The moment Magpie moves, Falcon's hackles raise, briefly. He hates this new, anxious part of himself, far more prominent than it has ever been now that he's acknowledged its existence, but it's... it's Magpie. It's just Magpie, reaching out to him, offering him his hand.

Falcon eyes it, tilting his head. He's gloved, of course, hiding what he knows are human fingers, human skin underneath them. It's... a sentimental gesture. Something meant to comfort, perhaps, but Falcon doesn't feel nearly as well as a human does, mostly enough so he knows when to stop squeezing when he holds something.

It's pointless. Neither of them are getting much out of it. Falcon, because he can't feel properly anyway, and Magpie, because the glove impedes sensation.

Yet...

Before he can change his mind, Falcon wordlessly places his hand into Magpie's, once again looking at the tree. His sensors register the warmth of Magpie's skin, even through the glove.

... Maybe he's imagining it, but it feels like something has mended itself, even if just a little.