Author's note: I'm sorry, I watched episode 2x05 and this plot bunny was just there, ripe for the picking! I just had to indulge myself; the mental image was too amusing. Enjoy! XD

It was the end of another long day, another long case. Hetty Lange quietly observed her team members as they packed up to go home . Hetty was careful, though. Being who she was, she couldn't afford to appear too interested. Instead, she dropped a tea bag into her fine china cup full of hot water, hiding behind a wall of aloofness. She was Henrietta Lange, after all; that was how she operated.

Besides, the blackmail opportunities could be surprisingly rife if you could watch long enough without being noticed. It never ceased to amaze Hettie how quickly this could be forgotten.

She scanned the bullpen like a radar, watching for the slightest movement, when her eyes alighted on one scene. Marty Deeks seemed to be trying to...what was the term?...hit on Kensi Blye, or at the very least impress her. Needless to say, the scruffy LAPD liaison was having little to no success. Speaking of, Ms. Blye seemed to have a natural talent for rolling her eyes.

Hetty moved along. There was nothing of interest there. She quickly refocused her ever-seeing eyes subtly on her other two agents. To those unacquainted with G. Callen and Sam Hanna, one might initially mistake their inside joke references and verbal tete-a-tetes for conspicuous homosexual flirtations. Of course, it was nothing of the sort-only the aforementioned inside jokes and verbal jousts. (Hetty liked jousting...hm...perhaps something she could do over the weekend?) Even she herself, however, could see where such misconceptions could stem from.

Hetty sniffed disdainfully. Still nothing very interesting. Couldn't she find something before they all turned in for the night?

...Oh? What have we here...?

Eric Beal, the resident tech operator had just recently flown the coop to return to his apartment...leaving a not-too-happy Nell Jones to finish taking care of the mess of equipment and data he'd left behind. Hetty would have to speak with Mr. Beal about that in the morning, along with the matter of his surfboard and the scratches and sand that always seemed to wind up on her car. Nobody else's!

The operations manager sighed, taking another long drink of her tea. As efficient and otherwise excellent as her hand-picked undercover team was, they could be surprisingly boring.

Suddenly a shadow loomed over Hetty-not an extra-ordinary occurrence in and of itself, but this particular shadow had a name (sort of).

"Hey, Hetty," G Callen said casually. "The team's going out for drinks tonight. You're invited. Wanna come?"

Hetty placed a finger daintily in the air as she took one more sip of her tea. Callen waited. Hetty took her time. Callen waited some more.

Finally she set the teacup gently on her desk. "I'm sorry, Mr. Callen. I have other...business, shall we say, to attend to tonight. Perhaps some other time?"

Callen raised an eyebrow and looked at her intently. Hetty knew that look. It was that infernal "I-know-you're-lying-and-or-not-telling-the-whole-truth-but-I'm-going-to-let-it-slide-and-find-out-sooner-or-later" look of his.

Hetty calmly met the head agent's gaze, despite the growing frustration in her mind. They just looked at each other for at least a half a minute more before Callen caved. "All right, then," he said, the suspicion evident in his tone of voice.

"All right."

Callen sighed and strode back to the other agents, waiting at the door. "So, who's buying?" he wondered aloud.

Deeks gasped. "Nose goes!" he shouted, immediately flinging his finger to his face. Kensi groaned.

"Just for that," she told him playfully, "you're buying."

There was a murmur of general agreement from the others as they walked outside. Deeks just stood there for a moment, thinking, before something in his mind finally whirred to life and something clicked.

"...Hey! No fair! Wait for me!"

Hetty facepalmed.

Then, she realized:

Everyone was finally gone.

A smirk played around Hetty's lips. Glancing around furtively to make absolutely certain that nobody was left in or around the bullpen, she slipped a remote from a hidden drawer in her desk and hit the play button.

Music started blaring from the speakers in the spacious area. Throwing dignity to the wind, Hetty sang along.

Rah, rah, rah-ah-ah

Roma, roma-ma

Ga, ga, ooh-la-la

Want your bad romance

Hetty was well into the song and, bluntly, rocking out, when she caught a movement in the corner of her eye. She froze and slowly turned her head to face the intruder, pausing the music as she did so.

A janitor, mop in hand, was staring at her slack-jawed in utter shock. Henrietta Lang was singing and dancing to Lady Gaga!

Hetty cleared her throat, regathering as much of her dignity as she could. "You..." she said in a strained voice. "...are to speak of this to no one."

The janitor nodded dumbly.

Hetty forced a smile. "Very well. You may carry on."

The janitor blinked heavily before nodding, looking very much as though he'd awakened from a trace.

Hetty sighed and slumped back into her plush spinny chair. With her luck, the entire OSP office would know of the full details by the next morning, assuming they were all sober enough by then.

Note to self: Check and delete security footage first thing in the morning...

~Fin~