A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Captain America: Civil War, and Spiderman: Homecoming.
As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta and Winter-Soldier-88 for the brainstorming.
Note 1: I know it's been a while since this story was updated, but it couldn't be helped. Not only is my muse a fickle little scamp, my family has been experiencing a great deal of emotional turmoil that may not get better any time soon. Such is RL.
Note 2: This story is being rewritten from chapter 45 forward to more closely conform to the MCU.
Namaste,
Sunny
"I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went."
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems
Winter Soldier
And You Will Know Me Still
Chapter 46
Avengers HQ
Upstate New York
The video ended and the next played automatically. When he had enough, he shut off the monitor, stood and walked to the window that looked out over the lap pool. Only a few lights were on this late at night. The trees were moving in the slight breeze and somewhere out there, nocturnal animals were foraging for food.
Tony and Happy had taken a trip out of town on an errand for Pepper. Wanda was down the hall in her room. Steve could hear her practicing on the guitar Clint was teaching her to play. As he did every night, Vision monitored the grounds though he'd been told on several occasions it wasn't necessary.
Sam knocked on his open door and let himself in, taking the chair at the desk. "Came to see if you wanted to drive into the city for a beer and a few games of pool."
"Not tonight."
Exhaling and shaking his head, Sam commented, "Why does it sound like you have something in mind besides fun and games?"
Steve resumed his seat on the foot of the bed, leaning forward, elbows on knees. "I do have something else in mind." Using the remote, he replayed the series of videos. "I was sure Bucky was the source of the reports of a vigilante in Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens, and Lower Manhattan. Turns out there's another player in the game."
Sam's jaw-drop would've been hilarious under normal circumstances. Hell, it was funny now.
"Whoa! Is he wearing pajamas?"
Taking the comment as rhetorical question, Steve looked Sam in the eye. "We need to find out who he is."
The computer beeped and Sam opened the link. "Hey. Someone's just posted another video of your vigilante."
He tapped the keys to send the video to the plasma screen. It didn't take long to see that this one was different than the others. The first few had shown the vigilante from behind, making it difficult to see gender, age, and so forth aside from the fact that the person was wearing baggy red and blue clothing, a hood, and goggles. Now, they could see the person from the front. The clothes were a little tighter, showing muscle definition that was obviously male.
They jumped to their feet when the vigilante swung through the air on what appeared to be a single strand of wire or thread of some kind, kicked the man assaulting an older woman, sending him flying to land on the opposite side of the street. Given the size discrepancies between the two and average strength of the smaller man, that shouldn't have been possible. But then Steve, Wanda, Vision, and any number of Inhumans shouldn't have been possible either.
The scene changed. The red and blue dressed man swooped through an alley over a fast-moving compact car Steve recognized as being electric. He let go of the thread, hitting the ground in front of the car and catching it using just his hands. The back end of the car flipped into the air and came crashing down. If the vigilante hadn't intervened, the car would've crashed head-on into a stalled city bus, killing the driver and anyone still seated on that side of the bus.
"What the hell did we just see?"
Steve straightened his back and squared his shoulders. "Don't know, Sam, but we're gonna find out and put a stop to it before someone gets hurt."
The air huffed out of Sam and the look on his face wasn't friendly at all. "And how, exactly, are we gonna do that?"
Steve shut off the monitor again. "Not sure yet. We'll figure it out. Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long night, and every night until we find him. We'll use the brownstone as a base again."
At the door, Sam turned around, thought better of asking more questions and left him alone. Steve closed the door, took his pajamas out of the dresser and changed for bed.
Tularosa, New Mexico
The Safe House
The shot went through where Natasha had been standing. She went into a back flip through the open bedroom door and the bullet hit the side of the sofa. She landed on one knee and threw a Taser disc as a distraction.
James' left hand caught the disc and crushed it, causing it to discharge without disabling his arm as it had previously. She'd known it would happen and had a plan. In the event that plan A didn't work, she also had several back-ups, none of which involved either of them being killed, and absolutely didn't include James being locked up in prison.
Spinning away from him, Natasha got to her feet and ran for her life out the back door toward the woods. She didn't want to lose him. Just even the playing field a little. He may or may not remember his über-flashback in Vermont. But then, he wasn't in full Winter Soldier mode like he was now. Then, it had been a waking nightmare for both of them that hadn't required knocking him out. He'd come back on his own that time, but Natasha wouldn't count on it happening again because he was the danger, not a falling tree.
The heavy pounding of running feet sounded loud in the quiet of the night as she took out a pair of night vision goggles and put them on. She couldn't make this too easy for either of them or he'd get suspicious. The beauty of multiple plans was that she could make their fight seem random, as if she were desperate to get away. With an internal smirk, she thought about how she'd moved all the weapons stashed around the house so James wouldn't be able to arm himself except with the one she wanted him to have. The first place he would look was in the kitchen, so the one in the vegetable bin had stayed, or rather had been switched out for one that fit the plan. Everything else, including the silverware and cooking utensils, had been hidden where he'd never think to look.
With his enhanced senses, James would be able to find her without the need for night vision assistance. A situation that could be used against him. When she realized he'd been compromised, the reason for his odd behavior on the trip home, she had played her part by making sure he knew she was headed for bed. Once in her room, she suited up, covered her red hair with a black knit cap, got into bed, and had actually fallen asleep for a short time, trusting her instincts to wake her before an attack.
Natasha took a curve in the path and veered to the left, diving into one of many hiding places she'd created. With her back to the tree, she brought out a knife, holding it in her right hand while the left rested on another knife at her hip.
The running footsteps slowed as James rounded the curve. Peeking around the tree, she saw him come into sight, eyes scanning right to left and back again. When his head turned to the right, she cut the rope holding a long, thick branch. It whipped through the air slamming him in the chest and knocking him onto his back.
While he was down, Natasha took off, choosing a path that would appear random and running full out. Keeping her head low as several shots rang out, she headed for the next trap, an oldie but a goodie. She grabbed the rope hanging from an overhead branch and swung across a patch of thick grass, landing on the other side in a crouch. As expected, James kept going and fell into the hole she'd filled with mud and covered in weeds. It wasn't deep, but it would slow him down a little.
~~O~~
The Asset got to his feet and continued chasing the target through the woods. She'd gotten ahead of him, and a moment later, he found himself in a muddy hole. A branch snagged on his shirt, tearing it and exposing his chest. The Asset jumped from the hole. The sound his boots made when he walked would give away his location. He took them off and resumed the chase.
He came into a small clearing, stumbling to a stop. His right hand slipped a knife from its place of concealment, holding the hilt in his fist, preparing for battle. Moving forward one silent step at a time, he turned his head side to side, listening for sounds that didn't belong.
"Lookin' for me, big boy?"
The tone of the voice meant next to nothing. Deep in his mind, he felt that at some time in his life, the words would have had a much different effect on him than they did now. In this instance, they gave him the location of the target.
Spinning on his left foot, the Asset swept his right arm around, intent on slitting her throat. The knife whooshed through the air, missing the target. She ducked and kicked out at his forward knee, nearly knocking him to the ground. She was strong for a woman, and would not go down easy.
He turned, lashing out with the opposite leg, missing again when she unexpectedly rolled to the side, landed on her feet and continued running in the same direction.
Not long into the chase, he heard the target coming from an altogether different direction. Halfway into his turn, she jumped up to wrap her legs around his neck, locking her ankles together and squeezing his head between her thighs.
He reached back to get her under the arms. Instead of the garrote she used previously, she held onto an overhead branch and twisted her lower body, knocking him into the bushes. As he turned to confront her, she straightened her legs, swung them back and forward, bringing the knees up and kicking out, hitting him in the solar plexus.
The Asset exhaled on impact to lessen its effectiveness as the target flipped in the air, landing to his left and running away once more. He gave chase, and soon she came into sight.
The woman heard him coming and ran faster. Her downfall, literally, came when she stole a glance over her shoulder. She tripped on a rock and fell face first into the dirt path. She rolled onto her back and kicked out with both feet. The Asset leaned back, avoiding the hit. The look on her face was puzzling as she pushed herself backward with feet and hands, digging in with the heels of her boots. She scrambled to her feet, nearly fell and finally steadied. He followed at a slower pace, and then, the woman inexplicably came upon a tree blocking her way. She stopped and faced him, chin up in a show of bravado that wasn't reflected in her eyes and the nervous twitching of her fingers. "James, please stop."
She had used that name before, and as then, it meant nothing. While the chase had been diverting, it was time to end this. The Asset took out his weapon, aimed and fired, all in one smooth motion. The woman, the target, jerked at the bullet's impact. She looked down at the blood seeping from her wound, mouth open, yet unable to speak. Her legs gave out and she fell to the ground where she lay unmoving. The shot was intended kill, in order to fulfill his mission of taking her body to the leader.
Standing over the target, he watched the blood oozing from her chest. The ribs moved in an uneven rhythm, telling him she was still alive, but wouldn't be for much longer. Taking hold of one hand, the Asset bent his knees and threw her over his shoulder, uncaring that blood was seeping into his clothing.
When he reached the cabin, his socks were wet and dirty as were his clothes. He didn't notice or care as he let himself in through the patio doors, leaving tracks on the floor throughout the house.
The Asset laid the now subdued target on the sofa and stood there watching her shallow breathing. To take her to the leader, he would need the keys to the vehicle parked in front, but had no thoughts as to where they might be.
His eyes fell on the open door to the room where the target slept. He would start there. In the room, he turned on the lights, but didn't see the keys. He would have to search.
"Hey, big boy. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to turn your back on an opponent?" The voice came from behind him, accompanied by a jingling sound. "Lookin' for these?" She shook the keys again.
They faced each other across the room, but before he could move, the target tossed the keys to his left. Instinctively, he extended his arm to pluck them out of the air at the same time the woman made a throwing motion with both hands.
~~O~~
Natasha tossed the keys, hoping for a momentary distraction, and it worked. James caught them with his metal hand, leaving his bare chest unprotected. She flexed her wrists and a dozen Taser discs fell into her palms. She threw them, and as planned, they stuck to his exposed skin, discharging on contact.
James stiffened, his muscles clenching as bolts of electricity danced over his body. His breathing halted for a moment and he fell to the floor with a solid thump, unconscious.
As a back-up, Natasha took several more discs from her belt, ready to use them if he was playing dead. She chanced getting closer, using the toe of her boot to poke him in the ribs. "Nope. He's out."
She stripped off her gloves, rolled James onto the area rug next to the bed and dragged him out to the living room next to the credenza that ran along the wall. She stripped him down to his boxers and opened the bottom drawer to get the restraints she'd fashioned using the tools in the garage. They would only need to hold him long enough for her to find out if her special brand of cognitive recalibration had worked. And if it didn't, she'd cross that bridge when she had to.
Once he was secured, Natasha went to the ensuite and climbed on the counter to reach the ceiling. She removed one of the tiles and took out the package stashed there. Every time she made arrangements for a safe house, the contact included something special just for her: fast-acting sedatives in a high concentration to take him down fast. She could've used that first, but it wouldn't have been as much fun.
Leaving the tile out, she jumped down from the counter, returned to the other room, dropping the package on the end table on her way to the kitchen. She came back with a bottle of wine, poured herself a generous glass, sipping the deep red liquid while waiting for James to wake up.
By the time Natasha was on her second glass of wine, James was beginning to stir.
~~O~~
James moaned, blinked, and rolled over onto his side, unable to move because his hands were secured behind his back. His head was pounding and there was a strange taste in his mouth, like he'd been chewing on tin foil. "N'tasha?" His voice sounded rough. "What happened? Why'm I tied up?"
The clink of a glass on a table and the light coming on drew his attention. He brought his knees to his chest and sat up, using his bare feet to turn him around until he could see Natasha sitting on the arm of the sofa, one foot on the floor, the other on the end table and a nasty-looking weapon in her left hand. Her eyes were unreadable as she picked up the glass of wine and took another sip.
"Natasha?" He couldn't break the restraints because he was unable move his left arm except at the shoulder. He looked at the shoulder and bicep and found several Taser discs stuck to them. That many would've shorted out his arm long enough for her to tie him up. Unfortunately, he couldn't reset it while restrained, and if he pulled too hard with the right, he could rip the left off at one of the joints. "What's going on?"
"Tell me about your mission, Asset."
Her voice was cold, emotionless. Because she'd forbidden him to speak Russian, it was odd hearing her use it now. He responded in English. "Asset? Mission? What're you talking about?" Just now noticing it was dark, James slumped. "I blacked out?"
"More than blacked out. You tried to kill me." Natasha got too much amusement out of his jaw-drop to go by her lopsided smile. She unzipped the front of her suit, bringing his attention to the fact that she was suited up for avenging and not in pajamas. Reaching inside, she pulled out a clear pouch, red staining the side that had peeled back. It landed on the floor next to him. He looked at where she'd taken it from and saw what looked like dried blood on the front of her suit. Natasha rubbed the area, hissing in pain. "Man, those things hurt." She moved from the arm of the sofa to squat next to him, the weapon aimed at his chest. This close, he wouldn't be able to deflect a bullet or a Taser. "What do you remember?"
"Uh, you sent me to try on clothes…" Try as he might, James couldn't remember another thing until a few minutes ago. His shoulder hunched even more. "That's it."
The weapon was put aside so she could untie his hands, leaving James to untie the ankles, taking note of the dirt and mud on them. He got to his feet, careful not to startle Natasha. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened." James made a helpless gesture, let his arms drop to his sides and looked away, unable to bear the suspicion in her eyes. "How badly were you hurt?"
One shoulder shrugged as she picked up the glass of wine. "Bumps, scrapes." She touched her chest and he could see red marks, the edges already beginning to turn purple. "Damn blast packs always leave a bruise. No bathing suits or plunging necklines for a while."
James paced over to the fireplace, swung his left arm in a circle to reset it, keeping his gaze averted as he flexed the fingers. Her barely there footsteps brought her around in front of him. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, and when she moved to embrace him as she had on so many occasions, he stepped back out of reach, eyes averted from the hurt he knew would be there. "Don't touch me."
The back door was still open and a cool breeze reminded him he was only wearing boxers and a t-shirt. There wasn't anything he could say to make it better. Without even glancing her way, he crossed the living room, through the kitchen, and into his room, slamming and locking the door.
~~O~~
A puff of air blew a strand of hair off Natasha's face as she went into her room, taking off the Widow's Bites on the way. She laid them on the dresser, closed the window, unzipped the front of her suit and sat on the side of the bed to take off her boots, wiggling her toes.
Padding into the bathroom, she debated on taking a shower and decided to go for it. She left her suit and the rest of her clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor. The water came on and she stepped under the spray letting it run down the sides of her head, neck, and back, taking some of the dirt, sweat, and grime with it.
By touch, she found the shampoo bottle, poured some into her hand and rubbed it on her scalp, remembering the night she joined James in the shower. They'd started by washing each other's hair. Then, she lathered his chest, which he enjoyed very much, up until she passed over his abdomen and kept going. He grabbed her hand and she held in her amusement at his sudden shyness with her, considering they'd already seen each other naked.
Taking hold of the sponge, she let the hot water soak into it, added a small amount of bath gel and used it to massage her shoulders, upper and lower back. She rinsed, turned the water off and opened the shower door.
One towel was wrapped around her head and the other around the rest of her. Fatigue showed itself in the form of a yawn and Natasha decided a short lie down was in order before getting into her pajamas and going to the kitchen for a late night snack. She stretched out on the bed, closed her eyes and let her breath out in one long exhale.
San Francisco
Morning
Standing in front of the two-way mirror that looked into the polygraph room, Tony tugged at his lip in thought. He'd only come to observe the HR process with an eye toward streamlining. Then, the keen eyes of his AI homed in on the name Hope van Dyne as a reference on a recent application. Rumor had it that the man on the other side of the glass was intimately acquainted with one of the many people in the world who harbored an active dislike for all things Stark related, especially the men of the family. He could understand why Hank Pym held his father is such low regard, but they had never met. Guilt by familial association, I guess.
The technician made notes on the tablet in front of him. "Have you ever been convicted of a felony?"
The man wired up to the machine took a deep breath and let it out. "Yes. But I can explain."
"Please confine your answers to yes or no, Mr. Lang."
Scott Lang's expression showed defeat that turned to frustration. "This was a bad idea." He removed the leads from his fingers, the cuff from his left arm and the straps from around his chest. "Tell that HR flunky I quit."
"But you haven't been hired yet."
Lange rolled down the sleeves of his shirt and shrugged into his suit jacket on the way out. He stopped and came back, leaning one hand on the table, his face close to the other man's. "You know, it's too bad that everyone can't see past my criminal record. I'm a man who loves his daughter and will do anything to make her happy. But I can't do that without a job. I have a masters in electrical engineering, and the only jobs I've had since I got out was at Baskin-Robbins and Burger King. You can't raise a kid on minimum wage. Plus they always find out about prison and I'm out of work again. Can you blame me for turning to a life of crime? Stark Industries was my last hope. By the end of the week, my ex-wife and her new husband will have filed with the court to sever my parental rights because I can't pay child support. To make worse even worse, every time we go out, my girlfriend has to pay for everything. Add it all together and you have the living embodiment of pathetic loser who can't get a break. Thanks a lot, pal!"
The technician busied himself packing his equipment. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lang, but it's company policy."
Frustrated beyond his ability to speak, Lang jerked open the door and slammed it behind him.
"Friday?"
"Here, boss."
Tony glanced at Happy, the two of them sharing a secret smile. "See to it that Mr. Lang is invited to relax in the penthouse office."
"You got it."
Happy opened the door and followed him out. "I think it's time we changed SI's hiring policies, don't you?"
A grin that was just shy of a smirk flowed over the chauffeur's boyish face. "You're the boss, boss."
Taken aback, as if he just realized it, Tony returned the grin. "That's right. And I say we need to make some changes around SI. Add some new blood, get the old creative juices flowing in new directions, starting with Mr. Lang." The elevator doors closed on two very self-satisfied members of the SI team. "Bonus: I get to annoy Hank Pym by having his new golden boy on staff."
"Win-win, boss."
"Damn straight."
Senior Executive's Private Office
Top Floor
Because his visit to the San Francisco office was informal, Tony had dressed down for the meetings, meaning he left off the vest. He nodded at the receptionist, an older woman who looked at him over the top of her glasses with undisguised disdain. Didn't bother him in the least.
Happy opened the office door and closed it behind him. Scott Lang was sitting on the classic leather Kirby Sectional sofa, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The former thief had dressed to impress in a navy blue suit, matching shirt and casually elegant, if not terribly expensive, red tie. His shoes weren't new, though they'd been polished to a glossy shine.
Tony unbuttoned his jacket and took a seat at the opposite end, watching Lang while pretending to check messages on his phone. Lang was nervous, that much was a given, considering how he'd come to be in this office in the first place. Letting out a long sigh, Tony sat back and glanced over at Lang. "Hey."
"Hey," was the unenthusiastic reply, telling Tony his companion didn't want to talk.
"Know what's going on?"
Lang sat up and switched from tapping his heel to drumming on his thighs. "Nope. I was told to wait here."
"Yeah, me too." Tony let an awkward silence fill the room until Lang looked ready to bolt. "What position you applying for?"
A humorless snort came out. "Anything. I'll sweep floor and clean toilets if it gets me a steady paycheck. " He got up and went to the window, speaking softly, as if telling a secret, "I need to be able to take care of my daughter, but…"
"Life keeps putting up roadblocks."
The genuine sympathy in his voice touched Lang and he nodded. "Something like that."
The sofa creaked as Tony shifted to cross one leg over the other. "If only someone would give you a chance to prove yourself."
Lang turned from the window, hands in his pants pockets. "Been there?"
"Done that. More than once."
They shared a moment of camaraderie until the door opened and Happy came in. "Ready to go, boss?"
The other man's forehead crinkled in confusion. "Boss?"
"In a minute," Tony tossed over his shoulder as he stood and buttoned his jacket.
But Happy wasn't done. "You've put off this meeting with the board of directors three times. Ms. Potts won't like it if you're late again." Happy checked the time. "You got fifteen, or we'll get stuck in traffic."
Tony shoved his hands in his pockets with a long-suffering sigh. "Chauffeurs are like office wives. Always nag, nag, nag."
"Uh…" was all Lang could say, and Tony didn't blame him.
"Sorry. I should've introduced myself." With a smile, Tony moved closer, extending his hand. "Tony Stark." At any other time, Lang's jaw-drop would've given Tony lots of laughs, but desperate times called for seriousness.
"You're Tony Stark?"
"That's what it says on the outside of the building and on the letterhead. Scott Lang, right?" He pulled a first edition off the bookshelf, flipped through it and put it back. "I heard about the incident with Darren Cross over at Pym Tech. And before you attempt to concoct a plausible lie, remember to whom you're speaking. I invented the plausible lie."
"Um, Mr. Stark…" Lang started, and Tony overrode him.
"Tony." He opened a bottle of brandy, sniffed the contents and made a sound of disgust. "Need to pay him more," he said under his breath. "You're Pym's Ant-Man protégé." Holding up his phone, he tapped the screen and a hologram appeared in the air showing a tall man wearing a silver and maroon helmeted suit fighting another in black and yellow with several appendages sprouting from the back. "Relax, Scott. I'm not gonna turn you in. Just lining up all my ducks."
The door opened and Happy stuck his head in again, making a "come on" motion. "Boss, please."
As he passed Lang, Tony patted him on the chest. "Good talk." At the door, he looked back, raising his eyebrows at the dumbfounded expression still on the other man's face. "You're hired, by the way. On Monday, report to this building, twenty-seventh floor. Electrical engineering and computer R&D." He snapped his fingers. "Your new boss is Dr. Jubal Long." To the receptionist, he said, "Mr. Lang is now an official employee of Stark Industries. Have him fill out the new hire paperwork, badge, security access, key to the executive dining room, assigned parking space, the works." He turned back to Lang. "Starting salary 150k plus perks and bonuses good for you?"
Drawn across the room like iron to a magnet, Lang continued to gape at him. He swallowed and took Tony's proffered hand again. "Uh, yeah. Yeah. Great. Thanks, Mr. Stark. I-I don't know what to say."
"Tony," he reminded him. "And I hear 'thank you' works well." He grinned and slapped him on the back. "Give Dr. Pym my regards." His work done, Tony headed for the private elevator. "Let's hit the road, Happy."
Happy grinned at Lang and shrugged in a "what can you do" gesture and ran to catch up, jumping in the elevator as the doors were closing.
~~O~~
Still wondering what just happened, Scott nearly jumped out of his skin when the receptionist called his name.
"Mr. Lang? Mr. Lang! The head of HR will see you in her office in ten minutes." The woman smiled and it changed her whole look. "Welcome to Stark Industries."
Shaking his head to clear it, Scott tuned into what she was saying. "Oh! Right. Right. I, uh, I should… go." He went to the public elevator and pressed down. The doors opened immediately and he got on. "Wow!" he whispered. As soon as the doors closed him inside, Scott gave a whoop of joy. "Woohoo!" Then, his glee dimmed. "Shit! What's Pym gonna say? What's Hope gonna say? And Maggie!"
Tularosa, New Mexico
The Safe House
Natasha rolled out of bed to the buzzing of her phone, chagrined to discover her little lie down had turned into a marathon snoozefest. Leaving the phone on the table, she rolled out of bed, unwound the towel from her head and clawed the other one from under the covers on her way to the bathroom. She hung the towels up and eased into her morning routine barely awake. That is until she caught sight of her hair in the mirror. "Your own fault, Romanoff," she told her reflection upon seeing the frizzy jumble of red spiked up in all directions. "Easy-peasy."
By the time her hair was brought under control and her clothes were on, Natasha was more awake. Her stomach grumbled reminding her it was James' turn to cook. Because he was an early riser, she expected to smell food cooking, unless he was making a cold breakfast. "There better be coffee."
Her feet slid into a pair of backless sandals on her way to the kitchen. Even here, the only scents were those of the house and what came in through the open patio door. Puzzled, she continued on, stopping in the kitchen doorway. The lights were out. No food, no coffee and no James.
Going to the patio, her eyes searched the surrounding fields and the part of the woods that could be seen from the house and still no James. "Not like him to oversleep."
His bedroom door was open, the bed was perfectly made, as if he'd never slept in it. And there, propped against the pillow was a sheet of paper, the words short and to the point.
Pozhaluysta, prosti menya. Do svidaniya.
TBC
Pozhaluysta, prosti menya. Do svidaniya. = Please forgive me. Good-bye.
