By the time he got home that evening, Ingo ached. The ankle that had had been grabbed felt tight and stiff, made all the worse by the bandage wrapped around it, and the opposite arm trembled when he tried to carry anything. It was a novel sort of ache in comparison to the tenderness he’d endured thus far, but that didn’t help much.

In spite of this, when he shouldered the door open, he announced himself by asking, “Have you made it through the day intact?” and then waited, busying himself with setting the takeout up.

It took about six seconds for his twin to come careening around the corner, which either meant Emmet was significantly less sore than he’d been that morning, or he was about to reopen an incision. Possibly both.

“I need you to settle something.” He announced, a fire in his eyes, “Petro thinks Solid Rock is the better ability for a Carracosta. Sturdy is clearly superior. Convince him.”

“Have either of you considered Swift Swim?” Ingo asked innocently, setting out the first of two styrofoam containers.

“I’m recovering from surgery and you’re taunting me. Unforgivable.”

“Ah yes, my poor bed-bound brother, who only barely managed to drag himself to the dinner table tonight.” He shook his head affectionately and set the second container out, closer to Emmet, “Eat your soup and then back to bed with you.”

Emmet stuck his tongue out at him, but wasted no time investigating what he’d been given. While Ingo hadn’t had this precise routine in mind when he’d settled on pho, it had seemed like a good mix of comfort food and something nice to get Emmet’s mind off of being cooped up for another day-- that he’d been able to use it to tease him was a nice bonus.

Ingo was sorry that it had gotten so frustrating, but a week’s medical leave seemed well worth the trade off if his brother never had to worry about becoming pregnant. Maybe he’d ask once the irritation of the past few days had faded and Emmet was more likely to judge fairly.

“Okay. You’re forgiven.” Said twin declared, rummaging around the bag and laying the rest of its contents out. While he did that, Ingo went to complete those steps of the after-work routine that he’d skipped in favor of getting the food on the table, then bypassed the kitchen entirely, calling that he’d be back after he’d changed clothes.

Getting dressed tended to be an… awkward experience as things stood. Though Elesa’s prediction rang incredibly true and the waistcoat streamlined his silhouette, he still had to deal with what lay beneath every morning and evening.

Going back to a sports bra after years adjusting to the ins and outs of binder safety felt almost akin to changing into pajama pants at the end of a day: informal at best and inappropriate for a work environment at worst. Luckily, no one had noticed-- or, at the very least, no one had commented-- and even more fortunately, it wasn’t chest dysphoria that drove him to bind, simply the shorthand involved. Not all flat chested individuals were men, but people were more likely to assume when they presented that particular image, and it was a concession Ingo was more than willing to make.

His chest really wasn’t the worst of it; the increased size and sensitivity were grating, but he could manage decently enough. Without a trace of doubt, the thing he struggled with most was the gradual rounding of his abdomen. It had been hard enough knowing just how far he had yet to progress; the addition of a second child only exacerbated the problem.

Making a solid effort against dwelling on the matter, he tried not to let himself look down as he changed, which meant he put very little thought toward the clothes he’d swapped into. Emmet might poke fun, but that was fine; he’d gotten a few lighthearted jabs in already, so it was only fair to take a couple in return.

What he’d failed to take into account was that he’d tossed a t-shirt on in place of his long sleeved dress shirt. Instead of the fact that-- in his infinite wisdom-- Ingo had elected to pair a black web pattern with purple fire, when he returned to the kitchen, Emmet immediately honed in on spiraling bruise that encircled the bulk of his right arm.

“When did you get this?” He asked, turning it this way and that, careful only to handle those patches of skin that weren’t discolored. “What caused it?”

Oops.

In Ingo’s defense, he hadn’t been intentionally hiding the bruise; it just hadn’t seemed as important as ensuring that Emmet hadn’t gone stir crazy yet.

“There was a minor altercation during my survey of the north eastern tunnel system.” He confessed, making sure to keep his tone as professional and calm as possible, “A Cofagrigus had taken up residence roughly half a mile out; Chandelure subdued it, and it’s since been relocated.”

Emmet seemed to accept that easily enough… except for the part where he hadn’t actually explained how he’d gotten the bruise, and gestured insistently toward the unnatural pattern again, more impatiently this time.

“It took a moment to correctly identify it; during that time, the Cofagrigus managed to grab onto me. Please don’t worry, it looks far more dramatic than it is.” Because really, it was just a bruise. As weak as the arm felt for the moment, it would be back to normal within a day or two-- and if it really started bothering him, he could always wrap a heating pad around it. He might not have been able to treat the ache with ibuprofen, but there was still plenty to be done.

Frowning at the pattern again-- likely envisioning what it had taken to manifest thusly-- Emmet shook his head. “It looks like it hurts. You should have said.”

“No worse than the fallout from the Stealth Rock shrapnel last month; once it’s allowed to rest, it should improve immensely.” To demonstrate how cooperative he was being now, he hitched up the opposite pant leg to uncover that portion of the day’s escapade as well. “A second hand caught my ankle, but the damage is similarly minor. The bandage you see is for sanitary reasons more than it is to stem any bleeding.”

Though he didn’t see any reason to inspect this as thoroughly as the odd-shaped mark on Ingo’s arm, Emmet still turned his attention down for half a minute to consider this development. The distinct form of a thumb and forefinger stretched out from beneath the bandaged area, and the worried frown briefly turned into a sneer.

“It will also need to rest. You’ve definitely been on your feet all day.” He-- correctly-- assumed, straightening up to fold his arms over his chest, “Dinner is a good place to start. Unless there’s anything else you’ve forgotten to inform me about.”

There was a long, guilty silence as Ingo realized that he had forgotten about something rather important-- but not in its entirety, only the fact that he had yet to tell his brother. It was just... he’d already half suspected, going into the appointment early that morning, and confirmation had fallen by the wayside when there were more pressing matters to concern himself with in the interim.

Emmet narrowed his eyes at him.

Attention fixed on the cupboard past his own twin’s ear, Ingo sheepishly said, “I’m having twins.”

“I see.” It was followed a long silence that felt far more judgmental than it actually was, “There will not be a next time to learn from this. But it would have been nice to lead with that.” After a second longer he sighed and gave up on any attempt at justified indignation, instead bumping his head against Ingo’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Absently, Ingo wrapped an arm around him, considering how to respond to that. He landed on a diplomatic, “It… would be hypocritical to say that it’s inherently a bad thing. It’s certainly not what I’d hoped for, but if they end up anything like us, perhaps it’s the greatest service my body could have done for them.”

“Carrying them doesn’t count now?”

“Beyond that. It wouldn’t have occurred to me had it been a single child, but I do like the idea that, regardless of whatever else happens, they’ll have someone at their side.”

“That’s verrrrry optimistic.” Emmet said after a pause, and then nudged his brother toward the table, “But you saying that doesn’t surprise me. We’ll talk about it more later. Right now I have a proposal. You have two limbs which require rest. I will lose my mind if I remain stationed here tomorrow. No one will know if we switch.”

Ingo worked free the lid of his own soup bowl and gave it a second to vent. “Actually, I believe that’s what one might call optimistic. Your plan suffers from one key flaw, and that would be the fact that I’m not inclined to let you off the hook so easily.”

“The estimated recovery period was 2-3 days. A week is too much.”

“Not if your first source was the internet and the second was your doctor.”

“And I’m certain you plan to strictly adhere to any extra leave you’re recommended as well.” Emmet said, rolling his eyes.

“We’ll address that terminal when we reach it.”

“Thought so.”

(In the end, they came to a compromise: Emmet was allowed to be physically present at the station so long as he focused solely on working with the subway trainers. The resultant argument over Solid Rock and Sturdy could be heard all the way into the main hall.)