Pym drove home without incident, jumpy the entire way. Even when he saw someone sitting by the roadside reading a newspaper, he wondered whether they had come to kill him.
But no, a newspaper was just a newspaper, and there was no rocket launcher hidden behind it.
Whether Fury had done an excellent job covering for him or the new director had underestimated him, Pym did not truly relax until he put on the Ant-Man suit in his basement.
"What are you doing?" Janet walked over holding a cat, staring at him in confusion. "It's not even dark yet. Are you planning to go on patrol?"
Pym scratched his head, took her hand, and sat down with her. He told Janet everything that had happened that day.
"So you're planning to take me abroad?" Janet's expression was rather strange.
"Yes. We have money. We can live well anywhere." Pym nodded. He had seen it on television: when hunted by an intelligence agency, fleeing the country and living under an assumed name was a common choice.
Janet poked him in the head with a finger. "Idiot. We're safest only in the United States. Come with me, now. We're going to register a company."
"Even if I register a company, its registered capital won't exceed five hundred million dollars. And the New York City government won't confront S.H.I.E.L.D. head-on over tax revenue it hasn't even received yet." Pym had considered using capital as leverage back in the meeting room, but after speaking with Fury and learning that the new director had arranged assassins, he could no longer be sure capital would be useful.
When things entered their dark side, the rules on the surface often no longer applied.
Janet pulled him into the bedroom, took off her pajamas, and changed into a