G snorted. "Hetty and sex are two things that do not ever need to be in a conversation together," he chided without heat. It seemed odd to hear Sam say things about feelings neither G nor Hetty had ever acknowledged so openly before. They told each other in different ways that they cared. But, never so bluntly.
"I miss her, Sam." It wasn't an admission he'd have made at home, or even a few months ago. Somehow Sam had gotten him to a point where he really did talk and open up, even if not always verbosely. He did say things aloud to Sam he wouldn't have before. "I'll think of things we need and think that I need to talk to Hetty about it. And then..." That damnable stinging was back in his eyes and he closed them for a second before finishing. "And then I remember she's gone and it's like she's died all over again. A dozen times a day."
Swallowing against the suddenly overwhelming sadness, he lay his head back on Sam's shoulder. His hands had stopped clenching themselves in fists and lay flat against Sam's chest now. He absently smoothed the crinkles in Sam's shirt where he'd gripped it in his fists. "How do you do it? How do you manage to have so much faith? Especially in me. You've spent the last year telling me this is what I should be doing, what I'm meant to do. And half of that time you've had to pick up the slack when I can't deal with something."