Elesa stayed far later than was wise, considering she had work the next day; she had to be miserable going through her routine that morning working with a maximum of five hours of sleep. While he didn’t have the responsibility of getting dressed and ready on the usual schedule, Emmet could sympathize with the lack of rest.

In his mind, it had been something of a foregone conclusion that he would end up huddled together with his twin in the obscene hours of the morning, and he didn’t regret that it had come to pass. Even if he’d woken on a semi-regular basis as his brother rode out a new round of cramping, he was glad to have been there to offer whatever comfort he could.

It did mean that he was slightly sleep deprived going into the next day, though.

Not that he had any room to complain. Still half-dozing, Ingo hadn’t quite managed to claw his way to being fully conscious yet, betraying how little he’d been able to rest with his body slowly wrenching itself open throughout the night. Compared to that, the occasional startle or accidental nudge were nothing.

While the kettle heated up, he leaned back against the counter and scanned his Xtransceiver for labor-safe foods, trying to figure out the next step he could take. There was still the larger portion of the previous evening’s teriyaki remaining, but he could do better than that-- something easier to tackle first thing in the morning.

The internet said the same thing Elesa had: carbohydrates were best. With that in mind, he poked around for the mango that had been too much trouble to bother with earlier in the week and went through the motions of cubing it, handing the pit off for a waiting Archeops to gnaw on. He snagged a couple of pieces as he went, but deposited the bulk of it into a bowl, covered it and then stuck it back in the fridge to keep cool.

By that point, the water had boiled and-- compromising between his need for caffeine and unwillingness to risk triggering nausea with the smell of coffee-- Emmet put together a cup of Galarian breakfast tea instead. It was an okay enough substitute if he let it steep a little longer than was recommended, the extra time giving it a strength and bitterness he preferred.

Save for the slightly-disgusting sounds Archeops was making with the mango seed, the apartment was silent throughout all of this. It was an incredibly odd observation; usually they were up far earlier, and the Pokemon along with them. Their teams must have put together what was happening at some point in the past half-day, must have realized that now was the time to be sweet and docile, letting their trainers prepare for what lay ahead.

As he nursed his tea, Emmet’s attention wandered to the kitchen table, where the hospital bag still sat along with the spread of movies Elesa had left behind. Someday-- sooner than later-- they’d be able to share those with the passengers. The thought was a warming one, coiling in his chest and lingering past the tea’s half life.

When he drained his cup and their home remained still, he finally moved to gauge how to proceed.

Very little had changed when Emmet stepped back into his brother’s room. The greatest difference was Haxorus’s presence near the bed, her chin laying gently on her human’s head so her axes would serve little threat. One arm was slung around her scaly neck, drawing her close and allowing Ingo to bury his face against her hide. He had yet to make any distinctive sounds, but his breathing was shallow and irregular in a sadly familiar way.

He was scared, Emmet realized all at once, and then felt like a fool for not having seen it sooner.

It had really only shone through the one time, just after Arceus was named as the passengers’ origin point. Throughout everything else-- the gossipers and anemic episode, even the Plasma attack-- Ingo had remained as calm and steady as ever, making it easy to overlook whatever fear was there. Even his anxiety attack had stemmed from a place of maintaining control.

Of course he was scared. His body was acting on its own accord to a certain extent, and he was in an increasing amount of pain, which would only lessen once he’d born their sons. What reasonable person wouldn’t balk in the face of that knowledge?

It wasn’t lost on Emmet that this display had only surfaced in his absence.

Mindful of that fact, he ducked out into the hallway and retread his tracks with louder steps.

Ingo’s breathing was slightly more moderated than it had been on his last entrance, but only just. It was still plain to observe that he was struggling-- and, it seemed, not actually trying to hide it. Perhaps he hadn’t been waiting until he was alone, but just not awake enough for the enormity of it to process.

There was no good spot to perch on that side of the bed, so Emmet sat on the side he’d vacated and inched over, risking Haxorus’s axes to card a hand through his brother’s hair. “What can I do to help?”

“There’s nothing to be done yet.” Ingo said, muffled, “It’s not that I’m in a terrible amount of pain, the situation is just slightly overwhelming.”

“You don’t need to be in pain for me to help. You’re clearly distressed.” Nothing in the environment changed, so he altered his words instead. “Let me rephrase. What can we adjust to make you more comfortable right now?”

Ingo stopped to consider it, eventually emerging from his draconic sanctuary and landing on, “Would it derail anything if I took a late shower?”

“It would not. Our itinerary is whatever you require. Take as long as you need.”

While he did that, Emmet made another round of the apartment, double-checking everything their mother had commented upon during her visit and ensuring that she’d be able to get around while they were gone. There wasn’t anything to change in the nursery, so he turned the slightly-compulsive need to be helpful to disassembling, checking, and then reassembling the hospital bag for the umpteenth time.

Crustle scuttled after him the entire way, uncomprehending, but incredibly receptive to and worried for his evident anxiety. Sometimes Emmet wondered how people couldn’t see how loving bug types were.

When Ingo finally stepped back out, he looked a little bit more lively. Plus, the towel hanging over his shoulders gave Emmet an idea; he promptly crossed their living space to meet him.

“Here,” He said, grabbing for the towel and rubbing it briskly over his brother’s head. It wasn’t the gentlest he could have been, but that was part of the point. He heard a sputtered laugh from somewhere beneath it and counted that as a win.

“Thank you. I could never do such a thorough job by myself.” Ingo said, knocking the towel away to uncover the mess Emmet had made.

A bit more carelessly than he usually would, Emmet snagged and pitched it across the edge of the tub, resolving to deal with it later. “Any better?”

Attention shifting dryly from said towel to his twin, Ingo settled for rolling his eyes. “Somewhat. I wish I’d thought to ask Elesa to trim my hair last night, though; it’s going to be irritating at this length.”

“I’ll fix it.” Emmet said, steering him to the couch, “But I will not cut it. Neither of us want that.”

Despite the small amount of extra length, it only took a couple of minutes to put his hair back into some semblance of order. While the mild humidity was slightly irritating, all Emmet did once he was done was draw his brother closer, their heads tucked against one another.

Ingo seemed not to have any complaints, because he stayed precisely where he’d been directed, carefully measuring his breaths to match. He was the one to pick their conversation up again.

“I had a terrible thought while I was in the shower.” He confessed, which… didn’t mean much, if Emmet was honest. He was relatively certain Ingo’s thoughts didn’t go much darker than his coffee order. Not that he would ever say that out loud.

Instead, he hummed, inquisitive, urging him to go on.

“We were only born thirty seconds apart.”

Oh.

No, Ingo had been right. It was a terrible thought. Emmet wished there was a way to allay that concern, but there really… wasn’t. It didn’t inherently mean that he’d deliver the passengers back to back just because that had been their mother’s experience-- but, at the same time, it had consistently proven useful to heed Lane’s advice because they were similar enough.

Unable to find anything more reassuring, what Emmet said was, “Let’s talk about something else.”

It was met by a slightly crestfallen, “Well, thank you for not giving me false hope.”

“It’s… unlikely?” He tried feebly.

“But definitely a track this could take.” Ingo finished for him.

“Sorry.”

“Please don’t be.” He closed his eyes and the weight against Emmet increased, just a bit. “I think you’re the only thing holding me together right now. I don’t say it enough, but thank you.”

“Oh,” It fell far short of teasing; for him, the flat utterance was something akin to a syrupy coo, “Feeling sappy, huh. You say that plenty. Just not always in those exact words. It’s unnecessary, anyway. I’m not here to be thanked. I’m here because I want to be. It’s lucky I get to live my whole life with my best friend.”

“It’s lucky for us both. I can only hope...” Ingo’s voice trailed off as his gaze lingered on his abdomen, all but completing the thought for him.

“Maybe. Maybe not. We aren’t exactly standard model.”

He snorted. “No, I suppose not. Perhaps it’s better to say that, so long as they love one another, I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

And that much, Emmet thought, was a worthy ideal.