Melting Igloos

by Miss Jazz

Category: Humour/Romance, GSR.

Spoilers: None.

Summary: Grissom, Sara and Greg find a way to beat the heat. Beware of triple digit temperatures and ice cream fluff. Sprinkles of GSR.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything!

"I need ice cream..."

It was a hundred and six degrees in Nevada and Greg Sanders was whining incessantly. Seatbelted, rather tightly, into the backseat of Grissom's air-conditioned yet still sweltering Tahoe, the young CSI could think of nothing but huge scoops of rocky road, chocolate mint and butterscotch ripple. He moaned, imagining the beautiful, refreshingly cool sensation of flavoured ice melting on his parched tongue.

"Oh, man–"Greg licked his lips, panting and practically drooling. So...damn...good, he mused, his mind dancing with images of the perfect ice cream cone, tasty and tall with three well-packed, round scoops and a colourful napkin wrapped around the bottom of the cone–just in case. Must...have...

He wanted it. God, he wanted it. And he would have it–even if he had to annoy the crap out of Grissom and Sara in order to get it. His travelling companions were already displeased but Greg suspected that it had more to do with work, the seemingly endless drive and the incredible heat than his whining.

So far.

The three of them had just finished a case, one that had taken them an hour outside the city, one that had required them all to work doubles, one that had left them all feeling as if they'd been twisted, tangled, tossed, turned inside out and then baked. In other words–they were exhausted and extremely hot and bothered. And, in Greg's mind, in dire need of ice cream. Lucky for all of them, or so Greg assumed, he knew of a wonderful little place...

"Inga's Ice Cream Island!" Greg gushed, his voice ringing out in a high, unmanly pitch. He gasped happily, his dull eyes suddenly dreamy. "Only two miles away!" With his face pressed against the window and his finger pointing desperately in the direction of a large, snazzy road sign, Greg tried to contain his excitement and sit still in his hot, sticky seat. They were getting closer to Vegas and one of Greg's all-time favourite out-of-the-way ice cream places would soon be appearing on their right.

"Is that glitter?" came Sara's strained voice. In the front passenger seat, Sara Sidle, who was about two miles away from full-fledged heatstroke, eyed a glimmering green palm tree. A curious smile of amusement curved her lips as she quickly examined the tropical tree and the rest of the over-the-top road sign.

And then the sign was gone.

Greg heaved a dramatic sigh, one that was full of hope and longing. The sign still dazzled in his mind, calling out to him. "It was beautiful, wasn't it?" he replied, shaking his head in mock awe. "So bright and entertaining!"

Sara turned her head until she could see a very excited Greg out of the corner of her eye. "Well," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I was going to say ostentatious and unnecessary but whatever floats your boat there, Greggo." She gave him a little wink.

"Ahhhh," chuckled Greg. "But the sign should be ostentatious. It deserves to be. Inga's ice cream is just that good."

"Really?" Sara raised one eyebrow. "Who exactly is Inga?"

"Who exactly is Inga?" Greg repeated loudly, letting out a little grunt and pretending to be hurt. "What kind of question is that?"

"A perfectly rational one. Who is she?"

Greg closed his eyes. "A goddess!" he announced, whimpering in delight. He threw his hands up in the air. "She's the empress of the ice cream scoop! The monarch of the milkshake! The queen of all frozen delicacies! The–"

"You're desperate, aren't you?" Sara said, cutting Greg off before he hurt himself–or more specifically, before he sucked in too much hot air and passed out.

Greg nodded miserably. "Very, very desperate," he admitted. "So desperate that I'm considering jumping out of this window if Grissom doesn't stop." His fingers pressed the button beside him and the window rolled down. He sighed into the breeze. "The impact would probably kill me but at least I would die trying," he paused, bowing his head. "Instead of perishing in this oven on wheels!"

"So it's ice cream or an instant pancake?" Sara rolled her eyes. "Greg–put the window up!" she exclaimed, still smiling lightly. "It's colder in here than out there." She shook her head and then feeling pretty desperate herself, she took a sip of her water, which was practically boiling in its bottle. She sputtered.

"Save that hot water for a bath, Sara," grumbled Greg. "Or for my coffee. Who knows? Maybe I'll use it when, by some miracle, the temperature is normal again and it's not too hot to drink coffee–" He pressed the button and the window went up. "I'll have to use it," he declared dryly. "All of our water sources are being vaporized as we speak! All the water will be gone and we'll be left to drain this one bottle slowly–drop by drop!" He concluded his strategic rambling with a low groan.

"Oh crap, Greg," Sara replied urgently, her words dripping with sarcasm like chocolate fudge topping on vanilla ice cream. "Guess we should stop and get some more water before it's too late!"

Greg shrugged. "Yeah. That and ice cream!"

They shared a tired grin and with one final, elaborate sigh, Greg dropped the act and gave Sara a sheepish look. Understanding his plight completely, Sara nodded to him and then she turned to look at her boss. "What do you think, Griss?" she asked, raising her voice to get his attention.

In the driver's seat, a very tired Gil Grissom was in his own little world–until Sara pulled him back into reality. He let out a huff of confusion. "What?" he mumbled, glancing at Sara for an explanation. Moping silently in his heat-induced misery, the only thing Grissom had been paying attention to was the road. "What do I think about what?"

"Greg here seems to think it's time for a pit stop."

"Yes, I do think it's time for a pit stop," Greg echoed, nodding vigorously.

Grissom frowned into the rearview mirror. "Greg–we're only twenty minutes from Vegas. Do you think you can hold it?"

Greg resisted the urge to let loose in a little seat-dance. Opportunity knocks, he thought, feeling triumphant. "I don't think it can wait," he announced. "When ya gotta go, ya gotta go!"

Grissom bit his lower lip in thought, looking over at Sara. "Do you need to, uh, go too?"

She shook her head without thinking. "No, I'm–"

Greg kicked the back of Sara's seat.

"Yes!" Sara cried out. "I mean–yes, I need to stop. If you wouldn't mind, Griss." She held up her water bottle and shrugged, giving him a shy smile. "You know how it works." She blushed. Grissom just asked me if I needed to pee, she silently lamented. What a super day this has been! But at least that means that he cares!

Grissom cleared his throat. "Well, I don't mind stopping," he said, giving Sara a soft, tired look. "But I don't know if we'll get the chance. There might be a rest stop coming up–"

"Uh, Grissom?" Greg timidly interrupted, sticking his head in between the two front seats."You need to get into the other lane within the next twenty seconds. Preferably within the next ten but, you know, safety first!"

"Greg? What are you talking about?"

"Inga's Ice Cream Island!" Greg said proudly, gesturing towards a hot pink building surrounded by inflatable palm trees, which were enclosed in a carefully planted circle of real palm trees.

"Inga's what?" With a blank look on his face, Grissom shifted the Tahoe into park, removed the key from the ignition and calmly opened his door.

Greg, on the other hand, scrambled frantically out of the Tahoe and then he stood, leaning against the vehicle, gaping at the building's large, colourful door–the gateway to his ice cream haven. "Sweet, sweet relief," he whispered to himself, feeling incredibly good.

Sara climbed out of the SUV slowly, her face glowing in the heat. "Well, I feel like I'm on an island," she announced wryly. "And it has nothing to do with the palm trees." Squinting in the bright sunlight, Sara had immediately noticed that Inga's Ice Cream Island was sandwiched in between the two sides of the expressway. The quirky establishment was literally an island in a sea of tarmac.

"They do have clean washrooms here, right Greg?" Grissom asked, his voice full of suspicion. He tore his gaze away from the pink building to look at his youngest CSI, a small smile curving his lips. He shook his head, feeling exhausted but somewhat amused and a little relieved. Ice cream seemed like a pretty good idea to Grissom. But he wasn't about to admit it. He enjoyed toying with Greg's mind too much to give in that quickly.

Greg winced. "Um, yeah. Okay, so the washrooms are for employees only," he quietly confessed. Then he grinned. "But the ice cream is for everyone!"

"Great. Inga doesn't have a public washroom?" Sara asked, giving Greg a playful glare."You know, you almost had me convinced that I had to go!" She shook her head in astonishment. "This place is in the middle of the expressway and there's nothing else around here. How the hell can it not have a public washroom?"

"Oh come on, I'm melting," sighed Greg. "There's no possible way I can ponder Inga's lack of common sense in my condition." He reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Man–my hair," he mumbled, his hand moving to cautiously touch the top of his funky, gelled spikes. "It's huge."

"More like pouffy," teased Sara. "You could get lost in there!"

"Tell me I didn't just hear you say that," Greg tried to pout. "Because I might not be able to forgive you."

"Okay–you didn't hear me say that. But if you had, then you would have to forgive me. After all, you wouldn't even be here if I hadn't backed you on the washroom thing!"

"Well, that is true," admitted Greg.

With that, he fell silent and the three hot CSIs made their way over to the building by way of a path lined with plastic flamingos and colourful coconuts. Grissom raised one eyebrow as he walked through the display, taking the time to stare curiously at every flamingo. Meanwhile, Greg trotted up to the door, getting way ahead of Grissom and Sara, leaving them to discover Inga's tropical delights on their own.

"We just lost Greg," Sara announced, looking over at Grissom expectantly. She pursed her lips, waiting for any sort of reply. But Grissom didn't answer or turn around–he was clearly occupied. The CSI supervisor was partially bent over on the side of the path, studying some of the coconuts. He picked up an odd-looking yellow one to take a closer look.

"It's a fake," he declared a second later, finally making eye contact with Sara. He shrugged. "Styrofoam and spray paint."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Wow. We better inform the media."

Trying not to smile, Grissom put the phony coconut back in its spot. "This place is, uh, interesting." He stood up, eyeing Sara closely. "You look like you're feeling better," he observed, as they resumed their journey to the door. He tried not to let his concern show but his voice became very soft, very gentle. "Are you?"

"A little," replied Sara. She yawned, realizing just how tired she was. "I'll feel even better when we officially close this case."

"Well, as soon as we get Greg back into the truck, we'll be able to go and do that."

Sara's eyes widened. "Damn," she sighed. "That could take forever."

"Lets just hope he's already in line," Grissom replied, pointing at a window, through which he could clearly see a large group of rowdy people gathered in front of the counter. It was evident that those people, like Greg, had only one thing on their minds: ice cream. And, like Greg, they all looked about ready to do anything they had to in order to get some.

Sara grimaced. "I'm not sure even Greg stands a chance in that crowd."

Grissom frowned, studying the flock of people through the glass. "I don't see him anywhere."

"Maybe he was able to fight his way to the front of the line."

Grissom nodded. "I just hope he didn't injure anyone on the way there."

Sara shook her head. "I don't know, Griss." She smiled. "At the moment, Greg is capable of anything. I haven't seen him act like this since he was cooped up in the lab every day. On the bright side–"

"Is there a bright side?"

"Sort of," chuckled Sara. "I mean, at least we know that the old Greggo is still in there somewhere, hidden away, only to resurface on special occasions–"

"I think I prefer it that way," mumbled Grissom.

"Me too."

Grissom licked his lips, glancing at the crowd again. "We should head in there and find him."

Sara nodded. "Before he gets swallowed up." She paused. "Or before he starts doing the swallowing."

"If he hasn't already," added Grissom.

Once inside, Grissom and Sara were almost swept away in a gusty blast of cold air.

"Inga must have the AC on full blast!" Sara called out to Grissom, as they fought their way through the thick crowd. They tried to move quickly, but it was nearly impossible. By the time she'd taken ten steps, Sara had already been smacked by at least a dozen flailing arms and kicked by a dozen stamping feet. "This is crazy!" she yelled. "Pure madness!"

"Everything about this place is pure madness," replied Grissom. He wore a stern, unamused expression on his face but secretly, he was amazed by the chaotic scene in front of him–and by Sara, who's beautiful smile was making him feel hotter than he had all day! With some trepidation, he snuck his hand under Sara's elbow, guiding her through the massive flock of sweaty people, using the unpredictable, crazy crowd as an excuse to be close to her. "Stick with me," he told her with a half-smile. "I don't want to lose you too."

Blushing a little, Sara tried not to read into Grissom's comment as she scanned the inside of the building. "Do you think they have a desk for missing children?" she asked, laughing lightly.

"No need!" came a loud, familiar voice, right on cue. "I'm here!"Grissom and Sara turned around to find Greg standing there, sporting a satisfied smile. In his hand, he held a humungous ice cream cone, with not three but four perfectly round scoops and colourful sprinkles. He licked the highest scoop, slurping loudly as the ice cream melted on his tongue. "This is the best ice cream on the planet," he said again, as if his colleagues still had no idea how much he loved it.

Sara stared into Greg's dreamy eyes. "We were worried," she said, her voice flat. "In case you didn't notice–you left us outside."

Greg nodded. "Sorry," he said, gesturing towards his ice cream. "Couldn't wait. But don't worry, I was pushed, pulled, elbowed and shoved and I've learned my lesson." He grinned. He knew that he'd been lucky. A new cash register had opened up and he'd been the first in the large crowd to notice. His mad dash to the register would cost him a few bruises but he'd gotten his ice cream faster and that was priceless. He really hadn't learned his lesson at all. Every time he licked his ice cream, he knew that it had all been worth it.

"You know what, Greg?" Sara began, her voice stern. "We've learned a few things too. For example, we learned that you have no patience!"

"And that Inga has fake coconuts," added Grissom.

When Greg's eyes went wide, Grissom knew he should have worded that differently. But just as he was about to mutter a few words to clear the air, Sara jumped in. "How does that not fall over?" she asked, pointing at Greg's tall but unwavering tower of ice cream scoops.

Clearly delighted by the question, Greg forgot all about Grissom's awkward statement and he turned his attention to Sara."Inga uses special cones," he explained quickly. "See–there's a fifth scoop, but it's hidden in the actual cone. It's kind of like a base for the rest of the scoops. The cone is wide enough to hold that whole bottom scoop, unlike regular, smaller cones. And the bottom scoop is wide enough to support the other four on top. Inga's ice cream scoops never fall over!"

Grissom sighed. "Why does that not surprise me?"

Greg just shrugged and then started licking his cone madly. "Mmmmfffphh," he mumbled happily, as the sprinkles and the top scoop disappeared. "So good."

"Remember to come up for air, Greg," Sara said dryly.

Greg actually listened, taking a quick breath as he studied Grissom and Sara's flushed faces. "Are you getting your stuff to go?" he asked. "I don't mind eating this in the truck."

Grissom rolled his eyes. "I mind you eating that in the truck."

"Okay then." Greg smiled sheepishly. "I'm gonna get us a table. You two are getting something, right?"

Grissom and Sara exchanged an uncertain look.

Greg took another lick. "May I make a few recommendations?"

Grissom and Sara exchanged another uncertain look.

"Well," continued Greg. "I highly recommend Inga's Icy Chocolate Blast, Inga's Frosty n' Fabulous Brownie Delight, Inga's Banana Split Sensation or Inga's Melting Igloo."

Sara grimaced. "Greg? What is Inga's Melting Igloo?" Her grimace turned into a glare. "And don't tell me it's a surprise–or I'll be ordering Inga's Flattened Greg Supreme. With sprinkles."

Sighing, Greg swallowed a mouthful of ice cream. "Flavoured, crushed ice in a cup," he explained. "Orange, lime, raspberry, strawberry or grape with vanilla ice cream at the very bottom. The ice cream represents snow and the crushed ice is representative of the Igloo. And true to science and common sense, if you don't get through the ice fast enough, everything melts!"

"And if we get in that line, we might be here forever," Grissom pointed out, bringing them back to the issue at hand.

Sara shrugged. "It's up to you, Griss," she said softly. "I don't need to get anything. But if you do get something then I'll get another bottle of water. My water is in the Tahoe and it's currently a hundred and six degrees."

Concern instantly clouded Grissom's eyes. "Then we should get in line," he decided. "You need something to help cool you down."

"I'm okay, Griss–" Sara started to protest but before she knew it, the two of them were waiting in one of the long lines and Greg was waving goodbye.

"I'll get a table!" Greg called out as he disappeared into the crowd.

"Somehow, I doubt that's going to happen," mumbled Sara. She looked up at Grissom, her lips curving into a smile when she noticed the bright, gentle expression on his face. "You okay?" she asked, her eyes meeting his. He smiled back as they locked gazes. "All of a sudden, you look, uh–"

"Tired?" he offered.

"No."

"Surprisingly calm?"

"No."

Grissom studied Sara. "I don't think there's anything else–"

"Happy. You look–happy." Sara said quietly. Then she shrugged and she looked down at the floor, avoiding Grissom's eyes. Her gaze came to rest on a colourful puddle, a few inches away from Grissom's shoe. "Oh–" she said quickly, a split second later. "Don't move, Griss!"

Grissom looked down. "Melted ice cream," he sighed, stepping further away from the mess.

"Inga's ice cream scoops never fall over," Sara repeated with a smile.

"I'm afraid our source was incorrect," Grissom said, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "That is definitely ice cream on the floor."

"Inga's ice cream," replied Sara. Her smile grew as she and Grissom walked ahead a few steps. The line was moving very slowly but suddenly, she didn't mind waiting in the rowdy crowd. For some reason, Grissom was being very pleasant and Sara was enjoying the fact that they were alone together. For the first time that day, she was in no hurry at all.

"What are you getting?" she asked a few minutes later, when she realized that they were now close enough to read the menu boards.

Grissom scanned the menu, pressing his lips together in thought. "Haven't decided yet. I don't get ice cream very often so I like to be fully informed of my choices before I make a decision." He arched an eyebrow. "It could be a lengthy process."

"Don't worry, you have time," Sara reminded him. "And if, for some reason, you can't decide, then you could always try something crazy and get one of those Melting Igloos. Out of curiosity."

Grissom shook his head. "I'm not that curious."

Sara bit her lip. "It's not worth the risk?" she asked, taking a deep breath. "It could be really good and you would never know."

Grissom turned to search Sara's expression. "Some things are worth the risk," he replied gently, realizing, with some surprise, that he knew exactly what Sara was suddenly trying to get at. His heart started to race. "Inga's Melting Igloo doesn't seem worth it." He paused and he became quiet. "But I've, uh, I've been wrong before."

Now Sara's heart began to race. "You? Wrong?"

"It happens," admitted Grissom. "More than you might think."

"I don't think you're wrong. About the Melting Igloos, that is," Sara shrugged, her smile wavering a little bit. "Sounds a little scary to me."

"I don't think I'm wrong about the Melting Igloos either," Grissom said softly. "And yes, I agree, they sound a little scary to me too. I would rather get something I've heard of before, something I know I'll like."

"I understand," replied Sara. "You don't want to be disappointed. I wouldn't want to be disappointed either. Especially in this heat."

After a few seconds of silence, Grissom announced, "Inga's Banana Split Sensation sounds good."

"A Banana Split?" mused Sara. "Traditional. A good, safe choice."

Grissom was about to reply when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to find himself face to face with Greg. "Greg–," he said, in complete surprise. "I thought you were getting us a table."

"I tried," the youngest CSI said. "But I was trying to find extra napkins and a group of kids, who looked like they had sticky fingers, took the last table." He held up his drooping ice cream cone in one hand and a fistful of napkins in the other. "My scoops started to melt," he explained. "Very fast."

"Okay," sighed Grissom. "Finish your ice cream and then wait for us at the truck."

Greg nodded. "Sorry guys."

"Don't worry about it," Sara called out, as Greg–who still looked one hundred percent satisfied–turned to battle his way through the crowd again. Sara could almost hear the fanfare as he went, with a grin plastered on his face and a protective arm around his ice cream. He had succeeded in his mission and he had his trophy–a sagging, colourful ice cream cone. And by the look on his face, nothing else mattered right then.

Just as Greg disappeared, the line moved and Grissom slipped his arm under Sara's elbow, guiding her again through the masses of hot, impatient people. "What would you like?" he asked, staring into her brown eyes for what could have easily been the hundredth time that day.

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "I don't want ice cream. Just water."

"You sure?" Grissom replied, smiling softly. "My treat."

Sara shook her head with an equally soft smile. "I'm sure. Just water," she said, almost reluctantly. "But thanks, Griss."

"You could, uh, get water and try a Melting Igloo."

"Really, Griss, I'm fine. I don't want to try a Melting Igloo any more than you do." Her voice fell, almost to a hoarse whisper. "I'm happy with water. It's what I want. I don't want anyone–I mean, anything else. I don't feel like trying anything new."

Grissom nodded slowly as he processed Sara's words. "Okay." He tilted his head. "But are you hungry at all?"

Sara wasn't sure what to say to that. "For ice cream? Not really. But I wouldn't mind a little bit." She looked at the pictures on the menu board. "But everything here looks huge and I would never be able to eat it all." She paused as they moved up in the line. "Have you decided on the Banana Split?"

Grissom hesitated. "Yes–"

"But?"

"I'm, uh, I'm not sure I want to be so, uh, safe."

Sara's eyes widened. "You're not?"

"Maybe I should, uh–"

"Griss, don't get a Melting Igloo," Sara said, holding back an anxious chuckle. "Not because I–" She paused, looking at the floor again. "Never mind."

Grissom thought for a moment, breathing deeply in an effort to calm his nerves. "I'm not getting one of those Melting Igloos, Sara," he reassured her. "But I'm not completely against trying something, um, new."

"Okay–"

Grissom's jaw twitched. "You like chocolate, right?"

Sara was clearly puzzled. "Yes," she said slowly. "On special occasions. Why?"

"Just wondering."

Sara tried to analyse the look on Grissom's face but it wasn't until they finally reached the counter that everything became clear. All day, Sara hadn't been able to stand the heat but now, as Grissom stood close to her, she felt hotter than ever–and she loved the feeling. She wasn't exactly sure what she thought of Greg's crazy ice cream haven but she would definitely have to thank him for bringing them there.

Sara watched as Grissom turned to the lady behind the counter. "A bottle of water please," he said. "And one banana split. With extra chocolate sauce–"

He paused for just a second, turning back to give Sara a shy smile. And then, with a surprising amount of confidence in his voice, he added:

"And two spoons."

The End

Author's Note: This is my crazy first attempt at humour! This story was a lot of fun to write! Thanks to all the amazing people who sent me feedback on my other stories. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. You guys constantly give me so much support and it really helps my writing. I take into account all of your comments and ideas. So I just wanted to thank you all again. Next chapter of Faithful Light should be up soon! Thanks for reading!

Jazz