“You should play the hero more often. It suits you.” ( pre-est au )
The smile that colored Wo’s features was surprisingly warm—especially for a man who tended to be careful about his emotions. Sure, he had been friendly with his coworkers since he joined this business, but not especially emotional all the same. That seemed to change with Harold; he was more genuine, something he himself hadn’t really picked up on yet.
“C’mon,” he said, hazel eyes flicking downwards, away from blue eyes, doing a sort of nervous fidget with his feet. His hands remained in his pockets. It takes a second before he glances back up. I’m not a hero, he doesn’t say. Instead: “He was desperate, and probably more afraid of his gun than the rest of us.”
Wo’s MSS training is perhaps the reason why he’s one of the first to notice the man with the gun come in, and it only gives him time to sit down the stack of folders in his hands before the other staff are gasping at the sight of their former co worker waving a gun. He wasn’t wearing the stark white button up most of them tended towards wearing in any business environment; he’s wearing flannel and a denim jacket, and the man looks worn down, tired, with bags under his eyes to prove it.
“Whoa, hey, easy,” had been the first thing out of Wo’s mouth, as he moved around his cubicle. This snapped the man’s attention—and therefore the barrel of the gun—around to Wo, and he didn’t fully stop until he was out of his cubicle, and between the man and the crowd of people.
“No.” But Wo has his hands up, spread apart in front of him. It’s partly a sign that he’s unarmed—palms forward, empty.—but it’s also a way of gesturing. While Wo had been talking to him, it has given one of the other staff time to call 911; he hasn’t caught who had done so. “Come on, Nedley. Put the gun down. Let’s talk about this.”
It went on something like this for a while—while the police set up outside, unable to get a clear shot he assumed—until something Wo said got through to him.
“Everybody here’s suffering. Maybe you don’t see it, Nedley, because Ingram hides it well, but we all are. You weren’t laid off because he wanted to hurt you.”
That had managed to get through to him, took the fire out of him. His stance wavered. Wo took that chance to ease a few steps forward.
“Just—give me the gun, Ned,” he said, gently, reaching forward cautiously until he got his hand around the barrel, and Nedley didn’t fight him when he took it from him. He could feel the way the entire room basically let out a breath. When the cops came in, he flicked the safety on and handed off the gun off.
Wo doesn’t stop to consider that it isn’t the act of talking a man down from using a gun that was heroic, but maybe rather the fact he put himself between that gun and a room full of people. He was still supposed to be a mostly-average businessman—but there were still plenty of average businessmen who would put themselves between a gun and a room with other people, especially one wielded by a former coworker.
“I worked with Nedley. Used to have coffee with him of the mornings. He doesn’t have much family—I think he just needed to know he wasn’t alone.”
