G knew that Dom's death had hit them all hard, himself included, but as he looked over at Sam, smashing the life out of a punch bag that had done nothing wrong to any of them, he knew that his friend was taking things worse than anyone else.
"Sam. Stop." He slid himself between Sam and the punch bag, praying that his instincts were right and that he wouldn't end up with a fist in his face. With his hands still raised, Sam glared at G, his look one of impatience.
"I don't want to talk. And I need you to leave me the hell alone."
G shook his head. "Not gonna happen, big guy."
It was late, and without any major ongoing investigations, the building was deserted. They were the only ones still there – everyone else having gone home, either alone or in pairs, trying to deal with the events of the last few days.
Sam had taken to spending too many hours at headquarters, slamming his fists into inanimate objects, punishing himself for imagined wrongs. G watched him night after night, trying to think of the words to say that would make things better, help Sam to get through this. He wished he was more like Nate, who somehow always knew exactly what to say, or Kensi, who would offer one of her smiles and a hug.
He knew of only one thing that he could offer Sam that no one else could.
"I know you don't want to talk. I'm fed up of trying." His voice was low and calm as he stepped closer, causing Sam to take a step backwards. He took another step, moving close enough that he was sure he could hear the sound of Sam's heart beating.
"Then what?" Sam looked at him, unblinking, silently daring him to say something, to force the issue.
Without warning, G placed his hands firmly on Sam's chest and shoved him backwards, hard.
Only Sam's training prevented his head from slamming against the wall, but the unexpected impact still winded him. G felt Sam's body tense, readying himself for the fight he imagined was coming, the blows he anticipated.
But instead of throwing a punch, G moved his hands, placing them on the wall on either side of Sam's head. He looked straight at Sam, their eyes locked together and thought of all the times they had been this close, and all the times he had wanted to do this. He leaned in closer, until his lips were brushing Sam's ear.
"Then this."
In one swift movement, before Sam could even register what was happening, G had moved his head, bringing their lips together. With all restraint removed and pure instinct taking over, Sam reached up and grabbed at G's shirt, pulling him closer until their bodies were touching from chest to thigh.
G felt Sam grow hard against him, hands desperately reaching for any piece of skin they could find and he allowed himself a moment of triumph. He may not be a psychologist, but he knew exactly how to get through to his friend better than anyone else ever could.
As he fell to his knees, listening to Sam's soft moan, his own hands deftly unzipping and unbuttoning, he knew that they would make it through. Stronger. Together.