Scorching the paper he held with his gaze, Gibbs transitioned into staring in utter incredulity at an utterly indifferent Leon Vance. It was outrageous, this proposition. He didn't do a tap dance for the feds. Ever.

It was ludicrous.

Even though he was a man of few words, he was rarely stuck for them. In the current moment however, verbal communication simply failed him. Glancing back down at the approved request in his hand, he shook his head vehemently.

"No" he eventually growled, as if this would solve everything.

Surprise, surprise.

It didn't.

Raising a delicate brow, Leon leant back in his expensive chair and interlocked his fingers under his chin. Staring almost thoughtfully at his most hot headed of agents, he bit the lining of his cheek to keep in the laughter that threatened to burst from him.

"Yes" he countered, with a firmness that belied the very tickled funny bone he was experiencing. It was a rare feat to have a borderline speechless LJ Gibbs in his office, and the peace, if anything, was most comforting.

The same muted man ran a hand through his silvery hair in agitation as he scowled with a ferocity that would sour milk as it poured directly from an udder.

"Leon-"

Another raised brow.

"Director" the younger man corrected, ignoring with an acquired skill the tightening of his agent in charge's jaw in response.

"Director" Gibbs grudgingly ground out, "this is a bad idea. We do not know these…" he glanced down again in disgust, "these people. I don't want them around my people."

He read the same passage he had read five times and frowned deeper.

"White Collar" he muttered disparagingly, "what kind of a place is that? What are they, accountants? Beauticians? Are they coming here to give DiNozzo a manicure or what?"

The lining of Vance's cheek was beginning to pulsate in protest as he bit down even more forcefully.

The look of utter disgust on the Marine's face was priceless.

"They are specialists" he answered calmly, "they deal with, as you may have gathered, white collar crime. Fraud, investment schemes, high end heists, etc etc.

Gibbs felt his bottom jaw part with its upper counterpart as he gaped once more.

"Paper pushers" he mumbled faintly, "you want me to babysit glorified bean counters?"

Before Vance could answer, a piece of small print suddenly caught Gibbs' eye and he scanned it rapidly. The blue eyes increased in size with every vowel processed, and the Director knew what he was reading.

A small droplet of blood leaked from his now battered inner cheek.

"This…this say's that one of them is a criminal" Gibbs thundered, "a virtuoso criminal at that." He looked up in absolute ire, noting instantly the now barely suppressed look of amusement adorning his superior's face.

Shaking his head slowly, he quickly verified what he had just read.

There had been no mistake. His eyesight was no worse than when he had entered the infernal office a mere ten minutes ago.

"Is this a punishment?" he suddenly queried suspiciously, "are you still pissed at me because of that screw up on the Fairfax investigation?"

At this, Vance couldn't help but chuckle as he shook his head in the negative. "No Gibbs, it's not a punishment, it's a legitimate request from a reputable branch of the FBI, and we are going to be gracious hosts."

He frowned for a moment, before recovering.

"But thank you for reminding me about the Fairfax fiasco. I'd nearly forgotten about that, but now you mention it, we're a team down for next weeks on call. Thank you for volunteering yourself and your people."

He concluded with a smirk, and continued to observe a now reddening with temper, Gibbs.

"We just took the last on call and-"

Leon held up a hand, and Gibbs swallowed the rest of his retort, nearly choking on the effort.

"Do I need to explain to you the various ways in which this Agency was poorly reflected in that investigation?" he asked sweetly.

This time, it was the elder man's inner cheek that suffered, as he bit back an angry response and admitted defeat.

This whole situation was going from bad to worse.

"Good" Leon nodded, "now, Agent Burke and Consultant Caffrey will arrive in three days. They are staying in a nearby hotel, and will report for observation at eight am on Monday morning. They are to be a fly on the wall in everything your team does, and you will not exclude them from any element or fail to answer any queries they may have."

He paused once again, if only to savour the rapidly dejected expression that was spreading quickly across his Agent's face.

"Their investigation crosses into military territory as you know, but they are unfamiliar with the nuances. You will assist them in any way you can, is that clear?"

There was a stiff and tense quiet as Gibbs worked through the various retorts he would dearly love to offer, but after having already said too much and landing his team with yet another on call, he found himself nodding.

Albeit with the enthusiasm of a damp squid.

"Yes Director" he sighed, before gesturing to the door. "We done here? Until such time as these…these collar people get here, we have work to do."

Waving his hand towards said door in a permissive gesture, Vance inclined his head politely.

"Thank you for your understanding, Agent Gibbs."

Growling under his breath, the irate man jerked his head at the poorly concealed joke, and stormed from the office. Careering down the stairs, his spirits were not improved by the sights and sounds of every single one of his people goofing off in the bull pen.

Passing Abby first, he glared at her and jerked his head towards the elevator.

"Lab is still downstairs Abbs, why don't you go and check on it."

Rolling her eyes when his back was turned and gauging his temperament, Abby shot the remaining members of Team Gibbs a sympathetic glance before meandering back to her own haunt.

Tim and Ziva had the good sense to drop their heads into the files they were supposed to be working on, but Tony, being Tony, decided he just had to finish the meticulously crafted paper aeroplane he was fashioning.

Sighing, Gibbs strode to his desk and yanked it out of his hands with a scorching stare. About to crumple it up angrily, he stopped short when he saw the wounded expression on his second in command's face.

He really was good at making the damned things.

"Get back to work DiNozzo" he settled for, striding back to his own desk and depositing the offending model into his top desk drawer.

As silence descended, he groaned as he realised he had to deliver two bouts of unpleasant news.

Clearing his throat, he scrubbed a hand over his face as three sets of eyes immediately rested upon him.

"We just caught next weeks on call for the Fairfax ordeal."

As the collective groan went up, he sighed internally. They were all tired as it was, and another bout of tedious on call well warranted their sounds of displeasure.

"I know" he agreed quietly, "but we all know that what went on down there wasn't ok, so let's just get through this and forget it, alright?"

Another moan of irritation went up, but heads nodded in reluctant agreement nonetheless.

"And…another thing" he continued crankily, "any of you ever heard of the White Collar division of the FBI?"

He made a mental note to make an infuriated to call to Tobias, as Ziva and Tony shook their heads. Tim, however, nodded his.

"Yeah boss, they're basically the financial division. Pretty technical stuff. Though they do a lot of art crime as well."

Nodding curtly, Gibbs slammed his computer into action.

"Well, two of their…Agents will be joining us on Monday morning for a few days, seems they've got themselves a military lead in their investigation and need a hand figuring out to work a Corps connection."

He didn't feel the need to inform them that one of the arriving guests was a freaking felon.

He scowled at his inoffensive monitor, before arching a brow in McGee's direction.

"Do me a favour Tim, and keep them as far away from me as possible?"

The junior Agent snorted as he nodded. Gibbs' impatience for all things technical and finicky was notorious. He, on the other hand, thought the federal division could be quite interesting and had no trouble liaising with them.

Silence reigned in the bull pen as McGee got back to work, and Ziva and Tony reluctantly dropped their gaze back into their files.

Gibbs continued to stare angrily at his monitor, the cogs of his mind whirring at a rather alarming speed.

White Collar he thought scathingly, jabbing the escape key with a brute force, what in the hell kind of a stupid name is that?

He stood abruptly, abandoning his pretence of case reports.

He needed coffee.

Little did he know, that a near three hundred miles away, there was a matching level of disquiet at the arranged marriage of sorts.

In the glass panelled office of Peter Burke's domain, Neal Caffrey sat rigidly still in his chair and stared mutinously at a supremely calm handler.

"Who are these people?" he reiterated disdainfully, glancing down at the confirmation letter he held from some kind of…some kind of boot camp.

Raising a brow and sipping indifferently from his mug, Peter swallowed slowly.

"Like I said, they're a naval investigative agency. They deal with crimes with an army or navy element."

Blue eyes rolled heavily.

"…and why do we have to go there?"

Brown eyes rolled right back.

"Because I say so" the elder man replied simply, throwing down his newspaper as he gave it up as a bad job. There was no way Neal was going to take this without a fight.

"The army element in our case surely doesn't warrant a-"

Peter held up a silencing hand.

"It does. It does warrant a consult. A fairly lengthy one at that. We have no experience here, and I'm not about to let an armed, rampant thief carry on his happy ways because you don't like field trips."

Neal scoffed.

"I do like field trips" he argued, "it's just my travel bug has been somewhat restrained recently."

Just in case his point wasn't clear enough, he gestured needlessly to his ankle.

Smiling despite himself, Peter took a more placating tone.

"Well then, think of this as a great opportunity to get out of New York for a while. It's not as if they come up every day now is it?"

As if pondering that statement, Neal tilted his head to the side thoughtfully.

Peter suddenly realised his mistake.

His dire mistake.

Holding up another hand, he shook his head furiously.

"Oh no. Oh no no, that anklet stays on. You stay with me, or in my direct line of sight at all times."

A smile was beginning to spread across the kids face and Peter groaned loudly. How stupid could he be?

"Neal, no-"

Standing up, with a glow that definitely hadn't been present a few minutes ago, the younger man held up a hand of his own.

Two hands, actually.

"Peter" he grinned, with his toothiest smile, "you're so right. This is a great opportunity. I'm really looking forward to it, thank you."

Standing himself, Peter frowned heavily in the direction of his beaming charge. Leaning over the desk slightly, he arched a warning brow.

"Neal. This is your one and only warning" he began sternly, glancing down at his copy of the confirmation letter. "I've never worked with this Agency, or this Agent…Gibbs, before, and I don't want anything leaving them with a bad impression. Do you understand?"

Those dazzlingly white teeth merely made their presence more pressingly known.

"Jeez" the kid sighed dramatically, "it's as is if you don't trust me Peter." He placed an emotional hand over his heart, "you wound me."

Feeling his heart sink as the sheer realisation of keeping Neal in toe and in line in a new, large city, Peter's brow furrowed further.

"Not right now I don't" he growled in warning tones, "but so help me, if you put one foot out of line in DC, I will wound you. Are we clear?"

Laughing confidently, Neal merely widened his hands in that feigned innocence that so often precipitated his many bizarre stunts.

Glancing down at his letter once more, the young art connoisseur suddenly snapped a droopingly sardonic salute.

"Sir, yes sir!"

With that, he ducked with a chuckle as Peter gently threw an empty water bottle at him in exasperated fondness, and sped from the room, a bounce clearly evident in his step.

Throwing himself back into his chair, the Agent in charge ran a hand over his face and groaned slightly.

Maybe…maybe he hadn't really thought this all the way through. He ran eyes over the letter in his hand and sighed.

It was too late to back out now. They flew out in a few days.

He'd have to just hope for the best. Grabbing a needed file, he threw himself into work but couldn't help the lingering doubts that had surfaced.

NCIS… he found himself pondering quietly, the hell kind of a name is that anyway?

….

TBC

….

A/N: Ok, so to be quite honest, I'm super nervous about posting this. I've never done a crossover before, and I'm not entirely sure I can do one its justice, but I'm going to try anyway! I just wrote this up quickly to set the tone. Maybe this will be a multi chaptered fic if I can get the hang of it. This story isn't related to any of my other NCIS or WC stories.

-Inks.