A/N: If anyone is wondering where all the Side Trips are suddenly coming from... I'm tackling my backlog from already beta'ed stuff I edited last week and I'm now on regular leave after two weeks of sick leave. Which means I worked exactly one week in June. Um. Not good for the bonus.

Oh well, anyway... this is a Minor Characters story, taking place three months after the Prologue of The Government Conspiracy Job (so half a TGCJ story, lizzie :D), showing us what Tom and Maureen did around the time Laura and Evan got whumped in Possibly the Complications. And if any of my readers are fluent or at least firm in Russian... please do send me a note because the only way I could get those Russian phrases in here was Google translator and we all know how well that usually works. So please don't bitch about how bad my research is in secret but tell me how to do it better. Thank you. (mostly because this isn't the last of what mac and I like to call the Russian Smuts...)

PS: Actually, I think Maureen at least would be kind of amused about McSmartypants asking her for advice on how not to get caught, Nausicaa :D

Doing Crazy Things

"I'll be the biggest fool you've ever seen
A regular Joe doing crazy things
A daredevil heart wouldn't have no limits
But all the things I wouldn't do
I would for you."

Gord Bamford, "I Would For You"

Well… there's one good thing about Earth: silly mini trips to romantic and not so romantic places all over the world are so much easier to arrange when you can book your flight from San Francisco than if you'd had try and find a flight from the Pegasus galaxy. So, okay, convincing Tom to fly to St. Petersburg for two weeks had been infinitely more difficult than trying to convince him to fly to Paris would have been. But telling him that Paris would be boring and that kind of everyone does Paris for romantic mini breaks had been a pretty good incentive to convince him to go to St. Petersburg with me.

Oh, alright, I didn't use the word "romantic" because Tom doesn't do romantic. And to be honest, neither do I. But we do do "Let's get away from this city to somewhere no one knows us and where we can pretend to be normal people" and I'd always wanted to visit St. Petersburg, anyway. Because, see, I've been learning Russian since I went to college – which feels like it was ages ago – but I never actually went to Russia. Which was why no amount of "I sure as hell ain't going to some commie town called Leningrad!" from Tom could keep me from booking it.

Knowing him, he only did it to annoy me, anyway. However, I still couldn't keep from reminding him that it ceased to be Leningrad almost 20 years ago. I'm also pretty sure he knows that Russia is further away from communism than Earth is away from the moon now but yeah… I'm not entirely sure, seeing as we're talking about Tom here.

Anyway, in the end I got my wish and we've been here for half a week now and damn I love it. Tom keeps grumbling about not understanding why I have to see yet more old buildings and wondering just low enough that I'm the only one who can hear him if I didn't get my share of boring old buildings in Pegasus but I think he secretly enjoys the trip just as much as I do.

I caught him looking just a little awed when we stood in front of the Catherine Palace in Tsarskoye Selo. And I think he also liked the Alexander Gardens and the Admiralty Tower. And yes, I did indulge him with a visit to the Artillery Museum. He did make fun of Army guys and big guns and having the need to compensate for something, though… well, only until I reminded him of the fact that F-16's and F-302's aren't exactly the world's most humble planes, either.

Today, however, we had the Hermitage – or at least a part of it and I'll be damned if Tom can keep me from going back to visit the other part – and… Tom wasn't paying a lot of attention to the paintings. Instead, he was paying attention to me and while that usually is a really great and much desired thing… it isn't when I'm trying to further my – and his – education. He was distracting me and he didn't even shy away from… "Believe it or not, Kid, I just found the most perfect dark corner ever."

Damn. Why, why, why does he keep doing that thing with coming up from behind and whispering things like that in my ear in the most inappropriate moments? I can't help growling, "What the hell… Tom! You can't be serious!" Because see, we're right in the middle of a guided tour around the Aurora… yes, the one that kind of started the Russian revolution and changed the world irrevocably. But of course that's of no consequence when Thomas Moore just found a perfect dark corner. No… the perfect dark corner.

And right, of course his answer is a drawled, "Yes, I am."

Yeah, that was to be expected. As was the set of hands on either side of my hips and the… kiss to the crook of my neck… okay that probably was not expected dammit must not get distracted… "It's a goddamn war ship!" Oh yeah, that was a good one. Remind him of the rules that usually apply to war ships.

Right. Because that always works so well on the Daedalus. "So what?" he says consequently and there's the attempt to steer me away from the rest of the visitor group and… did he just bite my neck? Okay… okay, maybe not bite… but he definitely nibbled and… "You could have agreed at the Hermitage but for some reason didn't..."

I… can't believe he just said that. In the tone that makes it sound like I don't have a choice about being ravished… oh God, did I just think "ravish"? There's definitely something wrong with my reading habits and it's all Laura's fault… wait, focus. Tom just implied I don't get a choice in the matter of being seduced deep in the guts of some godforsaken ex-Tsarist ex-communist war ship.

But you know, I do. I'm a 30 year old Captain in the United States Marine Corps and I will not let a Zoomie Major get the better of me. I twist around – in the rather futile attempt to bring some distance between us – and manage to look sufficiently angry for myself to feel better. I even manage a glare. "Because it's a fucking museum, goddammit!"

Aw, fuck. Rule number one if you do not want to get seduced by Thomas Moore in inappropriate moments: do not, under any circumstances, swear like a Marine. It just turns him on more, for some really twisted reason. Right now, though… he seems to go with the boyish charm, since he leans against the bulk head and raises an eyebrow, nonchalantly saying, "Yeah, so?"

What… gah! Right now, I'm very close to doing a Laura and giving him some big tantrum before simply stomping away… but then again… I'm still not Laura Cadman. I cross my arms in front of my chest and give him back the raised eyebrow. "You… really have no taste and/or respect for art, do you?"

"No…" he says grinning, even though we both know that it's not entirely true and leans in even a little closer; to deliver his death blow, no doubt, "but I do appreciate a good dark corner on a ship."

"Yeah, figures." Seeing as we kind of have a history with dark corners, storage closets, balconies and a lot of other not quite private spots… Another kiss, this time full on the lips. Dammit! "And could you just please…" keep your hands from my hips and stop dragging me into the corner and… "Oh… Tom, really…" Grinning against the skin of my throat, mumbling something about keeping up our score… Ah, hell. "Oh, for Heaven's sake, let's get into that damn corner."

There it is again, that low laugh; like a rumble deep inside his chest and… that never fails to get me. The rapidly shrinking rational part of my mind actually manages to calculate how long it will approximately take the next group of visitors to reach our position while the rest thoroughly enjoys being kissed senseless and being pressed against metal plating with a history. Okay… should be okay for at least a few more…

Whoa. Can't help a sharp intake of breath because he pushed up my sweater enough to get his hands on my skin and they were just a little bit cold… oh, interesting course his fingers take but… now that he started it, I want the real deal. Tom is quite adept with his hands but I want the whole nine yards now. Being convinced that it's all his fault, anyway, I reach for the buckle of his belt and after a futile and rather unmotivated attempt at stopping me, he lets me have my way. Yeah, that boy does know what's good for… wait.

Earth, not Pegasus. Cycle. Three months here… cycle. Not regular yet. I can't help letting out a frustrated little groan and saying, "You got anything with you?"

Eyes fogged with desire – oh good God – he blinks and then asks a little dumbfounded, "Anything what… oh. Oh right. No, I ah… don't." Right, that was to be expected. Feeling disappointment coming up I close my eyes and lean my head against the plating… but the hands don't leave my skin. Instead I hear his voice again. "Would you… would you mind… would it be so bad?"

Confused I open my eyes again and look at him but there's too much in his face to properly read it. It's a strange mixture of… anticipation, anxiousness, insecurity. Oh. So… he was serious about wanting kids. I purse my lips and surprise myself a little with my – honest – answer. "No."

There's another moment of silence where he seems to try to decipher if I just said what he thought I said and then there's a slow, seductive, positively hot grin spreading over his face. "Then by all means proceed, Captain."

Not bothering with a verbal answer, I finally take up again what I'd been doing, with renewed vigor, because hello, public space with visitor groups here. Thankfully, he gets the hint and does all those things that I love – hands under my sweater, hands down my jeans, tongue against my throat – and God. I can't… "Promise you we'll have nice and slow… tonight… in our room," Tom breathes into my ear and if it hadn't been for him pressing me very firmly against the wall, I'd probably have dissolved in a puddle of goo.

But yeah… on the clock here. "Yeah, but right now… try to concentrate on quick and dirty." Holy crap, I can't believe I just said that. It's all his fault! Seriously, he corrupted me! I never was like this until I started sleeping with him, I swear. It's all just…

"Love it when you are like that, Kid. Try not… to scream too loud, though, will you?" Scream? Why would I scr… oh.

God.

This is just… he's just… fuck. Don'tscreamdon'tscreamdon'tscream…

In the end, whatever sound I was about to make hitches in my throat and for a tiny moment, time seems to stop and it's just brilliant; feeling him inside of me and feeling myself embracing him and it doesn't matter that we're on a warship that's almost a hundred years old or in St. Petersburg or just basically on any planet at all and then… then I let out a long drawn silent sigh and I'm so glad that he'll stay and not walk away and that I can have him like this whenever I want.

"Did I ever tell you how much I like it that we never got rid of that habit?" I can't help saying while hastily putting my clothes in order again and he grins at me, buckling his belt.

"Said the woman who wouldn't let me have my way at the Hermitage." He's just… incorrigible.

I roll my eyes. "That was something completely different." He wants to answer something but I just picked up the voice of the tour guide and add almost hastily, "And no, we won't have that discussion now." Because, you know, the next group just reached out position and oops… the guide just spotted us.

She frowns. "Mogu li ya sprosit', chto ty zdes' delaesh'?"* she asks and… quick thinking. What are we doing here?

Oh, right. "My… uh… my poteryali nash put'. Iznivite."* More frowning from the guide but in the end, she seems to have decided that the stupid Americans who manage to get lost on a ship don't merit her attention any more than jerking her head to the end of the group and I grab Tom's hand to keep him from making one of his quips that could get us thrown out of the country and drag him to where the guide wanted us.

When she focuses elsewhere, I feel Tom leaning in again and almost dread what he has to say… "You know, Kid, next time you decide it's time for some choice words… say them in Russian. I promise it'll be worth your while." I… he… that man. That demands retaliation. And I'm pretty sure I'll find just the right plan for it.

* Mogu li ya sprosit', chto ty zdes' delaesh'? – Russian, May I ask what you are doing here?

* My… uh… my poteryali nash put'. Iznivite. – Russian, We… uh… got lost. Sorry.