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It's something of an eleventh hour scenario, when Nate finally tells Eric he's leaving. He's maybe talked himself into the belief that it's for the best. Eric doesn't appear to agree.
"Okay." Eric nods. "Cool."
"Eric," says Nate. "I'm not going into combat. It's not a permanent thing. It's just something I need to do. Something I want to do. You know I always wanted to play a part, help more bringing the bad guys in, and never, well." He pauses. "Let's just say I wasn't working to my full potential here."
"You mean you tried your hand at field work and made a fool of yourself," says Eric.
Nate blinks.
"Sorry," says Eric.
Nate shakes his head. "I know you well enough to know that your lack of brain-mouth filter is not something you can be cured of," he says, mouth twitching.
"I have access to live satellite feeds," says Eric. "Security cameras. Top-level intelligence. I could get onto a ton of contacts, if I wanted."
"Is that a threat?" Nate tilts his head. "Or a warning, or a convoluted method of telling me to be careful?"
Eric shrugs. "You're the psychologist," he says, glancing away.
"Yeah," says Nate. "Yeah, I am."
"Look," says Eric, glancing back. "It's your thing. I get that. I'm staying to do my thing here, and now you're going to do yours over there."
"But?" says Nate.
"No buts." Eric shrugs again.
"Huh," says Nate. "Well, in that case, I guess I'll miss your. Interesting way of putting things."
"Was that your goodbye?" says Eric, after a silence. "Seriously? Dude, that was terrible. Terrible like, even I could do better than that."
"Thanks," says Nate dryly. "And it wasn't, actually."
"Oh," says Eric. "Well, carry on."
Nate rolls his eyes, places his bag carefully on the floor, and curls his hands over the arms of Eric's chair, holding it, and him in it, still, ducking his head close.
"You know," says Eric conversationally, "In movies, the whole bag dropping thing is generally a lot more dramatic. Uh." He falters at Nate's raised eyebrow. "Just saying."
"Usually I'm more struck by the lack of moment-killing observations," says Nate.
"That's a big one, yeah," Eric agrees.
"I am constantly amazed that the two of you ever get around to doing anything that isn't talking," says Hetty from the doorway. Nate jolts upright, palming the back of his neck far too casually to be casual. Eric skitters his chair aimlessly from side to side, looking hunted. "But judging by your satisfied demeanours on entering the office most mornings, I see you must find some way around your stuttering nonesense." Her eyes crinkle amusedly behind her glasses. "Mr. Getz, your car is here."
"Right," says Nate, sliding a glance at Eric. "Uh. Thanks, Hetty. I'll just."
"I'll leave you to finish your goodbyes," says Hetty. "Make it quick, or you'll miss your flight. I advise you not to resume your conversation."
She raises a meaningful eyebrow before she disappears.
"Hetty knows?" says Eric weakly.
"Of course Hetty knows," says Nate. "She knew before I did. It was freaky."
"Hetty is freaky," says Eric. "Not in -- okay, that sounded wrong, I mean like she's terrifying, not --"
"Two minutes, Mr. Getz," shouts Hetty. "Mr. Beal, for all our sakes, stop talking."
Eric's eyes are huge behind his glasses. "I can't believe you're leaving me alone with her."
"Like I'm any better at dealing with her," says Nate.
"That's true," says Eric. "Actually, for an Operational Psychologist, you're surprisingly bad at dealing with most of our team. Not that, I mean --"
"There are so many ways I could respond to that," says Nate, "All of which I am choosing to forgo, because I have to leave in two minutes and you are still talking."
"So are you," Eric points out.
"Right," says Nate. "Thank you. About that." He leans in again.
It isn't earth-shattering. It isn't wrecked. Eric doesn't kiss like that.
He kisses warm and comfortable, knuckles white on the bridges of Nate's wrists, mouth soft and open. He kisses like something to come home to.