Fenrir decided immediately not to mention his trip to the police station. Explaining the circumstances would have been awkward, and thinking about it made him uncomfortable. He quickly forgot about it, though, when Tyr held out his hand.
The meaning behind the gesture certainly wasn't lost on him. He shifted nervously, feeling unsure about just what Tyr was trying to prove. That he wasn't afraid of Fenrir? That he trusted him?
The thought of Tyr trusting him almost made Fenrir want to shake him. They were on different sides, that had been made painfully clear a long time ago. Whatever Tyr thought he was doing now was a bad idea and Fenrir shouldn't encourage it.
He really shouldn't.
He stepped forward anyway, taking Tyr's hand and turning it over as though he wasn't sure it was real. His fingers skimmied across the palm curiously, like a fortuneteller reading the future.
"Hands are interesting," Fenrir said, not even realizing he'd spoken until the words were actually out. He ducked his head and kept looking at Tyr's hand, the hand that should have been there. He remembered the feel of it resting in his mouth, how he'd tried to keep his teeth from accidentally ripping Tyr's skin, until it became clear that he'd been tricked. Then the world had gone red from his anger and there'd been coppery blood in his mouth before he'd quite realized was had happened.
"They, uh, it's hard to understand. How useful they are," Fenrir continued. "When you've always had paws, I mean. The first time I turned human, I just picked everything up that I could, just to see what it was like."