The break in routine proved to be plenty warning for the Pokemon that something was up. With a possible exception for Haxorus, it was doubtful they’d figured the specifics out so soon, but the fact that they were suddenly at home made the alarm honk sound, and they were underfoot for several minutes.

Once he’d changed into something softer and more comfortable than his now-obsolete altered uniform, Ingo spent a minute with the dark button-up held loosely in his hand, allowing himself to fully process everything that had happened leading up to this point, and what was yet to come.

What he’d felt wasn’t a false contraction or a harmless menstrual cramp, in spite of the comparison he himself had made. It was his body preparing to birth his children. He didn’t know how long it would be, exactly, but within the next couple of days his sons would arrive. A gentle tremor shook his hands and he clenched them around the shirt.

He’d known as soon as they’d identified Arceus that this was coming, that there was no way around it, but the passengers’ imminent delivery was suddenly painted with perfect clarity. There was no abstract hope that it might be like slightly intense practice contractions; if they’d started out at this level… well, it was going to be incredibly unpleasant.

Fuck.

He was going to give birth.

Maybe… maybe Emmet had been right to begin with. Maybe this was punishable by deicide.

Klinklang ground its gears at him, worried, and its outer ring spun just slightly more rapidly than usual, sending the now-empty hanger it had fetched for him skidding across its rail.

He forced his hand to unclench and set it stationary along that same steel beam, both as a gesture of reassurance and an easy way to snag the hanger on its next rotation.

“It’s okay,” He promised it, “Everything’s going to schedule. Seems there’s always a difficult track to run before reaching the terminal, doesn’t it?”

It slowed its turning to give him a long, contemplative look, but accepted that readily enough, halting its ring’s movement entirely so he could grab hold of it. He did so gratefully, not so much as a whisper of self doubt nagging at him as it helped him to his feet; they were somewhat beyond that, he thought. It was time to start accepting assistance when and where it was offered, no matter how frivolous it felt in the moment.

Setting both the hanger and rumpled shirt down, Ingo stroked one of its gear faces and turned to leave the relative privacy of his bedroom, Klinklang trailing right behind. He almost immediately stumbled upon Durant camping directly outside the door.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” He told it, one hand against the door frame to keep his balance, the other steadying his stomach, “But this is a clear safety violation. Entry and exit routes are to remain unobstructed.”

Durant waved its feelers at him and stood up. Marching a tight circle around where he stood, it broke off down the hall and then stopped to look back, making sure he was following.

Seeing no reason to disappoint it, he complied.

It seemed the Pokemon had all found their own ways to deal with the nervous energy building up, from Durant’s camping out in front of his bedroom to Archeops hanging from Emmet’s Klinklang’s rail. Multiple sets of eyes raised to watch as he passed through, but the steel-escort must have been enough to set them at ease since none of them tried to rush him.

A quick glance around proved that he was the only human present, which was something he hadn’t expected; even without any distractions, getting changed was a time-consuming process for him, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d spent staring into nothing. His brother’s absence didn’t necessarily bother him, but it was slightly puzzling.

He settled in heavily against the couch, leaning back in full, and tried not to think about the fact that he was essentially a Flamigo whose throat was slowly loosening. It was said their bellies were filled with energy, only held in check by the characteristic knot they wound themselves into, and right now he could certainly sympathize.

Head tilted back against the cushions, he breathed through the renewed tightening of his uterus, counting the seconds until it eased. It was more for his own peace of mind than any utility; he was still far too early in for the exact timing to matter, but it helped him feel a bit better.

In the contraction’s wake, he realized he’d sunk further down, taking up far more room than he had initially, which… was saying something. He recognized that, compared to a great many people who gestated twins, he’d gotten lucky, but knowing that didn’t change how he felt-- and how he felt was huge, packed beyond the capacity of a human body. As afraid as he was to release the proverbial knot, he was also ready for the pressure in his belly to dissipate.

He wanted to hold his sons. He was ready to be their dad. Whatever plan Arceus had for them was irrelevant; it had made the mistake of giving them to him, and now they were his. The only custody he would share was with the person who’d gotten him through this.

Said individual made a reappearance shortly after the fact, emerging from the nursery with the designated hospital bag hanging from the crook of his arm. Before coming to scope out the situation in the living room, Emmet strayed to the kitchen to deposit it onto the table, and then idled as he processed what he was seeing out this way.

“You seem to have melted.” He observed, eyeing the severe backwards slump.

That was an interesting idea actually, because yes, there was an element of having been molded into a different shape, but any of that malleability was long gone. While it was easy to make the comparison to a Litwick, his dear Chandelure was somewhat more accurate; maybe he was blown glass at the end of its molding process, with no further work than to crack off.

What Ingo actually said was somewhat less philosophical. “I’m afraid that’s not going to be the worst of it.”

Emmet winced, sympathetic. “Do you need assistance?”

Ingo shook his head and, if anything, sank further, folding both hands over his abdomen. “I’m fine down here.”

“You will trap yourself on the floor again.”

“I’m not going to let it get that far.”

It was strange to sit down for so long and not be attacked for it. The stiff tension inside was completely counter to all of his sons’ observed behaviors, and it would have been alarming if not for the fact that it was just another aspect of labor. When had he felt them last? Was it the previous evening, or in the far-too-early hours of the morning? He hadn’t had any idea it would be the final bout, which was a little sad.

It was only a little bit sad, though, in the sense of taking something for granted. In the grand scheme, it didn’t matter much, because he’d get to hold them properly and not have to settle for trying to interpret someone’s 3:00 am squirming.

“I’m going to have the babies.” He said aloud, and could only hope his voice didn’t shake on it.

The lack of any notable reaction on Emmet’s face suggested that he’d succeeded, at least.

“Verrrry soon. Yup.” This time, the hesitation didn’t last nearly so long. “Do you need to rest longer? You said you wanted to take another walk before Elesa gets here. I thought we could make a circuit of the roof. But it can wait.”

“That’s a good idea.” The roof would let them get some fresh air without being a public space and would also keep them close to home. It was time for a literal change of pace, anyway; left alone with his thoughts, he’d started getting silly. With a not inconsiderable amount of struggle, he forced himself to sit upright, and couldn’t entirely stifle the sound he made with the effort. “So long as we’re taking the elevator up, I should be perfectly fine. My last contraction ended shortly before you came this way, so, assuming everything remains on track, we’ll be done before the next one becomes a concern.”

Without waiting for a request, Emmet took him by the forearms and helped brace him upright, hands automatically dropping to a more relaxed hold after the fact.

“Understood. Just… don’t come uncoupled from me. Please.”

Swallowing his own reservations, he squeezed his twin’s hands in reassurance. “It’s alright, it’s just labor; nothing more is slated to happen for hours at this rate. If it helps set your mind at ease, however, I’ll stay right with you until we return to station.”

“Don’t do that.” For half a second, it seemed they might have been talking past one another, but then Emmet went on, “You do not have to make things sound nicer than they are. Right now, it’s my duty to take care of you. Please let me.”

With a deep breath in and then out, Ingo inclined his head. “Alright. If you’re ready to take point, I can make the effort to hand the controls off.”

“You do not have to relinquish control, either. You just need to be realistic about your situation. And also put your shoes on. I will corral anyone else who needs a walk.” And his brother turned away to do just that.

But not without commentary.

“’It’s just labor’.” Emmet repeated under his breath while his back was turned, the movements of his head betraying exactly how ridiculous he found the statement. “It is called that for a reason.”

Well…

He wasn’t wrong.

It was good that one of them hadn’t tied himself up in knots, at least.