I know I promised this ages ago and it's probably very OOC, but here we go. I had this sudden idea Sunday 12th Feb to finish the Valentine's Day fic idea by Valentine's Day... who knows?

Other Discworld fics in store: two about Susan, Lobsang, Lu-Tze and quite possibly death having a philosophical tea party, and another called Mud!. The title should tell you enough about it; if you have any ideas please volunteer them. XD

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Carrot sat on the steps of the Watch House, watching the inhabitants of Ankh-Morpork gradually awaken. The sun was just beginning to rise over the fringe of the city. He glanced at the sundial at the foot of the steps. Six o'clock, he thought to himself, and all's well.

Oh dear. What day is it today...?

It was four days now to Valentine's Day. Lance-Corporal Sally had reminded him yesterday.

"Take Angua out somewhere," she'd suggested. "And I don't mean the dwarf bread museum."

A pair of furry little white ears appeared over the bottom most step. They bobbed up, just revealing the top of a furry little white head, which promptly disappeared again behind the next step. Carrot watched the ascending ears in bemusement. Finally a furry little white dog drew level with his sandals, sniffing with its little black nose and blinking its enormous brown eyes in deep thought. It held a scrap of navy fabric in its mouth.

"Hello there, little fellow," Carrot greeted it, patting it on the head.

The dog stiffened. It sniffed Carrot's hand. Then it growled, showing two tiny rows of perfect and perfectly harmless teeth, still clenching the bit of cloth.

"Easy there," said Carrot.

By really straining, the tiny dog managed to get its teeth around two of Carrot's fingers. Carrot lifted his hand with the dog still attached like a fish to a rod.

"Hmm," he observed.

Angua was rummaging in her locker for a hairbrush when Carrot came in. She stopped to stare.

"Is that a new handbag, Carrot?"

"No, it's a dog that's been following me. I was hoping you'd know what he wanted."

Carrot set the dog on the floor, and it skipped over to Angua, barking gailly.

"His name is Feathers," she translated. Then she spotted the strip of cloth. "Wait. Isn't this...?" She rummaged around in her locker and produced a navy blouse Carrot recognized – he'd bought it for her just a few weeks back. A tear at the hemline matched the scrap. She glared at the dog. "You'd better explain yourself."

Feathers yapped for a long time. It was starting to hurt Carrot's ears. To his amazement, Angua's expression changed from anger to amusement to... embarrassment? She was blushing.

"Well?" Carrot asked patiently, fighting to keep his curiosity down.

Angua glanced at him in surprise, as though she'd just noticed him there. Then she stared back at the floor. "Well... he said he's been trailing me all around the city."

"Yes?" When there was no answer Carrot pressed, "But why?"

Angua looked up at him again suddenly, cheeks glowing. "He... well, he likes me."

"That's all he said? That he likes you?"

Angua hesitated. "He was reciting a poem."

"A poem."

"That he wrote himself."

"Go on."

"About me."

"What about you?"

"That... he... likes me!" Angua burst out. "And I think it was, well, nice of him, don't you?"

Feathers nuzzled her ankles and sighed blissfully. She knelt down and scratched him behind the ears. Carrot stood watching her with his mouth open.

"What's wrong?" she asked casually.

"He... he just..."

"He just gave me my first valentine. Isn't that sweet of Feathers?" Angua dug out a small pink brush and started to groom the dog. Feathers' big brown eyes went melty with adoration.

Anguished, Carrot blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, "It's still four days to Valentine's Day. And I'm the one who's supposed to be giving you valentines!"

Angua raised an eyebrow. "Well, have you?"

Feathers stuck a tiny pink tongue out him smugly.

Carrot slumped out of the locker room, a defeated man. Poetry, he thought. Where am I supposed to get her poetry?

--

"My love is like a red, red rose. My love is like... a red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red..."

Someone knocked on his door. Vimes glanced up, cigar in a corner of his mouth. It could only be Carrot this early in the morning. Good, good. "Come in."

Carrot entered, looking sheepish. "Morning, sir."

"Ah, Carrot. Just the person I wanted to see. Listen, do you happen to... write any poetry?"

"Eep," said Carrot.

"It's just that Sibyl got suddenly all hung up over the stuff and I was wondering if you would... just tell me what you think of it, eh? You wouldn't laugh, would you?"

"No, sir," Carrot said obediently. Vimes cleared his throat.

"My love is like a red, red rose

And by the River Ankh it grows

It fills me from my head to toes

My love for darling Sibyl."

"That's very good, sir!" Carrot said eagerly.

"That's just the first verse," Vimes said gruffly. "There's more...

"Even though we sometimes quibble,

We'll be together till we're old and dribble,

Never apart though the worms may nibble

My love for you, my Sibyl."

­There was silence while Carrot groped in the depths of his mind for something to say. "That's... something different with the rhyme scheme, sir!"

"Yes, I'm glad you noticed. What else?"

""Uh... very insightful regarding married life, sir!"

"Precisely." Vimes clapped him on the back. "Oh, Carrot. When are you going to make an honest woman out of Angua?"

"I don't know what you mean, sir, Angua is completely law-abiding and an officer of the Watch."

"When are you going to commit?"

"You can't mean suicide, sir!"

"When are you going to marry her, Carrot?"

Carrot's jaw dropped for the second time that morning. "I... erm... haven't thought about it that much, to tell you the truth, sir."

"Well, you should!" Vimes chuckled. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me. I suppose love must be in the air! My love is like a red, red rose... a red, red, red, red... think I ought to put more colors into this, Carrot?"

"If you like sir."

"Blue. That's a good one. What's blue?"

"Uh... violets?"

"Right ho! Roses are red, violets are blue... blue, blue, violets are..."

Carrot slipped out of the office, head reeling. He had to find someone normal. Someone who would help him write poetry.

--

On the Disc, violets are blue. There are, however, rumours about a round world somewhere where violets are a kind of purple. How peculiar.

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