Dewpider stayed with them until their next day off, which was slightly longer than expected, but not a problem in the slightest.

Their initial plan had been for Emmet to meet Burgh at one of the Castelia substations on a day when he was manning the pink line, but poor Dewpider was a somewhat anxious creature, and if she’d spent the greater portion of her life in a poorly-maintained jacuzzi, she couldn’t really be blamed for it. It was only right to handle her with a little extra care, and that meant introducing her to her new trainer in an environment that wasn’t renowned for the experience of being shoved aside by hurried businessmen.

The only problem was that work had definitely picked up since the month’s turn over. A surprising number of new subway trainer applicants had recently passed their tests and needed further assessment as to what course suited them. On top of their other duties, the extra workload left little time for an extended lunch break in the interest of meeting Burgh.

None of it was anyone’s fault, and none of it was inherently a bad thing. It just made the timing a little bit difficult.

Coincidentally, it was incredibly difficult for Ingo to drag himself out of the apartment that afternoon, nausea returning with a vengeance and a whole host of aches refusing to see themselves out.

He was in the process of washing his face before they left, hoping it might help him feel just a bit more human, when Emmet said, “You could just stay home? Burgh will understand that you are sick.”

There was no denying that he found it tempting, but it seemed incredibly rude to veer offtrack at the last second when all he would do instead was lay down or wander around the apartment. Not only that, it seemed like a waste of a day off.

When he voiced his hesitation, however, Emmet made a face and offered some truly stunning advice: “Stop being dumb.”

Ingo chucked the wet washcloth at him, catching his twin in the side of the face as he hastily turned away from the projectile. It flopped sadly to the floor. “Now what would you have me do?”

Rubbing at the impact spot with one hand, trying to chase away the dampness, Emmet stooped over to snag the cloth before Crustle could furret it away under its shell. “You know what? You are grounded. You do not get to go to Castelia today. Problem solved.”

Though he had every intention of firing back, what Ingo actually did was snap his mouth shut, quite suddenly doubtful how well he could keep the contents of his stomach down. As he breathed through the nausea, the tension in the room lessened.

“It’s normal to stay home when you’re sick.” Emmet eventually said, taking pity on him. With the washrag out of pincer-reach, laid out to dry, he moved to instead fill the glass at the side of the sink. “And you’ve never complained about staying in on an off day before. I do not understand why this circumstance changes anything.”

It took a minute for Ingo to answer, more due to the physical sensations going on than any lack of words. Emmet pressed the glass into one of his hands.

“It’s because I’m not sick.” He eventually said, and his brother tossed his own hands up in exasperation.

“I feel like we have had this conversation before. Approximately three months ago.”

Ingo resisted the urge to sigh. “You’re not hearing me. The problem is that I’m not sick. This isn’t going to go away, and I’m only going to continue feeling worse. It’s not feasible to take time off every time I feel ill, because another instance will be right around the bend.”

Emmet hummed, folding his arms over his chest, “People will understand. Maybe not right now. But they will.”

“Maybe they will,” Ingo conceded, as there was little point to arguing now that they’d shifted gears. “Given this recent turn, I believe you’re right about today, at least. It’s best if I remain here.”

“You could start reading your book if you feel well enough.”

He could. Part of him wanted to save it for when he was feeling worse, though, so he had something to look forward to in the thick of things. At the same time-- especially if he was bringing it up now-- Emmet was probably eager to hear how his present had been received.

“That’s a good idea.” Ingo said, committing to neither option just yet. “Did you need any assistance before heading out, or am I only delaying you?”

He shook his head, hand dropping to his belt to account for the Pokemon he was taking with him today. Three of the four bugs had been recalled, the only outlier being Crustle, who Emmet had been trying to corral prior to this little spat. “Neither. But it is time for me to depart. Call if you need me to return ahead of schedule.”

“I’ll be fine.” Ingo insisted, which was true enough.

Once Crustle had been returned to its pokeball and Emmet had left, he wasted no time in laying down. It helped almost immediately, and while he’d decided that staying home had probably been for the best prior to that, it was what really convinced him.

Reluctant to get up and retrieve another entertainment option, he did end up reaching for the mystery novel his brother had given him, and spent the first hour switching between reading and resting his eyes as necessary.

He felt his stomach lurch, but paid it little mind, familiar enough with the rhythm of morning sickness that he was confident it wouldn’t be an issue just yet. When it came again twenty minutes later, still absent any accompanying nausea, another prospect occurred to him.

One hand frozen around the novel, the other hovering uselessly in midair, he swallowed tightly and shoved the first available piece of paper between its pages as a bookmark. In his haste to find answers, it was far more difficult than usual to wait for his laptop to boot up, and once it finally did, his hands practically flew across the keyboard, typing in a frantic question.

He’d read up on it before-- which was why his thoughts had traveled this direction in the first place-- and found his suspicions all but confirmed. It was quite common for early fetal movement to be mistaken for a churning stomach.

Whether it was the sudden upset from bolting out of bed or the confirmation, a wave of actual sickness came back in full force and he had to set his head down.

He’d known he was pregnant. He’d understood what that meant. It was impossible to ignore how wrong he felt on the inside, but this was different. Nausea was something everyone experienced at some point in their life, and the severity of the cramping unusual but not wholly unfamiliar. The outward changes were incredibly uncomfortable-- and he’d have to figure out how to manage that-- but they weren’t volatile.

There was-- there was something inside of him, and while on some level he knew that, feeling it was something else entirely. Thus far, pregnancy had been a host of physical ailments that didn’t necessarily go together, but could be weathered. But this reaffirmed that there was something there. Two somethings.

That wasn’t fair. They weren’t things. Maybe they weren’t people yet, but they would be someday, and already, they had enough life force for Chandelure to pick up on, enough corporeality to announce that they existed. It was amazing in its own way; they were alive, but they also weren’t yet, in an ephemeral state wholly dependent on him for their continued growth and survival. He hated that his body was being used, but that was a bitterness reserved for Arceus and Arceus alone.

He wondered how different this might have been if it was something he’d consented to, or even actively wanted. Would he have hastened to check his laptop the same way he had in the here and now? Might he have caught on before the repetition? Would he have been excited, been eager to share what he’d felt?

A not insubstantial part of him wished he could feel that way. It had to be better than sitting here in his room, face buried in his arms as he tried not to panic over a flutter in his stomach. Would it all be more bearable if he knew, at the end of the process, he was getting something he’d waited for out of it? That the discomfort would all be worth it?

Again, that was horrible of him to think. Of course his twins were going to be worth it; he couldn’t be so callous as to say otherwise. Just because something didn’t directly benefit the person working toward it didn’t lessen its importance-- that was how people strove to make their world a better place, by contributing toward it in ways they would never see. Maybe if he approached the pregnancy with the same attitude, it would help put his mind at ease? Someone out there was going to get a pair of children at the end of this, and he hoped, for everyone’s sake, they would be cherished.

In the meantime, he would care for them. He was the only one who could, after all.

Ingo stayed still for a few minutes longer, until his heart rate slowed and he felt steady enough to push away from the desk. He only ventured as far as his bed-- feeling substantially worse than he had earlier-- and promptly laid down. Setting the book off to the side, he turned off the light and stared blankly into the darkness, unthinking.

An indeterminate amount of time later, he felt it again: the ghost of movement in his belly.

He closed his eyes against it and tried to sleep.