Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Two-shot, based on the song Whiskey Lullaby

Pepper never found out exactly what happened. All she knew was that one morning, Natasha simply disappeared from SHIELD's campus. Even Agent Barton had no idea where she went, and any questions they asked went unanswered. All they could get was that she had simply picked up and left in the night, leaving no note or clues that could indicate her whereabouts. There was a massive search, SHIELD pouring millions into the hunt for one of their most successful agents, but months passed and nothing turned to nothing. Agent Romanoff was declared Missing in Action, her file closed.

Clint was never the same. Even though there was nothing anyone could have done, Pepper saw how the uncertainty of Natasha's disappearance gnawed on him, slowly destroying him from the inside out. He still went on missions for SHIELD, albeit with new partners, but there was a sort of hollowness about him. An inability to connect emotionally to anyone anymore, a sort of void where there had previously been quiet wit. Pepper had never known him to be partial to drinking, but bottles upon bottles slowly began cluttering his living quarters, the faint scent of liquor clinging to him wherever he went. She always knew that Clint and Natasha shared a special bond, but she found herself with the suspicion that it had maybe been more. He had been so protective of Natasha from the moment he escorted her back to SHIELD's campus even though she was his equal in survival skills and just as deadly. More than once Clint had been rushed to SHIELD's medical facilities for taking a bullet or a knife after shielding Natasha's body with his own. Now she was gone, disappeared, like a breath in the wind.

The others noticed after a while, the hushed whispers, the concerned glances whenever he was in the room. They tried to help him, to break the depression that held him fast in its grip, but nothing seemed to work. Thor was off in another world and could therefore be no help. Pepper didn't think he would understand the concept of mental illness very well anyway. More like he'd simply roar for Clint to be happy again. Bruce and Tony tried to distract him with new equipment. Steve was always after him to drown his sorrows in another workout, another sparring match. Pepper tried to get him to open up to her, but nothing worked. He was ordered to undergo a mental psychiatric evaluation by Director Fury, but the results came back negative for any disorders. No one believed it. They all knew Clint was smart enough to manipulate his answers to the questions the psychologists threw at him, to hide the true results.

Clint moved like a robot, the same pattern repeating over and over. Go on a mission, return. Drink himself into unconsciousness. Exercise himself sober when he woke up, until he lay puking and gasping on the floor in the gym. Repeat. A frustration unlike any other gripped Pepper as she was forced to watch Clint slowly waste away, unable to do anything to help him.

There came the day when he stopped answering his radio. Repeated pages to his quarters elicited no response, and sighing, Pepper went to check on him. Most likely he had passed out drunk, and she would be fine to leave him to sleep off his latest drinking binge if it weren't for the fact that Agent Fury had just sent in a classified mission briefing that required Clint's specialized skills. If she didn't force him to read it, who knows if he would ever even open it.

She tapped lightly at his door, speaking softly. "Clint? Clint Agent Fury just sent over this file-"

"Not taking any more jobs." Clint's swift response startled Pepper, who leaned back. There was an ominous clicking sound. "Better cover your ears Pepper."

A thrill of dread swept through her, and she frantically shook the knob, pounding on the door, shouting. "Clint! Clint what are you doing what are you-"

An booming crack ripped through the air, and it seemed to Pepper as if something had physically struck her. She froze, her mind racing. Was that what she thought it was? Her mouth opened in a terrified cry "Tony! Help!"

They were there within seconds, Tony, Steve, and Bruce. Pepper could barely get the words out. "I…he…gunshot."

Tony whipped out a small computer in his pocket. "I can access the locking from-"

There was a loud crash as Steve rammed down the door with a powerful blow from his shoulders. Tony shrugged at Bruce and Pepper, and then the three followed Steve into the room. When they saw what the room contained, all four grew still. "My God," Bruce whispered

Clint lay face down on his cot, blood trickling slowly from a neat hole in his temple, the pistol dangling loosely from his fingers. In his other hand was clenched a scrap of paper, a small photograph resting on the ground where it had fluttered from his grasp. Pepper reached down and plucked the photo off the ground, her throat tightening at the photo's subject. While Tony and Bruce gingerly rolled him over, Steve gently broke Clint's grip on the paper and read it, a hundred pound weight settling on his features before he handed it to Pepper.

It was a sheet of paper ripped from a notebook, the edges ragged and frayed. Pepper recognized Clint's untidy scrawl, the letters shakier than usual, and felt her eyes fill as she read the note, holding Natasha's photo in her hand.

I'll love her until I die.

"Oh Clint," Pepper whispered, Tony coming up behind her and putting his arms around her in a comforting cradle. Steve and Bruce came and joined them at the foot of the bed, the four of them just stood there for what seemed like an eternity, staring down at the broken body of their friend.

Four Months Later

Natasha stepped out of the taxi, breathing in the mildly foul city air. Anticipation at seeing Tony, Bruce, Nick, Steve, and especially Clint filled her as she gazed up at the monolith that was Stark Tower. She allowed herself a small smile.

It was good to be home.