Author's Note: This is a loose sequel to my other Ripper Street fic, "The Christmas Spirit". If you're not in the mood for reading it first, basically Reid, among other things, brings home a turkey that's not quite ready to be cooked yet. This, I think, is even sillier than the last one. It's all part of the fun though. Have a nice day, lovelies. :)

The Love Buggy

When Drake arrived at the station one morning, he was in for a bit of a shock.

Outside on the steps he had noticed three red rose petals, but with it being Valentine's Day he didn't question it – there were flowers everywhere, after all. But inside, the rose petals had bred like rabbits, and were scattered everywhere. On the floor it was impossible not to step on them, and Drake frowned down at them as he walked.

"Ah, you're here at last, Sergeant Drake," said Artherton, sounding almost relieved.

Drake looked up, and quickly stifled a bark of surprise. The rose petals were also on the desk. Artherton was behind his desk, as he always was, but this time he didn't look very cheerful. In his great beard was embedded a red rose, stem and all. "Er," said Drake, "is Inspector Reid here?" He indicated the Inspector's office with a tilt of the head. He tried to keep eye contact, but his eyes betrayed him and he found himself staring at the rose.

"He's off out," grumped Artherton. "Him and his bloody turkey are off to 'spread love and happiness throughout the streets of Whitechapel' with their buggy."

"Buggy?" Drake asked before he could stop himself. He had a sudden image of Reid pushing his turkey along in a buggy, the bird wrapped in a blanket and sucking on a dummy. He shuddered.

"Oh yeah," said Artherton bitterly. "Wooden thing with four wheels. He's got the turkey in it, and he's got a bunch of roses as well." Drake looked down, and noticed that some of the rose petals had tiny holes in them from where the turkey must have pecked them. "Just givin' the roses away, he is, throwin' them at people. 'Spreading the love'. I should arrest him – look what he's done to my beard!" He shook his beard, but the rose didn't move. "Ow! Him and the turkey cornered me. I was ambushed, Sergeant Drake, ambushed! Attacked!" Artherton's face had turned an alarming shade of red, one to rival that of the rose lodged in his beard. "I can't get it out," he whimpered, deflating.

Jackson then appeared from the Dead Room, brandishing a large, gleaming pair of scissors. He had a rose in his lapel buttonhole, Drake noticed, and a dangerous expression. "I can't find anything to dislodge it, Artherton," he said.

Artherton's eyes had gone wide in horror. "No! No way!" he shouted, backing away from the American with the big, scary scissors.

Jackson continued to advance. "It has to come out. Unless you want to become a rose bush." He raised an eyebrow. "...Do you want to become a rose bush?"

"No!" Artherton said petulantly.

"Then give it here," said Jackson, giving the scissors a testing snip, and stretching out a hand for the beard.

"I've spent years growing this beard – years! I'm not going to have some – some American cutting it off!" He brandished a pen, but he found it was on a little chain and therefore not of much use as a defensive weapon. Jackson took a few steps closer, barely hiding an amused grin. With the grace of someone half is age Artherton jumped over the desk and sprinted away, deep into the bowels of the station. "You're not cutting it off!" he cried as he ran. "It's my beard!"

With a murderous gleam in his eye that had even Drake taking a step back, Jackson dashed after him.

"Gobble, gobble," said Reid's turkey, as the doors to the station opened again, and Reid pulled his buggy inside. It was more of a wagon than a buggy, and Reid pulled it along via a piece of string. Imelda the turkey was very comfortably seated on a bed of old newspapers, surrounded by leftover roses.

"Good morning, Drake," Reid sang brightly, throwing a handful of rose petals at him. Drake spluttered as one petal landed in his gaping mouth. "Feel the love this Valentine's Day!"

"Gobble, gobble," said Imelda the turkey in further greeting.

"Imelda says that you are looking very well today, Drake," translated Reid.

"Er... thanks," said Drake, giving the turkey a shy smile. He cleared his throat. "So, um, how's the love-spreading, er, going?"

"Do you know, it's most peculiar, but people keep running away from us? I've been handing as many couples as possible a lovely rose. I simply cannot understand why they don't like it," Reid answered, frowning in thought. "Artherton was most enthusiastic that I left to spread the love this morning, after I gave him that rose."

"I'm sure he was," muttered Drake.

"I was aiming for his lapel," Reid explained, examining his roses with one hand, and scratching Imelda's wattle with the other. He picked out one he liked and brought it over to Drake, slipping it into his lapel's buttonhole. After what had happened to Artherton, Drake wisely stayed still. "He protested, and Imelda took exception to him. After she pecked at his knees, he jumped so high he almost hit the ceiling! She is a very protective turkey." He smiled at Imelda affectionately, giving her wattle another scratch.

"Gobble, gobble," she said.

There was suddenly a triumphant shout from somewhere else in the station, and it had an American lilt to it. "Ah-ha!"

It was followed by high-pitched screaming that continued for several minutes, before breaking down into sobbing.

"Gobble, gobble," said Imelda the turkey, which, roughly translated, means 'happy Valentine's Day, and my all of your luxurious beards remain rose-free'.

The End – Gobble, gobble!