It's 2032 and Nell and Eric's teenage son finds out about the dating profile Nell and her sister set up in 2012. Written for #NellAppreciationWeek—but it's not too appreciative!

Rated K+, Angst, Family

Not Far from the Tree

Perhaps two half-apologies are in order. First, to NCIS:LA magazine, sorry. This story is supposed to be mostly about the Nell and her sister, and how they set up the dating site profile. This story responds to that prompt, but that's just part of it. Sorry. Blame the plot bunnies; they're the ones who took it in a different direction. Don't blame me!

Second, to Neric-shippers like myself: I'm sorry. Real life can be rotten.

Finally, before I begin, some thank you's: to Aquamarin28628, because this came out of conversations with them, to violetdoodlebug for a productive e-conversation about teenage diaries, and to Motsie of Atlantis, who's been pushing me to write.

Standard disclaimers apply: I do not own NCIS: LA

The tee-shirt's picture showed a cartoon of a man on a surfboard, but two things distinguished this surfer from the traditional California surfer image. First, the waves measured, at most, six inches: wakes from the tourist boats passing under London's Tower Bridge. Second, he wore the full red regalia and bearskin cap of a beefeater. Underneath, the caption read "Thames River Surf Association."

The tee-shirt barely contained the paunch that had hunted down Eric Beale, now fifty years old. Eric grumbled as he vacuumed the large, formal living room of the Jones-Beale household. In one corner a music stand, overflowing with viola music, stood beside a baby grand piano. As he shut off the vacuum, he wiped the sweat from his brow, checked his phone and rolled his eyes. He took a deep breath, and then returned the call. "Hi, Sweetie. Sorry I missed your call." He did not sound sorry.

"Right. I had time to vacuum before I had to get Barrett from Math Club. We'll do…. You're right, He'll do homework 'til five-thirty five, then it's off to fencing…. No, it's Wednesday: it's fencing. …We should be back by seven. During the homework, I should be able to get the lasagna in. And a couple bags of salad during fencing…Are you sure Renée doesn't mind doing the Smithsonian 'til you're done? We'll hurry back. I'm sure she'll be anxious to see her nephew." As he talked, he grabbed a cloth lunch bag and filled it with a protein bar and banana.

Three hours later, dusk had come to a perfect Indian-summer day, complete with blue skies and crisp air perfumed by drying leaves. Eric pulled into the cul-de-sac and used the remote to open the garage. He parked his Dodge on his side of the driveway and plugged it in. Barrett roused from his near-sleep and uncoiled from his seat in the car. Tall and slender for his fourteen years, freckle-faced and tousle-haired like his father had been in Los Angeles, he had inherited auburn hair from his mother, the main physical feature he shared with her. Father and son negotiated their way between Nell's Mercedes and his old Kia Soul. ("Better hang onto it. It's big enough for projects, and for when I drive a bunch of kids.")

Renée got hugs from each of the returnees, and Nell and Barrett shared a hug while Eric continued, "Hello, Renée. I'm so glad you could make it to Washington! Let me just pull the lasagna out, then we can eat in fifteen minutes, after it's set." As soon as he opened the oven, his face reddened. "What the Nell? Nell, I left a note to uncover it as soon as you got home so the top could brown!" He pulled the foil-shielded casserole from the oven. "Good grief, Nell! I bust my butt to get things set up so we can eat on time, get Barrett to bed at a decent hour and you can't even do one thing?"

"As soon as I got in, I got a call from the embassy in Lithuania! Russia trouble again. Just uncover it now! Fifteen minutes ain't gonna kill us, Beale!"

His shoulders slumped, he paused, and then he uncovered the lasagna and slid it back into the oven. Nell shook her head and steered her sister into the living room as Eric put on an apron and finished assembling the garlic bread. Once it was wrapped and in the oven, he poured himself a seltzer, took a breath, and went into the living room.

Later, as Barrett wolfed down his third slice of lasagna, Renée had the chance to catch up with her brother-in-law. "So Eric, are you still surfing?"

"Let's see…. After we left California, I had about six days of surfing on Long Island."

"Right," Nell interjected, rolling her eyes. "Each of them was two days before a hurricane might hit. He'd shutter the house up when it was four days out, then go surfing on T minus three and two. I'm convinced that more than once he actually tried to take the last ferry back to Rhode Island."

"Nell, there was plenty of time to hunker down."

"If it was even coming." Nell gave a snort. "Usually, they would turn out to sea, and miss us by a thousand miles. Didn't I feel silly sitting in the only house in town with plywood on the windows?"

"You could have taken it down, Sweetheart."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What, when I had seven months of Barrett in my belly?"

"Well, anyhow, Renée: After Rhode Island, Nell's job took us to Istanbul, London, Brussels, New York, and finally Washington. Not much surfing in any of those cities." The resignation that overwhelmed his face turned into hope. "From London and Brussels, I tried to get a family vacation in Portugal a couple times, but each time a crisis came up for Nell."

Renée barreled on, "That's right, Nell. I was surprised to learn you were some big diplomatic muckety-muck. I could imagine a TV producer job taking you to Brussels, and maybe Istanbul, but when you landed in London, you told us TV was just a cover."

"Right. I'd been an analyst for the government since I left college, but the London job was so high-profile I couldn't keep my cover any longer. So, I 'came in from the cold' with the family."

"Yup," Eric confirmed. "When Nell burned her cover, I had to, too. I was all lined up to be the technology specialist for the CIA station in London, but they decided both covers were blown. I had the chops to work with Scotland Yard on London's video surveillance, but since I'd been a professional blackjack player, I couldn't very well put 'broke the internet' on my résumé."
Renée interrupted, "Wait, what's this, 'broke the internet'?" Barrett's eyes widened.

Eric started out humbly, "Yeah. Back in L.A. we had a case, I forget the details, but bad guys were uploading a video right before the stock market opened. If the video went public, there would have been a market panic. The only way I could stop it was to disable the main US trunk line." He gave a satisfied smirk. "I broke the internet."

Renée and Barrett looked suitably impressed, but Nell just rolled her eyes. "Glory days," she said knowingly to her sister. The grin melted from Eric's face, then Nell's.

He continued with a tired, smaller voice. "Anyhow, I ended up working general IT for the embassy there. Been doing that ever since. I miss national security work, but IT has given me the schedule to watch Barrett, since Nell was so busy. When Barrett was in grade school, I'd either work nights or start at four a.m. so I could get him from school. Today it was just five-thirty."

Renée turned to Nell, "You had fieldwork, too!" She gave a sympathetic shudder. "That must have been scary. If I'd known that's what you were doing, I'd have been having a cow!" Barrett rolled his eyes. His aunt's language was so antiquated it might as well have been Shakespeare.

"Don't worry. I did the worrying for all the family." Eric agreed. "I didn't want some international baddie hurting my Nell." Her hand had rested on the table, but when Eric reached to hold she drew it away in haste. Time froze. Eric looked in sadness at Nell's face, but the other six eyes watched his hand withdraw, defeated, from her placemat.

"My Nell?" She turned on him. "My Nell? I'm Undersecretary of State for European Affairs, and you have the nerve to call me yours?"

"I was afraid! I loved you."

" 'Loved.' Past tense?"

"I still love you! I love you as much as you'll let me!" Eric shouted, but Nell stormed off to her office. Eric followed, and knocked on the door.

To drown out the sounds of the love-elegy Eric gave to Nell's door and of Nell's impatient snorts and vengeful replies, Renée and her nephew put away leftovers, rinsed dishes and loaded the dishwasher. Since the argument still hadn't ended when the chores were finished, Renée offered to take Barrett to the café to finish his homework.

After they left a note, they caught up a bit as Renée drove Nell's car. They continued chatting through the line and even as Barrett spread his books and laptop across one of the tables.

"So, my English class is doing the twentieth century, and I've gotta do a paper on romance novels. I came across this movie 'Romancing the Stone,' that I ought to look up."

"Here, I'll Google it on my cell phone," Renée offered, but as she typed she let out a gasp. "Oh, Wow! That site is still up? I can't believe it!"

"What site, Ants?"

"Auto-complete still offers this dating website, 'Romancing the One.' Back when your mom and I were single, I set up a profile for her. This was soon after she joined 'the TV station in LA.' I wonder if her profile is still up." She typed away. "Drats, I forgot the password."

"Can I try, Ants?" She passed him her phone.

After a few minutes typing Barrett looked up, "I'm guessing you picked this password?"

"How can you tell?"

"You think Mom would have chosen 'QueenRenee'?"

"Here she is!" He scowled, "But Ants, this is nothing like Mom is now!"

"Oh, Honey!" Renée took a deep breath, preparing to explain to her nephew Certain Truths. "Honey, honey, honey. A profile like this isn't about describing yourself. It's describing what you think the other person will like!"

"So it's just advertising? All a lie?"

"Of course!" She took an unapologetic bite of her Danish. "I thought Nell would want a take-charge guy, someone to get her motor running, appeal to her hormones."

Barrett cringed, "Aunt Renée! I do not need to hear about my mom's hormones! Besides, Mom and Dad are compatible. They're the two smartest people I know."

"Except for you, Barrett." Flattery colored Renée's voice.

He smirked. "It's in college that you learn to know yourself, Ants. Since I don't know myself yet, my statement holds."

When she stopped laughing, she continued. "Eric appeals to her intellect. He's a great, sweet guy. At the time, I thought Nell would want a more traditional guy, one who was looking for a girl with a profile like that."

"Suppose the guys are onto it? Then the only guys who would click on that profile are the ones looking for a woman who would try to present herself that way. I think Dad fits that bill. But now we've really gone down the rabbit hole of game theory. I mean, what if the women know the men are onto them?"

Stumped, Renée paused for a minute to think, but then scowled. "Barrett, what are you looking at?" She looked over her shoulder, too. "Oh, her!" Her voice dropped to a forceful whisper, "Barrett, it's not polite to stare at a girl."

"I'm not staring at the girl, it's her computer. She's playing 3-D chess." She looked again to confirm. It looked just as he said. A girl, roughly fourteen, and her father each stared at a laptop like they were playing "Battleship." On the man's screen, Aunt and Nephew could see a skeletal, semi-transparent view of six chessboards stacked up, although each measured six-by-six. As Barrett watched, he would use the mouse to change the view, and then would type in his move.

Renée gave a chuckle. "Only a Jones-Beale would look past the girl to the computer game she's playing." She narrowed here eyes. "Well, don't just stare: go over there and introduce yourself. Kibitzing is quite okay. Jeez! I flew all the way out here from Minnesota to be your matchmaker, and you just sit here? Now go!" She finished with a shooing motion.

More to end her diatribe before she made a scene than out of any conscious decision, he carried his brownie over to the table and stood behind the father. "Mind if I watch?"

"Not at all," said the dad. "Scoot over. Let this gentleman have a seat."

Barrett sat and watched, taking in every aspect of the game—and the girl he was suddenly sharing a booth with. She was tall and slender, and had a demure, freckled faced. Her long blond hair was kept loose, so she could use it to hide her blush. She wore a peach polo shirt (monogrammed, of course,) and a green sweater draped over her shoulders.

After several plays, she moved knight to 3-B-5. Barrett tapped her elbow with his and gave her a smile. Queen to 2-B-4, her dad replied. Barrett gave a quiet, knowing laugh. Sure enough, after eight moves, Dad resigned the game.

"I'm Todd Johnson, by the way, and this is my daughter, Kelly." Barrett twisted in place to shake her hand. "It looks like you've played before," the father prompted. Aunt Renée had spent the time packing up Barrett's schoolwork. Seeing the game had ended, she brought the backpack over, and was offered a seat on Todd's side of the booth.

"I'm pretty good at 2-D, but was curious about chess in 3-D." Barrett replied.

He finally picked up on the prompting shrugs his aunt was giving. "This is my aunt Renée Jones, and I'm Barrett Jones-Beale."

Todd gave a little laugh. "Barrett Jones-Beale, that sounds like a law firm."

With mock bombast he held out his hand to Todd. "Patent attorneys, LLC. Intellectual property innovations for properly intellectual innovators."

"It sounds like you've heard the lawyer joke before," Todd laughed. Kelly giggled, Barrett blushed and Renée sat back with a knowing small smile.

"More times than I'd care to count. I figured I'd better have a snappy comeback."

"Well, it worked," Todd confirmed. "Hey, since you play, why don't you and Kelly give it a tumble?" He motioned to his seat.

Barrett looked between the women, "If that's okay?"

Aunt Renée emerged from her shock ("give it a tumble?") to consent. "Sure."

As he took the seat at the man's computer, Barrett cautioned, "I've never played 3-D chess before."

"That's okay, everyone has a first time," the man said.

He asked, "Just to be clear, how does castling work?" She shook her head, "None? And en passant?"

She showed him on scratch paper, and then hit some keys to start the game. Fifteen minutes later, one of Kelly's bishops came out of nowhere to harry Barrett's king into an indefensible position and to force the inevitable checkmate.

"Not bad at all!" Kelly conceded. "Do you play competitively? I'm surprised I haven't seen you at tournaments."

"We just moved here last year, but regionals conflicted with something else, youth orchestra, I think." He paused for a second, "You played at regionals? What's your rating?"

"Nineteen-forty-eight. Yours?"

"Nineteen-thirty-two," he conceded. "We should get together sometime."

"Sure! You bop?" Kelly asked. Renée's eyes shot open as she looked at a very complacent Todd.

"I just set up a profile." He got out his phone, selected the app, and typed in his passcode. When Kelly had done the same, they tapped their phones together, each generating a "Bop." After they checked that the transfer was complete they sat back, Barrett with a nervous smile on his face.

Before the delay got too long, Renée's phone rang. "That's your mom. We can go back now," she muttered.

"Thanks for playing. That was fun, but I need to get home, now." He wrapped his brownie in a napkin. "No wait, that sounded like I've got a curfew. Gotta go? Weak bladder. Gotta run? Even worse!"

Kelly giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief while Barrett stood, flummoxed, beside the table.

"Well, anyhow, you know what I mean," he continued. "I still have homework. I'd brought it with me, but got distracted. In a good way. But…yeah…Let's get together, Kelly?"

"Yes, Let's get together sometime soon, Barrett."

"Great! I'd look forward to it." As he spoke, he held his backpack with both hands at his waist. Sensing the issue, Renée steered him out of the café.

In the car, Barrett overwhelmed his aunt with his excitement. When he got a text from Kelly, he pumped his fist. "You think I can set something up for this weekend, Ants?"

Renée didn't take her eyes off the road, but answered flatly, "Let's run it past your parents."

When they pulled into the driveway, the Kia Soul and the little electric Dodge had traded places, and Eric was loading something into the Kia's trunk. They unloaded, and Barrett barreled in the kitchen door. "Mom! Dad! I met a girl! She wants to get together this weekend, and she plays chess!"

Nell came downstairs looking grim, passing Renée as she went. Eric came in the front door with bloodshot eyes looking out from a puffy face. Barrett looked at the viola case and fencing gear in the foyer, and looked between his parents.

"Barrett, you know we both love you very much," Nell started, "but the fact is that this can't go on."

Eric continued, without missing a beat, "We've decided to separate."

"You mean divorce, right?" Barrett cut to the chase.

"We don't know. It might be we can work it out," Eric looked hopefully at Nell.

Without looking back Nell completed his sentence. "But for going forward, this will be better."

"I've already called that extended-stay motel by the freeway." Eric continued.

Nell took Barrett's hand, "You get to choose…"

"But we think it'll be easier if you stay with me." Eric offered, pleading in his eyes.

"You'll see both of us, so for now it's just a choice where you sleep this week." Nell confirmed.

"Okay. Dad, I'd really like to come with you. I'll go pack."

A minute later, Eric came into Barrett's room as he packed. He sat on the bed, fighting to regain his composure. "Need me to wait outside, Buddy?"

Socks…Boxers…"No, I'm good. I'd like you here." Board shorts…Printed shirts. He zipped up the duffel.

"So, tell me about this girl you met," Eric prompted.

"She was playing 3-d chess with her dad. She's really good at it, too! I watched her finish him off, and then she dispatched me without breaking a sweat."

"Well, it was your first time, Buddy."

"That's no excuse. I should have done better. She's only rated nineteen-forty eight. I should have held my own. But still, can you imagine a 3-d version of the Dragon Variation? Scary!" Barrett looked into the distance and gave a shudder. When he collected himself, he went back to his dresser and got a pastel-green polo and a pair of khakis. He froze. "Can I see her this weekend?" Eric quickly nodded. The polo and pants went in the duffel.

He sat on the bed beside his dad. "Here I am, going on about some computer chess game."

A sudden realization gave Eric a watery chuckle. "What timing, huh? You're out starting up a relationship at the exact same time ours is tanking."

Barrett ran his hand along the edge of his bed. "I guess this means you think I shouldn't do it?"

"Why would I think that?"

"Fie on love, and all that stuff."

Eric took both his son's shoulders, and turned him around. Looking straight into his eyes, he continued, "No, Barrett. This crisis is all the more reason for you to get out there. First, you'll need all the friends you can get for a while. Second, relationships are tricky business. It takes time to learn how they work. Start learning now, when the stakes are lower. Even if your thing with Miss Dragon Variation crashes and burns, you'll come out wiser. I didn't date when I was your age, so I didn't learn how to love a talented woman. I hope you can start to learn now."

When Eric let go, Barrett looked at his hands. "I'm sorry about what happened, Dad. Really, I am."

Eric shook his head slowly. "Don't be, Buddy. Don't be. It's not you. It's us."

Post script: This is set after my story "Hetty's Final Project." If you've got a minute, check that out.