He’s always been closed off- it’s in his family, after all, so for a while no one says anything. Because, well, Francis is Francis, and it’s pretty normal.
But Then, Pym comes to him one afternoon, while he is draped on the couch looking at what, in 2016, passed as entertainment, and everything comes crushing down.
“I’ve got it.” Henry whispers, trying to look and sound like a spy. Which, he totally isn’t- it’s not in his genes, after all, it’s more James and Francis’ thing, after all.
“Uh?” Francis asks him, trying to pay attention to both the screen and his friend. Which totally works, because they can say whatever they want about him, but he can multitask. Even at closed eyes.
(That, he didn’t get from his father. His mother, maybe? Whoever she is.)
“I got the results from the DNA tests.” Henry says jumping on the couch at Francis’ side. He’d rather look at something else- whatever they pass as science here, as primitive as it is- but maybe Francis needs to focus on something more… familiar (he is about to drop the proverbial bomb on his friend, after all).
“Did you check them again? Just to make sure?” Francis asks without taking his eyes off the screen.
Postponing is something else he is also rather good at, it turns out- he wonders, did he got it from her as well?
“Duh.” Henry rolls his eyes, hands crossed behind his head. “Sure I did. I took all the tests three times. And I’ll say it again- three times. All of them.”
Francis bites the inside of his cheek, and takes a big breath; he shakes his head, and stops paying attention to the television, despite keeping it turned on.
“So…” Henry lifts an eyebrow, studying Francis. “What do you want me to do? I can keep digging. Or tell you right away who she is…”
He doesn’t know what he should do; on one side, he wants to know who is mother really is; but, at the same, he is scared of what he could discover. What if she was someone evil? What would it make of him? His dad never had the best track record in women, from what he had heard, so it could very well be true…
So, Francis does what he- and his father- do best. He pretends. Acts like people expects him to. Like he was the clown without a care in the world.
“Nah.” He grins (falsely), leaving to get back to his room. “You know? Let’s let the sleeping dogs lie.”