"That was the general consensus," she said. Steve looked like the walking wounded, not far from the way he'd looked when they'd come out of Wakanda, and she couldn't blame him for it. It was too much to absorb, on too many fronts. There was no good news to give him, not really. The bright spots that had happened over the years had been spots; pinpricks of light, really, moments of respite, but overall - what a slog it had been. What a relentless crush of misery that none of them had really battled back against all that well, not in the end.
She wondered if the team had undid the snap. She wondered if it had fixed everything when it had, in an instant. If it bought back everything the rest of them had suffered all those years.
"Everybody gave enough. Everybody gave too much and in the end, that'll be enough to put it right. You guys won't fuck it up. I trust that," she said, and let go of him so that she could tuck her own hands back into her pockets again. The jeans fit. What an absurd detail to fixate on, that the jeans she was wear fit, Jan had taken such care to make sure that they would, but it helped piece her back together. She'd told Steve. Two things she knew he wouldn't want to absorb. He had suffered. Was suffering. But here they still were.
Her hands were in her pockets. She backed away from him, a little, put space into it.