His reaction was to raise his eyebrows, Hansel's hesitation palpable in the air as he adjusted his grip on the gun, right index finger tapping lightly against the smooth feel of the FAMAS. After a long period, where he watched and studied her, he lifted his right shoulder in an easy, deceptively careless shrug.
He hit the release clasp on the magazine, letting the black, curved box hit his opposing palm with a soft snick
. He took the few short steps towards her, tossing her the magazine when he was close on a low, underhand lob.
He didn't wait to see if she caught it.
"Others are ih-hin there," he said, pointing to his bag, on his way to the mouth of the hangar, "a-hand a lookout's not real handy if he doesn't h-have bullets."
He settled against the corner of the hangar, eyes staring out at the wide open space, his legs splayed in front of him, FAMAS loosely laid over his lap, gaze fighting to not watch his new... partner out of suspicion. He'd have to trust her, for now. Trust that she wouldn't lose the bullets, or scatter them, or club him on the head while he slept.
Trust that she didn't know that there was a round in the chamber.
Trust that he wouldn't have to use it on her.
((Hansel Williams, Learned something from yesterday