“What's your name?” That's Tucker again, stepping closer as he speaks. He pushes the tip of the gun to the man's visor, right where his temple would be.
“Agent North.” There's no fear in his voice, no malice either. North's been in this position more than once, he knows how to handle himself. Even if Washington can't handle himself.
Tucker flinches, just slightly, like the name is setting him on fire. “Oh,” it's soft, it's knowing. “Drop your guns,” he gestures to the Reds and Blues, putting his own gun down. “Let's, uh—” he reaches to scratch the back of his helmet, “everyone out,” he orders, giving a quick ‘Fuck off!' when they complain.