Author's Note: I've been a fan of IGG for a good while now, so thought it was about time I wrote something for it since it's such a quiet little fandom. Be warned: there is cuteness ahead.

Gently With the Ices

George rolled the Rover to a stop outside a weather-worn stone cottage. The sun was beaming down on the car's bonnet, sheep were happily grazing in the surrounding fields, and John was scowling (which rather spoiled the mood).

"Couldn't you have taken us home, guv?" he whined, managing to sound even more like a child than the one in the back seat.

"I told Denver I'd interview him before the day was out," George said reasonably. "It's not my fault you can't take Leigh-Anne home yourself."

"Me car's at the garage, Lisa's at work, and it's my weekend." John listed his problems on his fingers. "What I supposed to do?"

"I'm sure the answer is not 'ring the police station'," George pointed out. "I was halfway here when Taylor radioed me. I thought there'd been some sort of emergency, but no, you'd just missed the bus."

John sighed. "I thought you could've left us off home on your way home."

George shook his head, pushing the driver's door open. "It would've been too far out of my way."

"And this isn't?" John asked, waving his arms at the remote surrounding countryside.

"Go for a walk or something while you wait," George said as he shut the car door behind him. "I shouldn't be long."

At the loud noise a dog somewhere on the property started to bark. John then decided to wait in the car with Leigh-Anne, who had sat quietly in the backseat during the little argument as if she was used to people shouting around her. The thought made George a little sad as he easily sidestepped a pile of dog poo that John would no doubt have trodden in, and knocked on the wooden door. It threatened to fall off its hinges.

Mr Denver answered the door on the fifth knock. The dog that must have been barking was now standing at the man's feet, wagging its tail.

"I'm Detective Chief Inspector Gently," he said, holding up his badge. "You were expecting me?"

Denver squinted at the badge, rubbing the stubble on his chin. The scruffy man nodded. "Yes, yes, come on in." He stepped aside so George could enter the cottage. George had one last glance at John and Leigh-Anne waiting for him in the car before the door was closed.

The man was long-winded when it came to answering questions, and insisted that George consume lukewarm tea and stale biscuits. By the time George managed to leave the cottage the sky was starting to colour orange, and John had transferred from the front passenger seat to the back.

Leigh-Anne appeared to be enjoying one of the books from her schoolbag, while John sat with his arms folded, looking more annoyed at having to wait so long than she did. George checked his watch as he reached the car to find he'd only been gone for twenty minutes.

As soon as he opened the door, John said, "What took you so long?"

George hid a smile at the two children he seemed to have in the back of his car. "Sorry," he said without really meaning it. "How about I take us for a drive to make up for it, yeah?"

"Yeah!" Leigh-Anne enthused, clapping her hands together in excitement.

"Yeah, okay..." mumbled John with considerably less enthusiasm.

George drove them back towards civilisation as John would call it, ending up on a beautiful coastal road. George never tired of the views around here – they were quite different compared to the views in London of rows upon rows of buildings. He parked the car so it was pointed towards the sea, switched the engine off, and breathed in the salty air.

After a few minutes of silence, George twisted in his seat so he could address her and asked, "So how was your day at school, Leigh-Anne?"

She had a few crayons out and was colouring in the margins of her book. "It was okay... Bertie got in trouble."

"Who's Bertie?" John asked. Leigh-Anne looked up at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

"One of her friends in school, John," George answered for her, giving John a pointed look. He turned his attention back to Leigh-Anne. "What did Bertie do?"

She giggled at the memory. "He got more paint on himself than the page. He was all blue! It was funny. Mrs Steele was cross, though."

Even with all of the windows rolled down it was still very warm in the Rover. George's coat lay abandoned on the seat beside Leigh-Anne and she was using it as a makeshift desk.

An ice-cream van caught John's attention. "Guv, look," he said, calling George 'guv' out of habit, nodding in the direction of the cream-coloured van parked a little way away. It looked like it was closing for the evening now that the sun was going down and there was hardly anyone around. "Will I get us some ice-cream? Would you like that, Leigh-Anne?" He was already reaching for the door handle.

"Okay!" said Leigh-Anne.

"Don't bother, John, I'll get them," George spoke up, happy to leave John alone with his daughter for some quality time.

"Hey, why don't you draw an ice-cream cone?" he heard John suggest to Leigh-Anne as he shut the door.

George returned to the car a few minutes later with three 99s, one small and two large. It was quite a juggle to hold them all while getting into the car but not a drop ended up on his tie.

Both of his backseat passengers thanked him when handed their ice-creams. Leigh-Anne managed to get a dollop of ice-cream on her nose, and John copied her just to make her giggle. Some ice-cream inevitably ended up on George's coat, but John could just pay for the cleaning.

While she licked at her ice-cream Leigh-Anne showed George the picture she'd drawn in a margin of a giant ice-cream cone surrounded by three figures. She'd spelt his name wrong, but George really didn't mind.

THE END