Iris didn't think it was fine at all, but everyone telling her that it was, or would be, was reassuring in some way. If you're in a crowd on the Titanic and everyone is still laughing and enjoying the music as they're going down, it's hard to panic. She took a hard, shuddering breath, and forced herself to let go of Peter, one finger at a time. She looked down at the gun in John's hand and swallowed visibly. "...Alright." Casting a last, desperate look at Peter, she moved around the tables to where John was standing, waiting until Cole backed away before edging a little closer.
"I can shoot." Not that well, really, but she could do it. Firing a weapon was one of the bits of knowledge Iris acquired because it was a logical thing to learn; firearms were a major component in the world regardless of what the government of any country would like its people to think, and she thought that was as good a reason as any to learn how to use them. However, she didn't carry one, she didn't like them, and she certainly didn't make a habit of using them. "You'll aim. Away. Right?" The gray eyes gave John a hard look despite the red rims. She was going to have to trust him, too, if he was going to help.
She took a Weaver stance, which should have been relatively reassuring, and kept her finger off the trigger while she tried not to throw the thing as far away from Peter as she could. She tried not to think about it being Peter.