Steve ran until it was dark and he couldn't run anymore. He stopped, his hands on his knees, struggling for breath. He needed a plan, he couldn't just run hoping to find her. He had to think. His anger blinded him, made it hard for him to concentrate. He struck out at a tree with a roar, sending chunks of bark and wood flying. He had failed her, just like he had failed Peggy, but worse. He sat on a rock and put his head in his hands, trying to control his breathing. He tried to clear his mind, to form a strategy, but the image of the bloodstained floor and the intimate knowledge he had of Natasha's final, terrified thoughts besieged him. Abruptly he stood and started gathering twigs, and then branches, until he had a good pile of firewood. The action calmed him, and steadied his mind as he set about making a fire. He would rest for a while and gather his thoughts before he continued.
As the fire roared, Steve stared into the flame, thinking. If she was dead why would they take her body? What could they want with it? Proof maybe? To show they had accomplished their mission? He shook his head in revulsion. He had failed her in life, but he wouldn't fail her in death. If she was dead, and the silence reigning in his mind suggested it was so, he was determined to get her body back for a proper burial far from the people who had made her life a living Hell. The snap of a twig brought Steve to his feet.
"Easy. Steve it's me." Bucky stood before him, his metal arm catching the firelight.
"Bucky? How did you find me?"
"The fire led me right to you. Are you crazy? Lighting a fire with Black Widows possibly around?"
Steve say back down and stared into the flame again, "Let them come." Bucky looked at his friend soberly. Steve's face had not regained its color. His eyes were dry and flat, missing their usual twinkle. His shoulders were hunched as if awaiting a blow. Bucky felt his heart sink, fear for his friend settled heavily on him. He put his hand on Steve's shoulder. Steve jumped up again as though he had been burned, the comforting touch of a friend feeling like a betrayal. What comfort had she had in her final, terrible moments? None. Bucky looked at him, bewildered.
"Bucky I- I'm sorry I just can't." Bucky nodded slowly, "I understand." Steve paced the fire anxiously, aimlessly. Looking at Bucky briefly he asked, "Do you have any news? Where did they take her?"
Bucky shook his head, "We don't know. The team is going to look into it once the Bartons are safely back at base." Steve dragged his hand along his face in frustration. Bucky looked down at his feet and then up again, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No Buck! I want to DO something about it! How was I hiding in Wakanda while she was here? What inspired me to run like that? To leave her here alone to face this? What does that say about me? What kind of man am I that I abandon the women I love?"
Bucky's voice was low, "You loved her Steve. She knew it. She needed you to be out of the way so she could do what was necessary to save those kids. And she did."
"You didn't feel what I felt! What she felt! Buck she died in despair!" Steve tried to continue, to describe what he had seen but his throat seemed to close, his eyes growing hot. He fell to his knees, his hands closing around fistfulls of dirt and wept. Bucky went to him and wrapped him in a tight hug, knowing that no words would soothe him. Steve let him this time, and leaned heavily on him. Steve whispered in an anguished voice, "I loved her Bucky. And now she's gone. Why does this happen to me?"
Bucky squeezed his shoulder and shook his head, wiping away a tear of his own, "I don't know buddy. I really don't."