"Friday," he rubbed two fingers between his furrowed eyebrows. His suit was shredded from burns, the star was ripped off, his face was smudged with blood and dust. The building had collapsed before they could evacuate everyone and god damn it, he didn't know how many were dead. His arms dropped by his sides. "I know we argued a lot but, in times like these, I miss Stark."
friday had currently been talking to a few first responders when she heard the blonde man call her name , causing her to dismiss the person with a nod , before turning her attention towards him . “ hey .. you still got people out , “ she frowned , grabbing a nearby rag as she approached him . “ you did what you could . “
Nightmares were something Jamie was all too familiar with, but one recurring one still managed to shake him up every time he had it. He hadn’t seen his brother since they’d admitted him to the hospital with the flu, only finding out he’d died days later, and ever since, he’d had a near constant dream about Grayson’s little hands clawing up through the dirt beneath his headstone, his face distorted and decaying, eyes nothing more than sunken black pits, a scream on his cracked, bloody lips. It was horrifying, and Jamie just wanted it to go away. Images of his little brother’s dead body still flashing relentlessly behind his eyelids, he went to Friday, curling up in bed with her and burying his face in her shoulder. That made it a little more okay.
It was about seven o’clock at night, and Shiloh was just curled up in his favorite armchair with his stuffed triceratops when he saw Friday, giving her a small smile and wave. Today had been hard— Clint was away on a mission, as was Natasha, and his sensory issues had been giving him grief— but he was doing better now, and wanted someone to hang out with, if Friday was willing.