The Manipulator
By: I Feel Possessed

Dusk fell over Los Angeles as the NCIS team from the Office of Special Projects made themselves at home at the karaoke bar on the edge of Venice. The bar was becoming busier by the minute, and the waitress had struggled to manoeuvre their tray of drinks through the crowd without spilling too much.

“Gentlemen,” Hetty said, holding her glass of whisky high and proud in front of her. “And of course, lady…”

Kensi raised her own bottle of beer and tilted her head to one side, acknowledging her boss with a smile and glancing surreptitiously at her male colleagues.

“What are we toasting?” Nate asked with a slight slur. He knew he hadn’t had any more to drink than the rest of the team, but he had a sneaky suspicion that Callen had been furtively spiking his drinks.

“I propose a toast to the best darn NCIS team we have,” Hetty smiled at her audience of five. She was extremely proud of the team she had assembled, having hand-picked them over the past three years. She may have relinquished the running of the team to Lara Macy (may she rest in peace), but patience had indeed been a virtue and she was now reaping the rewards. On occasion she had made incorrect choices, but her established team could usually mete out those particular individuals. She was still unsure about Dom, but the mere fact the team had not yet edged him out, made her optimistic that he had potential within the tight knit group.

“Amen to that!” Sam said as he tapped his glass against those of his colleagues.

“Agreed,” Callen added. “Although it would be better if the whole team was here.”

“Quite true Mr Callen. Kensi, did you manage to reach Dom?” Hetty asked.

Kensi waved her cell around and replied, “I’ve left another message but no luck yet.”

“Must’ve had a better offer,” Nate said as he picked up his second glass from his line of three.

“What better offer could there possibly be than quality time spent in the company of good friends?” Hetty asked.

“Maybe he’s not a fan of karaoke,” Sam suggested with a broad smile.

“But I thought Dom was the one who booked it?” Callen questioned as he looked between Sam and Hetty.

“He booked it upon my instructions and he certainly seemed keen earlier,” Hetty replied. “Now who has the song list? We need to get this party started!”

 
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HMBTBF
By: Keesha

Written for Hetty Appreciation Week. Hetty + Mechanical Bull + Tequila = Bar Fight. This is set back in season one so I tried to stick to the canon at that point of the series. I did assume while the rest of the team doesn’t know Granger, Hetty does know him. Romania hasn’t happened and Callen is still pretty clueless about his past. Sorry, no Deeks or Nell at this point. When I watched the scene, I got the impression Hetty, Callen and Sam knew what happened but not Nate or Kensi, so the story revolves around the first three characters. I tried my best to keep it Hetty-centric but … well lets say I wasn’t totally succesful.

I hope you enjoy. This was written a lot quicker than I normally work so the level of writing is not quite what it should be; deadlines aren’t my friends. Will be posted in usual style; one chapter a day, if life cooperates, for a total of 6 chapters. As always, I look forward to your comments. It really encourages me and improves my stories.

PROLOGUE

Hetty sat at her massive, elegant, dark, wooden desk silently chiding herself for being a sentimental old ninny. If Assistant Director Granger could see her now, he’d slowly shake his tonsured pate, scowl and tell her she had finally lost it. Given her state of mind tonight, she had her doubts she’d be able to come up with witty repartee to go back at him. Perhaps, for once, the man would be correct in his analysis of her state of mind. Maybe her mind had slipped its tracks.

If the truth were to be acknowledged, she was being overly sentimental tonight; uncharacteristically so and very un-Hetty. She was being a fool in the fact that the event that was making her melancholy had transpired more than forty years ago; yet tonight, it still had the ability to create a great riff on her soul.

The first salty drop of moisture slid down the grooves in her time-worn face and stealthily plopped onto the object she was holding in her trembling, spotted hands. Allowing the flood gates to fully open, she cried quietly in the semi-darkness that surrounded her desk, knowing she was being foolish, not caring, and feeling very alone in this world.

 
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The Last Ninja Warrior
By: Motsie of Atlantis

It seemed strange to come into the Mission and not see Hetty sitting at her desk, a cup of whatever tea she was fancying that morning in a porcelain cup, being sipped and savored by her discerning palate.

Instead, she was in Washington, DC, waiting there to be called into the committee meeting to answer for her actions and the actions of her team in the White Ghost incident. The official word was she had been placed on administrative leave pending a full investigation. The truth of the matter was that someone in Washington was conducting a witch hunt, and wanted to see her, and maybe her team at the Office of Special Projects as well, taken down. NCIS Assistant Director Owen Granger, temporarily appointed to replace Hetty, wondered if she was going to come clean about this so called “anti-terrorist” operation, and tell it like it was – a CIA assassination attempt of an operative that the Company felt knew too much and over whom they had no more control.

Henrietta Lange was probably not even her birth name since she was also know under other identities like Sylvia Cole, Sylvia Martin, Gloria Edwards, and various other names, according to the 25 driver’s licenses she kept in her desk at the Mission, as well as several others hidden in a private safe deposit box, and probably just as many in safe houses only she knew about throughout the world. She was the last of the cold war warriors, and well deserved the various nicknames that were given to her, Black Widow, Little Ninja, the Duchess of Deception. She was all of these, and more. Despite her small size, her presence was intimidating. She had become a legend in the intelligence community, and people, friend and foe alike, had a healthy fear whenever her name was mentioned, whether they had met her in person or not.

Now the enemies that she had made in the various other US government agencies expected her to fall upon her sword and take responsibility for the CIA fiasco that went down in Afghanistan. The only difference with this attempt was that she was wondering if it really was worth her fighting for her position any longer.

 
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