“You need a new bra.” Emmet declared as they were getting ready the next morning, righting the collar of a shirt that was temporarily his.

He heard more than saw Ingo move past as he continued this way and that, long since dressed and ready, eager to pick up whatever slack he could. “I’m aware; I’d hoped to get another week out that one before replacing it, however, as it’s only recommended to consider acquiring postpartum garments at thirty six weeks.”

“You will hurt your back.”

His brother paused, and then deliberately retraced his steps, stopping at the half-open door in order to fix Emmet with a look so flat he might as well have been in his own body.

“You will hurt your back more.” Emmet retried.

The only response he got was a sigh and shake of the head-- more defeat than abject disagreement-- and then Archeops screeched from somewhere in the living room, spurring Ingo to go deal with whatever had him up in arms now.

Getting ready like this had been awkward, but not so bad as it could have been. When it came down to it, they were still identical-- even if there were notable differences between them at the moment-- and that did him a great deal of good. For everything that had swollen in uncomfortable ways, there was still familiarity to be found in the hands he so frequently held or the harsh slant of his own nose.

The bra wasn’t doing its part, though, and they would be fixing that soon. He chose to focus on that over the supportive band encircling his waist.

Today was going to be more challenging than the previous evening, albeit for a shorter amount of time. He suddenly understood every slightly-late morning where Ingo had struggled to get going and, while he’d done his best not to push in the past, promised himself he’d be more lenient for the rest of the pregnancy. The idea of walking around in public like this-- of being expected to tend to the usual duties around the station-- was so far from appealing that he might call it repulsive.

Still, they weren’t going to get anywhere if they didn’t head in and meet with yesterday’s challengers, so he heaved himself to his feet to follow the rest of the morning routine.

One thing he’d determined since getting dressed-- and something that made it the slightest bit easier to get up and move-- was that the passengers were used to activity. Either that, or they weren’t fans of mornings. Now that they'd calmed somewhat, he thought Ingo had been correct the previous day, when he'd claimed that they had a tendency to go still when he was mobile and become active when he tried to rest. Emmet didn’t understand the logic, but as long as it stayed consistent, fine.

Ingo had already taken care of the Pokemon for the morning, and they’d agreed to take their afternoon break shortly after this had been resolved for a late breakfast, so there was little preparation to be done before they left. Emmet’s refusal to stay idle longer than need be earned him a sideways look, but no commentary.

What Ingo did stop for, before they departed for the day, was, “I wanted to say that, while this has clearly been very hard on you, I’m terribly grateful that we swapped with one another; it’s not my intention to cast aspersions on the character of our challengers, but I don’t know how I would have managed in the interim, knowing either of them were responsible for the passengers’ safety. I wish you didn't have to endure it, but thank you.”

Emmet paused his slow pacing to humor the thought. He promptly rejected it. How would they have adjusted if either of the opposing trainers had been forced to wait the night out in Ingo’s body? He didn’t know and, to be brutally honest, didn’t want to entertain it.

In its own way, it made the actual circumstances better by comparison. He may have spent the past seventeen hours heavily pregnant, but at least that meant he could personally ensure not only the passengers’ well being, but also his twin’s. It was horribly pessimistic to assume either of the challengers would have meant any harm, but as much as people could learn about one another in battle, there was no way to know for certain who someone was, deep down.

During such a vulnerable time, it was his responsibility to ensure his growing family’s safety and, with that in mind, Emmet might be tempted to call this a best case scenario.

“I hadn’t considered that.” He said plainly, “You’re correct. This is infinitely preferable.”

Ingo smiled at him, and while it was a novel thing, Emmet missed his actual smile. It would be taken care of soon enough, he reminded himself, and reached for his hand.

-

Half an hour before the battle lines opened for the day, the trainers arrived. It was clear to see neither of them had had a particularly easy time of it since their last meeting either, which was unfortunate, but wouldn’t last much longer.

While instinct told Emmet to charge ahead and lead the way to the battlefield-- the safest venue to conduct this-- his borrowed body told him no, that wasn’t an option, and he accepted it with the grace of a teenager who knew they were about to get their way behind a parent’s back.

They didn’t bother setting up at the guidelines. If Chandelure was correct, it should be a relatively simple process-- if, for her, a tiring one.

Whether it was meant to set the teens at ease or because he trusted that the ghost would have everything under control, Ingo made the first move, stepping forward to lay a hand on her nearest arm. It took a second for Emmet’s brain to catch up, but once it did, he was just a pace behind. Reaching out to mimic the gesture, he hooked his fingers over her free limb.

She trilled, calling to Beheeyem opposite her, and let her flames build higher; it looked behind itself, nervously tapping inert fingers against one another. Its trainer swallowed and inched nearer, petting down the concave curve of its head.

“It’s okay, buddy, you’ve got this,” He said, glancing toward his multis partner, urging them forward with a jerk of the head. At the encouragement, the bulbs of its fingers lit up, flashing in succession.

Pressure rose rapidly between the two Pokemon, reaching the exact ear-popping extreme it had the first time around. Without the explosion of psychic energy, however, there was no obscuring the rest of its sensation: the careful deliberation and feeling of being appraised, the eventual moment of weightlessness and tickling of cold flame, and then blessed grounding.

He cracked his eyes open and looked to his right to find Ingo standing precisely where he’d left his body, fingers curled around Chandelure’s iron arm.

Chandelure, for her part, didn’t seem remotely as depleted as the initial incident had left her-- perhaps it was easier to replicate after the fact, or narrowing the focus was more energy efficient-- though her tertiary flames stuttered for half a second, betraying some amount of fatigue. It was the only hint she provided, though, remaining perfectly still in the air: an ever-reliable, ghostly grab handle for her humans to lean on as they regained their bearings.

Emmet ran a thumb across a stripe of the iron limb, “Thank you verrrry much, Chandelure.”

“Well done, flue,” Ingo added, with remarkable restraint.

The difference was night and day, and Emmet couldn’t help feeling a little guilty in spite of the fact that this was what all of them had wanted-- the passengers included, from what he could gather. Harnessing the enthusiasm he’d had to tamp down on earlier, he addressed the trainers.

“We’re sorry for the inconvenience. If you would like to schedule a rematch, that is an option. But it’s not required of you. You have already beaten Donta and Leron. You are allowed to progress onto the Super Multi Lines.” He said, and, sadly, wasn’t surprised to see a lack of enthusiasm in the two.

He felt a hand curve around his forearm, easing it down. “You’re not under any obligation to do so right this minute. I’m sure you had a very difficult evening, and would recommend that you take the time to rest and recuperate, mentally if not physically. Should you decide you’d like to challenge us again, we’ll gladly accept.”

The pair conferred quietly between each other for a few seconds before determining that they weren’t sure just yet, which was valid, if disappointing. Ingo nodded along, though, perfectly understanding. “If I might make one suggestion before you depart? Make sure to thank Beheeyem properly once you’re able, and ensure that it knows it wasn’t to blame for what happened. Accidents happen no matter how stringent one is with their safety checks.”

“Oh,” Said its trainer, looking genuinely surprised, “Yeah! I will. I mean, I never blamed him, but yeah. I’ll be sure to tell him.”

And as the challengers hastily vacated the premises, the twins looked to one another. It was an instinctive thing, but in this instance, also served a purpose. Emmet was aware of the once-over he was getting, just as surely as he was inspecting his brother. Neither of them knew what they were looking for, since there had never been any physical evidence of what happened, but it was best just to make sure.

Needless to say, nothing in particular stood out.

“You deserve a reward for your efforts as well, don’t you Chandelure?” Ingo asked, once he was satisfied with his assessment; he had yet to let go of her, though it was clearly out of affection rather than any need for assistance. Somewhat unsurprisingly, his free hand had migrated from Emmet’s arm to his own middle.

“Is everyone accounted for?” Emmet joked, circling around to put himself where he belonged.

“They’ll announce themselves momentarily, I’m sure.” His brother said, wry. They trailed far beyond the challengers, who were already long gone, and, instead of heading out to the station’s main body, detoured to the back rooms to find a suitable treat for Chandelure.

As they walked, he asked, “What do you think, flue? Would you prefer some Charcoal or a cone of incense?”

The ghost did a somersault in midair as she contemplated it, a mote of light winking at the edge of her makeshift mouth like a spot of drool. At its end, she chimed twice, signaling for the incense.

“Someone has verrry expensive tastes.” Emmet teased, and she trilled in mild offense, “It’s okay. You’ve earned it. And it has to be better than the patchouli.”

She crackled fiercely in agreement and hastened her pace, urging him to go faster, too. He couldn’t help but notice that he was the only recipient of the behavior.

At his side, Ingo chuckled and motioned for them to go ahead, “Go on and humor her, it’ll give you a chance to stretch your legs. Either we’ll catch up to you, or you’ll come back around and lap us.”

There was a hint of reluctance in Emmet, but only a hint, and at his twin’s urging he gave in. It didn’t do to run through the halls, so he set a brisk marching pace and all but raced Chandelure to the supply room. They made it there in good time-- because, frankly, they had exceeded the speed they should have been using-- and Chandelure zipped right over to the supply of battle incenses, but she spent some time deliberating what kind she wanted to burn. It was during that span that Emmet heard the door behind them and glanced back at his brother.

It wasn’t a particularly large room, so Ingo hung back, leaning against the wall while his partner Pokemon finally plucked up a cone of Odd Incense and tossed it into her fire. The incense… smelled the way it was described, but it was her treat for a job well done, and nobody was going to tell her she couldn’t have it.

Still, Emmet hurried her on ahead, so it wouldn’t saturate the storage room.

Ingo stopped just short of following, exhaling a laugh. “Ah, there they are.”

Well that settled it. The passengers had been still while he walked out this way and started fussing while he’d idled. It was definitely related.

Instead of accusing them of being little contrarians, though, what Emmet actually said was, “I’m verrrry glad you’re able to tolerate everything so well. I have no idea how you do it.”

Ingo hesitated and called out for Chandelure to give them a minute before shutting the door again. “To be entirely honest with you, I had to desensitize myself to the bulk of it. Prior to that, it was incredibly uncomfortable to do so much as look into the mirror.”

Emmet wanted to respond to that, but found that he didn’t know where to start. Instead of uselessly opening his mouth, he tilted his head, hoping his expression conveyed what he meant.

It seemed to hit the mark.

“The options were to adapt or remain utterly miserable about it; it was only prudent to try. As you’ve been made aware, it’s still far from comfortable, but at this point I prefer the confirmation that they’re growing well.” As if to illustrate the point, he gave his abdomen a pat. “It may sound absurd now that I’ve said that, but I did miss their presence, if not the rest of my current state. Which isn’t to imply that I’m not ready for this ride to reach its terminal.”

That admission changed a lot. He’d said yesterday that he was glad to have spared Emmet the discomfort, but if he’d experienced a similar sensory revulsion, it went from a matter of luck and expressing practicality to a sign of character. It wasn’t news, and, in fact, it was one of those traits that Emmet would vastly prefer he kept to a minimum, but it was incredibly typical of him.

It was an interesting thought, though, and he wondered if something similar had played a role in his brother’s stance on the passengers. He wouldn’t allow himself to forget the conversation they’d had upon learning about Arceus; he refused to forget the despair Ingo’s voice as he echoed how little he wanted this, the way he’d shaken in Emmet’s arms and admitted that he didn’t understand why it was happening. It was a far cry from today, when he’d welcomed their sons back with a father’s love.

Because that’s what it had become-- what he had become-- without a trace of doubt. He may not have said as much, but it was clear in his demeanor and actions how important they were to him.

Briefly, Emmet’s mind wandered to the concern Ingo had expressed at the halfway point: that it was some form of manipulation on Arceus’s part. Such an acute turnaround was notable but… not impossible. Ingo wasn’t one to cling to false ideals, and what he loved, he loved with his entire being. The idea that he’d come to realize his initial track wasn’t the right one and moved to correct course wasn’t far fetched in the slightest.

Emmet sighed, and turned it into a laugh midway through. “You might be the strongest person I know.”

“We grew up under Drayden’s roof; that’s patently untrue.”

“I am Emmet. Are you saying I am a liar?”

“Not at all!” Ingo demurred, watching impishly from of the corner of his eyes, “Just that, historically, our family tends toward idealism instead.”

It wasn’t him being generous, though. Had Ingo already forgotten what he himself had observed? How much easier it was to function without the responsibility of carrying the passengers? The entire situation only confirmed Emmet’s long-held belief that his brother’s patient resilience was something remarkable. While it certainly took strength to go into such an undertaking voluntarily in the hopes of having a child, Ingo hadn’t chosen this and was still making the best of it. Instead of resenting them, he’d come to care for the twins he carried.

That was idealism-- a realized ideal, even. What Emmet spoke was truth, plain and simple.