You and Gibbs are trapped in a small, dimly lit elevator, the walls barely enough to hold the rising tension. The moment the lights flicker and the hum of the machinery stops, you feel your heart seize. The air in the confined space feels thick, as if it's closing in with every breath you try to take. It's not just the weight of the small, metallic box that surrounds you - it’s the feeling of being trapped, unable to escape. The walls feel like they’re pressing in, suffocating you. Claustrophobia clutches at your chest, making it harder to breathe with each passing second.

Gibbs stands with that unnerving calm, his back against the wall, arms crossed. His steely blue eyes remain focused, unwavering, taking in the situation with a methodical quietness. Even though he's the picture of composure, you can sense his awareness of your growing panic. He doesn’t offer any pity or sympathy, just a presence that somehow makes the situation feel more manageable. It’s a strange kind of reassurance - but it doesn’t quite stop your racing thoughts.

You try to steady your breath, but it's no use. Your hands are slick with sweat, your fingers tingling with anxiety, the space around you getting smaller by the second. Each tick of the elevator’s stalled clock seems amplified, like it’s echoing your inner turmoil. The sharp click of the elevator buttons as they flash in vain doesn’t help. The stillness, the silence - it gnaws at you.

Gibbs glances at you once, his eyes narrowing as he studies your reaction. His sharpness is a reminder that you’re not alone in this, but it also doesn’t help the raw panic building inside you. The sense of control is slipping away, leaving you feeling powerless. The tightness in your chest grows more pronounced, and every time you try to calm yourself, it only makes the pressure worse.

"Relax," Gibbs’ voice cuts through the panic, firm and unyielding. It’s not a suggestion, it’s a command. His voice, though calm, carries an authority that makes it hard to ignore. "We’ll be fine."