If Tony noticed that her voice was smaller and more childish, he certainly wasn't going to comment on it -- even if it sort of melted his heart for reasons that he couldn't possibly explain. Same as the way she'd launched herself at him, like he was some kind of life line, like there was no one else around who could possibly be more comforting. It was selfish, he thought, to hope that was true.
But there it was anyway.
And he hugged her back-- it came more naturally than hugging Pete, in some ways. Like it was just easier to squeeze her a little harder, to settle his hand on the back of her head and hold on because it was obvious she needed it. That was fair. Jan was a loss, she'd been his friend too - she'd been, in fact, the first person he'd met here - the person who had offered him water and found him a bed to pass out in all while brimming with enthusiasm and politely not mentioning that he looked like a shitty skeleton who needed to shave. He'd miss her, too.
"Hi," he repeated after her, soft and patient like he had all the time in the world -- he wasn't going to rush her grief. "Alright," he went on, "I'm here." He wouldn't tell her it was going to be okay, because that was a cruel sort of thing to say, but what he would offer was his own presence. He was here, and he wasn't going anywhere.