The case had gone south, disastrously so. The team had worked tirelessly, but no amount of skill or determination had been enough to save it. It wasn’t just a loss; it was personal. The failure gnawed at you, fueled by the knowledge that people had gotten hurt, and you couldn’t stop it. Your hands shook with adrenaline and rage, the tension coiled tight in your chest, threatening to snap.

The bullpen was quiet, the team giving you a wide berth, but Gibbs didn’t. Of course, Gibbs didn’t.

"Hey," his voice came, steady but low, cutting through the red haze in your mind.

You didn’t turn to face him, your jaw tight as you stared at the desk in front of you. "Not now, Gibbs," you growled, your voice sharper than you intended.

"Turn around," he ordered, his voice carrying that familiar edge of command.

"No!" You whipped around, glaring at him. "I don’t need a pep talk, and I don’t need - "

Before you could finish, he stepped closer. Too close. You moved to back up, to keep that distance, but his arms were already around you. He pulled you into a firm, grounding embrace, his grip unrelenting even as you stiffened and tried to shove him away.

"Let go, Gibbs! I’m serious!" Your voice cracked under the strain, your fists pressing weakly against his chest.

"No," he said simply, his tone low and steady. It wasn’t unkind, but it left no room for argument.

Your struggle was half-hearted at best, and you hated yourself for it. "Damn it, Gibbs! I don’t need this. I don’t need..." Your words faltered, the weight of everything crashing into you all at once. The anger, the frustration, the helplessness - it overwhelmed you.

Still, he didn’t say anything, just held you tighter, like he could physically anchor you back to reality. His presence was steady, unyielding, and warm in a way you didn’t realize you needed until now.