Thursday’s afternoon block saw higher traffic than usual on the Double Line, but that didn’t translate into any meaningful increase in challengers on a winning streak. It was a common phenomenon; if the battle format they’d hoped to try was unavailable, there were a number of trainers who would take a spin at the active line.

That was a wonderful mindset to have: the flexibility and willingness to try something new. Unfortunately, those who came prepared for single battles rarely flourished in doubles-- and vice-versa. The tactics were different enough that, while it wasn’t impossible to reach the goalpost of twenty victories, it was exceedingly rare if one joined on a whim.

No one complained, at least. That part was new. Either challengers had distanced themselves from the behavior of rush hour commuters in record time, or the house trainers were screening any unwanted commentary. Both were entirely plausible. The facility saw a wide variety of demographics acting as subway trainers, many of them locals who couldn’t travel and seek out opponents for whatever reason: kids who were still too young to leave home, working people who didn’t have the time for travel, and those whose wandering days were long behind them would come to hone their craft here. Any of them could have an expectant parent, significant other, or remember their own experience-- it wasn’t so unbelievable that their compassion might act as a Sticky Barb, piercing into the ire of over-critical challengers to deflate it.

The bottom line was that Emmet had expected more pushback when Thursday rolled around and, inevitably, trainers showed up without consulting the timetables, only to find the Single Line inactive-- never mind the fact that the schedule had been available online for two full weeks, and it was their own fault if they hadn’t checked once in all that time.

He was happy to be proven wrong, though.

The early November air was light and crisp, but as the sun had since set, it also had an undeniable bite to it. Halfway through the walk home, Emmet gave into the urge to be slightly silly and shuffled the spare coat over his shoulders; he was taking it with him either way, so the exact method didn’t matter that much. It would probably make Ingo laugh, anyway.

He was right. Instead of immediately removing both coats and hanging them side by side, Emmet took a moment to take off his shoes first, and the delay was enough for his brother to look up from his work at the kitchen table to take notice.

“Is it already that cold out?” Ingo asked after the sight registered and he’d had his moment, making the short trip over to assist, however unnecessarily. He swept the dark outer layer off of his twin’s shoulders and turned to hang it up. “I’m glad you convinced me to leave it with you, then. It wouldn’t have done any good at my appointment.”

No, it wouldn’t have. The only purpose it could have served was to make Ingo that much more self conscious, so this had worked out for everyone involved.

That wasn’t where he chose to focus. “Do you recall our conversation about sick leave? I distinctly remember telling you that dinner preparations weren’t your responsibility back then. They weren’t tonight, either.”

Ingo shook his head and waved it off, “I understand, but the process of assembling sheet pan Basculin and vegetables isn’t a particularly involved one. While I might have underestimated just how cold it is outside, I had thought that a hot meal might be welcome after the walk home.”

He put the effort into an exasperated sigh, but Emmet had a feeling his smile might have ruined the effect, turning it into something fond instead. Hoping to maintain any shred of rigidity, he folded his arms and regarded his twin head-on. “What was the verdict?”

“Boys,” Ingo said, and then tilted his head in allowance, “Unless otherwise noted, of course.”

“Of course.” Emmet echoed, half on autopilot as he considered this new information-- particularly the addendum. Relaxing his posture without even realizing it, he asked, “And have you reached a conclusion?”

It was answered by a deliberate blankness that said more than Ingo probably meant for it.

“I… have. However, I wanted to ask that you--”

“You have to answer first. My thoughts will remain unchanged no matter what you say.” And he wanted to know what his brother’s process was before coloring it with his own opinions; while Ingo wouldn’t back down on what he thought was the right choice, he would absolutely try to soften his point, to build up to it if he thought it wouldn’t be well received.

That wouldn’t stand; this decision was too important to let any doubt go unaddressed.

His brother was quiet for several seconds longer, searching Emmet’s expression the same way Emmet had read his tone, and finally said, “I want to keep them.”

“Okay.” Emmet said, nodding, and waited for the rest of it-- because there was no way that was everything that Ingo had to say.

“While I recognize that we’ve since come to an understanding, I wanted to reiterate this one last time: you’re under no obligation to follow these tracks with me. If you aren’t of the same mind, we can come to some manner of agreement.”

It might have stung if he didn’t understand where it was coming from; it wasn’t that Ingo doubted how sincere he’d been when they last visited the topic, just that tracks sometimes diverged from their intended route-- that feelings and decisions could change after an agreement was reached, as evidenced right that minute-- and he wanted to ensure that Emmet had the freedom to travel whatever path he preferred. The gesture was an incredibly considerate one, and it would have been out of character if Ingo hadn’t offered.

And that was a large part of why Emmet had long since chosen.

“Understood.” He said simply, “I have nothing to add on that topic. My decision is the same as before.”

“Okay.” Ingo echoed, belatedly, the minor shift in his shoulders belying the pressure that answer took off. As Emmet had just a moment prior, he waited politely for him to continue.

“I’m glad you decided. Not knowing was causing you a great deal of stress. It must have been verrrry bad for all three of you.” He knew enough to interpret the minute narrowing of the eyes as a signal to stop stalling and say his piece. “I told you before that the specific outcome was not my primary concern. There was no incorrect answer. I would have agreed if you wanted nothing to do with them. I am happy to welcome them into our lives knowing that you do want them.”

A hand rested on his shoulder, heavy in its sentiment rather than the exertion of any active pressure. “As much as I appreciate your willingness to cooperate with me, this is precisely what I was concerned about. Saying that you’re happy either way isn’t conducive to raising children; it’s not healthy to force a place for them in your life if that’s not what you actually want.”

Though taken aback at first, Emmet felt himself smile.

“You’re going to be a good father.” He said, and while Ingo took a second to reel at that epiphany, went on, “Yes, from your perspective that was the dilemma. You needed to be entirely sure. My viewpoint is different. It was not my choice to make, so I could not have that same certainty. I only needed to know my own intentions.”

The oven timer went off in the background and he took the hand from his shoulder to lead them into the kitchen.

“Don’t worry.” He said, gently bullying his twin into one of the chairs, “It wasn’t a lie when I said I’m happy.”

Distinctly watery, bright eyes stared back up at him, and he couldn’t help but reach out with both hands to give Ingo’s cheeks a couple of tender pats. “Our destination has been set! We’ll be perfectly fine.”

The oven beeped again in warning, and Emmet wasn’t sure how he missed the fact that one of his hands had been captured until he tried to walk away, only to be stymied by his own limb.

“I need that.” He said, neutral affect temporarily overcome by a laugh he didn’t bother to fight down. “Dinner will burn if I do not take it out. You were correct. A hot meal would be nice after the walk home. And I worry that you have not been eating enough for three.”

Though Ingo relented at the appeal to the chill outside, he only responded to the final point. “I understand your concern, but two of the individuals involved are the size of sweet potatoes. Any adjustment that needs to be made on their behalf is minimal.”

Emmet yanked the oven door open and, without deviating from his task, said, “And a Joltik is the size of an aspear berry. What is your point?”

“...exactly that, actually. I don’t think a Joltik has the same nutritional requirements as a fully grown human, either.”

“Hm. Fair. I do not need to worry when I leave you around unsecured wires.” Baking sheet successfully deposited upon the stovetop, he paused midway through removing an oven mitt. “We have baby proofing to conduct.”

There was a the muted scrape of chair legs on the kitchen tile, and then socked footsteps leading to the other side of the counter. An assortment of clinks and clanks only confirmed what Ingo was doing. “There’s a great deal to catch up on; I’m afraid I wasted quite a bit of time deliberating.”

“You were thinking it through.” Emmet said, words just shy of scolding, “It was only five minutes ago you told me how important it was to be sure. Stop changing the goalposts for yourself.”

The pair of plates were set loudly onto the countertop, and before he thought to question why that might be, Emmet found himself wrapped in his twin’s arms.

“At times, I doubt whether I could do this with this without you.” Ingo confessed from somewhere over a shoulder.

Emmet didn’t hesitate to return it full force.

“You could. I just refuse to let you try.”