He stared at her for several seconds, one hand nervously moving to the straw of his drink, swirling the ice inside. This was a problem he’d never solved, and so he’d taken the easy track and avoided it entirely. Coming from him, any attempt at subterfuge or misdirection would be obvious, and undoubtedly leave them in a worse spot than they’d started. That left the truth, though, and he didn’t know if that would truly be any better. On some level, he even wanted to keep it to himself: a spark of hope that he could return to whenever he needed it, safe from anything and anyone else that might try to tear it away. With his bedrock gone, he desperately wanted something-- anything-- to cling to.

...it was wrong to leave her in the lurch, though; that went for the rest of their family, too. No matter what, it was going to be a difficult conversation, but-- if there was anything he’d learned from the past few days-- that didn’t mean it wasn’t one worth having.

“You won’t believe me if I say.” Emmet began, moving to navigate his Xtransceiver.

He heard Elesa huff, indignant, and sharply raised a hand to stall whatever comment was forthcoming. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t believe him, period, just that his words wouldn’t be enough; he had proof, and he could show her. She gave him that much ground, at least, and he returned to scrolling through the messages at his disposal.

“Here.” He said, hitting the voicemail’s playback. While the messages were still in chronological order, there were a great many missing-- backed up on his laptop for future reference, but not anything he needed to revisit on a regular basis. At this point in time, most of what he had on hand were the recordings he liked to listen to in the mornings. Some of them were personal, and others… had their own charms.

The recording opened with a hand slapping down on what he’d taken to be a table. “What are Unown? I brought my observations from the Solaceon Ruins to Professor Laventon, and saw his eyes light up. It’s unclear how long we were in his study discussing it, but it’s dark now, and I believe Captain Cyllene thinks I’m a madman corrupting her coworker. I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if one of the Security Corpsman asks me to leave for the night, but such is the price of scientific discovery, I suppose.”

Emmet paused it there, before his brother really got going, and looked up. It was hard to parse the look on Elesa’s face. There was disbelief, of course, but also… hurt? Maybe?

“What was that?” She asked, her voice tight, eyes still on the Xtransceiver.

“He was excited that day.” Emmet said, defensive.

Her lip curled in what was definitely annoyance. “Not what I meant. Did-- did Ingo call you? And you didn’t say anything?”

“Yes and no.” He said immediately, realizing he was actually the one who needed protection against her ire, “I’ve received messages. But they’re just messages. I’ve been unable to get through. My understanding of what’s happened is… incomplete.”

“More complete than mine.” She said, offering him a tight, dangerous grimace of a smile. It was a first-- and only-- warning.

Emmet hesitated, only chancing a sideways look as he tried to work out the best way to defuse the situation. It wasn’t exactly his forte; dealing with people could be a delicate operation, and what worked one time wouldn't always work in another instance.

Right now, judging by what he knew of Elesa, he thought honesty was his best bet. He braced himself.

“It’s impossible to get through at this point in time.” Emmet said after a minute, testing the waters. The wording was deliberate: entirely accurate, but not as alarming as other phrasing he could have been. He knew to do that much, at least. “His messages reach me because they’re old. Verrrry old. But they did not arrive when he first sent them. Our problems are the same. Calls cannot connect when the recipient does not currently exist.”

Another person’s brows might have puckered when confronted with that riddle, but Elesa’s twitched, trained better than to cause undue wear on her face. “The messages are old… and that’s why they were delivered. But you can’t get through because…?”

He gave her a second. While it would be nice if she made a wild leap on her own, he wasn’t exactly counting on it. If he wanted the dominoes to fall into place, he needed to make sure they were all set up first; establishing this basic information and allowing her to think about it would warm her up to an answer that, otherwise, would sound wholly ridiculous. During that short lull, he tapped on his Xtransceiver twice-- once to wake it from sleep and once to navigate forward, to the call’s data.

“I had to remove the most relevant message in order to preserve storage space. It’s saved on my computer back home. The short version is that he is stuck in the distant past.” The screen’s display automatically adjusted as he turned his wrist to show her the timestamps, and he waited as she leaned in and scanned it. When her face twitched again, he reasoned that she’d seen what she needed to, and went on. “He is attempting to return to station. Or was. The research I’ve conducted suggests that he accomplished his goal, but obviously we have not seen evidence of success. I’m trying to determine what happened.”

It seemed to him that Elesa’s understanding had been where he needed it, but something in that last sentence changed the circumstance. Her eyes went from being stunned to pinching.

“‘Research’?” Elesa echoed as she sat up straight once again; instead of the screen, her gaze bored into him. “Just how much information have you been sitting on? And for how long?”

There was… no correct answer to that question. There was a factually accurate answer and there were lies, but none of those would net a positive response.

She closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled slowly. “It sounds ridiculous, but the idea that he's stranded somewhere is still more believable than him just leaving. Even if you weren’t sure, why wouldn’t you say anything?”

“You would have chalked it up to grief. Bargaining.”

Her lips parted as if to say something and then silently shut again. After a moment to gather her thoughts, she rolled her head to the side and looked at him askance. “That’s pessimistic, but I guess we’ll never know what would have happened now, will we?”

No, but he didn’t really care what might have been. He’d needed something to believe in, and didn’t regret keeping it to himself for a time-- he could concede that it was right to share his findings, now, but didn’t believe he was in the wrong for taking a little longer than she liked. He shrugged and pulled his arms back to fold over his chest, leaving that as his final statement on the matter.

They spent several seconds in a standstill, looking at one another. Elesa started tapping her nails against the table, which made the lull that much harder to bear, and the minute movements threatened to draw Emmet’s eyes against his will.

Finally, she broke the silence, “Whatever; it doesn’t matter anymore. The point is that the rest of us deserved to know-- not just me, and not just because I pried it out of you. You get it?”

The challenge was obvious. She was daring him to do right by her, to prove that he would do ‘better’ in the future. Emmet thought that was kind of hypocritical; of all people she should have known that it was difficult for him to process his emotions right now.

At the same time, though, he thought he could understand her anger.

He backed down and extended the Smoliv branch.

When they went their separate ways for the afternoon, it was with a family meeting at Drayden’s house looming in the future.