He never really knew why he always wound up there after a long mission. He never understood why it was her he turned to when the world seemed too cruel, even to him. Yet here he was, in one of her deep burgundy armchairs, seated in front of her television with a beer in hand and a hockey game on. She never offered comfort; she merely sat on her couch, brown eyes trained on the game. Her shoulder length chocolate brown hair was still in damp curls from her shower that he had interrupted. She hadn't bitched, hadn't even spoken when she came to the door dripping water with a towel wrapped around her body that still had soap bubbles clinging. No, she had simply stepped aside, handed him the beer he knew she had been drinking in the shower, and turned on the game.
His sea-green eyes lingered on her classically oval face. He noted it had lost its roundness that had been there when she had first arrived at Atlantis. Her eyes, the color of melted chocolate, held only the love for the hockey game she was watching, a sport that was as fierce and as passionate as the woman who watched it. He watched her bite her full bottom lip in a nervous habit as the opposing team took shot. Saw her beam as the goalie nabbed the puck with his glove. Her nose, straight and German, had been broken twice, once by him. He still regretted it.
His gaze lingered as she shifted her long body to a more comfortable position. She was mostly leg as he had figured out, and though she carried some extra weight around her midsection was still a beauty in his mind. She was also as strong as any other warrior he had encountered for someone who could look so appealing. He was sure that was where enemies made their mistake. Ripley Todd on Atlantis came off with a 'don't fuck with me' attitude, and could hide it just as well to look like a siren who wouldn't know how to round house kick you in the head. Having been on the receiving end of one those kicks he knew, oh he knew, just how strong those long legs were.
His eyes tracked up, she had an ample chest, and had "mistakenly" gotten a hand on one breast during a sparring match. He had walked away with the bruise on his shoulder as a reminder not to do it again. His lips twitched at the memory. She looked toward him, as if suddenly aware he was scrutinizing her, she offered a small smile, the only smile that made all the worries and despair in Ronon Dex's world melt away. This was home, he breathed a soft sigh, smelt the sweet cinnamon pumpkin that was Ripley's scent. This was his home.