“I have a question.” Emmet announced one evening, as the both of them worked through disassembling the behemoth of a care package that had arrived earlier that day.

“Regrettably, I can’t promise I have an answer,” Ingo said, craning to put a box of Roserade tea away. Emmet had no earthly idea why their mother had sent it; Lilligant tea was produced locally and was far more familiar. Maybe it was meant as a substitute-- to use while the nausea was at its worst so as not to cause an aversion to the superior product.

He had gotten distracted.

“I am considering scheduling a tubal ligation.” He said, and waited.

There was a beat of silence as it processed, and then the cupboard door slammed shut.

“Yes! You should do so immediately.”

Okay, good. Now to ask the question in full, “It will require the arrangement of several days off. Potentially up to a week. I am unsure if it’s better to plan for it imminently or wait until your symptoms have eased.”

“Don’t delay it.” Ingo still had one hand pressed to the cabinet, forgotten there in his haste; he withdrew it now to raise both in front of him, balled into fists in his enthusiasm, “The odds of this particular circumstance repeating itself are low, but the precedent has been set; if there’s a way to protect yourself, you should take it as soon as you’re able.”

Frankly, he’d expected as much from his brother, but it didn’t do to act on assumptions outside of a battle; a botched combination was one thing, and a personal miscommunication something else entirely. It was far easier to set the former straight once it had occurred.

“I will make an inquiry once we’ve finished here.” He promised, and, in the process of doing so, his attention quickly moved on to the folded sheet of paper he’d discovered under a bag of granola. He was vaguely aware of Chandelure hovering through, coaxed in by the sounds of cupboards opening and closing, but left her to her trainer for now, scanning the neatly written lines. “Mom has added a grocery list.”

“Does it match the internet’s advice cross tie for cross tie?” Ingo asked wearily as he found himself confronted with several boxes of crackers, their only visible difference the brand name attached. Chandelure gave each of them a cursory prod and, determining that they weren’t something she was interested in, turned her attention elsewhere.

“Largely.” Emmet said, “But she mentioned fries and honey as well. That’s interesting.”

“I suppose specific cravings could run in families; the factors causing them could stem from a hereditary condition or deficiency.” He was forced to change tracks as Chandelure tilted her globe toward him-- eyes narrowed-- and nuzzled in. Lacking the heart to dislodge her, he settled for moving the boxes to the side and started trying to puzzle out the difference between the granola Emmet had been handling a minute previously and something that looked suspiciously similar to it.

When that, too, was resolved and she refused to budge, Ingo made to address the issue.

“Chandelure? Is something the matter?” He asked, and she shook her body minutely, muffling a chime into his front.

It took another second to click.

“Ah. That.” He said, as if there was any way he could have forgotten.

This was all but inevitable. The entire Litwick line fed off of life force, and humans seemed to be a favorite; it made the ghosts particularly sensitive to changes in the vitae of those around them. They’d actually discussed making use of that exact attribute, and promptly been scolded for it when Arceus realized what they were implying. Chandelure, having known the both of them since they were children, would be able to differentiate her trainer’s vital essence from the tag along without any trouble; snuffing the tiny hitchhiker would be the work of an instant. In the end, they’d rejected the idea because neither twin could bear to put her at risk.

It was absolutely no surprise that, as the stowaway continued to develop, she would cotton onto its presence.

When he moved to support her base, she peeked upwards, crooning in question.

“Yes, you’re correct. Please don’t get too excited, though, we’re not--”

She promptly shrieked, alerting the rest of the apartment.

“--keeping them.” He finished feebly, overshadowed by the confused rumble that passed through the rest of the Pokemon. Looking to Emmet for backup, the only response he got was an insistent cue to turn around, which was received a moment too late; Eelektross curved around him, smushing its face against Chandelure’s as they conferred between themselves.

Ingo tolerated it for a minute, but when the eel made to coil a second time, worked an arm in between them to protect against any unintentional constriction. “Emmet, please collect your child.”

“You don’t consider him your own? Poor Eelektross.” Emmet cooed at the eel, seizing him under the fin and beginning the process of unwinding him.

“That’s not the issue here; my capacity is far lower than that of a passenger train, and we’re dangerously close to exceeding it.”

As he crossed behind his brother, Emmet grumbled something about fare dodgers that didn’t merit further comment. Without making any attempt to fully escape its trainer’s arms, Eelektross leaned in toward Chandelure, and this time she backed off, allowing her compatriot to fill her space. He stayed there for several seconds, clearly trying to understand, but eventually pulled away, displaying a blatant lack of comprehension.

Chandelure tittered at him, growing impatient.

Breaking the exasperated eye contact he’d established with his twin, Ingo stepped back before she could push Eelektross against his chest again. “That’s enough, Chandelure. Eelektross can’t feel life force like you can; it’s no fault of his that he can’t tell, yet.”

Chastised, her flame dimmed and she ducked her globe; with a brief adjustment to her hovering height, she glided in close to give Eelektross an apologetic bump. He babbled back at her, unbothered, and while the sentiment was incomprehensible, it certainly perked her back up. He dipped out of Emmet’s hold, giving his body a stretch, and slipped around the corner.

A call sounded in the other room that, coming from any of the other Pokemon, might best be described as ‘disturbingly wet’-- but from Eelektross meant excitement. There was a beat of silence, and then renewed chatter, prefacing a number of hurried footfalls.

Emmet looked away, trying not to let his amusement show. Ingo didn’t even bother stifling the laugh that escaped him as Garbodor lumbered in, the rest of the pack right behind her.

It was nice that they were excited; circumstance aside, it seemed only right that a child would be celebrated by someone, and he was glad he could rely on them to fill that void.