Title: Sharp Dressed Man

Author: Silverkitsune1

Warnings: Crossover

Pairing: Ronon/Melena, Ronon/OC, One sided (as far as we know) Ianto/Ronon

Ratings: R

Fandom: Torchwood/SGA

Disclaimer: I own neither SGA or Torchwood

Author's Note: This is a part of my folder/fandom clean out. I have been staring at this for over a year, and I do believe this is as good as it's going to get. Thanks go to my beta sam_can_do_it

The man in the suit appeared in the conference room on a Wednesday at about two o'clock in the afternoon. It was bad timing on his part. An hour later and the room would have been empty instead of crammed full of soldiers, scientists and Pegasus natives who were all busy shouting at one another and sweating profusely due to the unbearable heat wave summer had brought.

He stood about three steps to the left from where Elizabeth was sitting, and since the man appeared without a scrap of fanfare Elizabeth managed to finish telling Rodney, for what seemed like the 200th time in Ronon's opinion, why they couldn't just pluck ZEDPMS off of whatever planet might have one at the time just because they needed it. Ronon liked Weir, sort of, and he liked to think that she would have noticed their guest even if everyone else hadn't suddenly gone silent at the sight of him.

The man's position put him in Ronon's sights. It also put him right in Teyla's sights, but Ronon was the first to his feet, and the first to draw his weapon. He liked to think it meant he also saw him first.

There was a silver coffee pot cradled in the stranger's hands, and his fingers encircled the handle and spout with a knuckle-cracking grip

that Ronon was sure would stamp the image of his fingerprints into the metal. To his credit, it was the most docile reaction Ronon had seen any man have when faced with a sea of forehead-aiming weapons.

"Well," the man said. "Hello."

Predictably, it was Sheppard who moved first. Ronon maneuvered his way around colonels and physicists to flank him on the left. Teyla moved to the right.

"Hands on your head," the colonel demanded.

The stranger raised an eyebrow, and his eyes flickered from the coffee pot and then back to Sheppard.

"Okay fine." Sheppard said. "Put the pot on the ground, and then put your hands on your head."

The suited stranger gave the slightest of nods, and complied with the colonel's orders.

Back on Sateda, before the wraith turned his life to shit, Ronon used to dress in the dark. With his back to Melena, exhausted from her double shift at the hospital and a unmoving lump under their bed sheets, he would pull pressed pants around his hips, and push his arms through carefully ironed shirts. The waistcoat had been the final addition, and the fabric was usually dyed in shades of brown and green. Occasionally, there would be a checkered mixing of the two dyed into the cloth, but that was it.

The afternoons brought training exercises and mud, strategy sessions, armor and target practice, but the mornings of his old life, his first life, had been a time for waistcoats.

"Anotoe 'Ohns"

Carson tapped the depressor against the pink tongue, and squinted as he peered into the young man's mouth. Finding nothing unusual he tossed it into the nearest garbage can.

"Sorry lad. What did you say?"

Ronon watched the doctor push the unbuttoned purple dress shirt aside, and slip the stethoscope between the gap. The metal must have been cold because the patient winched. "That's my name, sir. Ianto Jones."

"Funny you should tell us that," Sheppard said. "Since no one asked that question. In fact I seem to remember my question being 'How did you get to Atlantis?'"

"Colonel," Teyla broke in with a hard look in Sheppard's direction.

"His name was going to be my next question," Sheppard said defensively.

Rodney pushed his way to the front. He snatched the younger man's hand off of bed and slapped it onto the cover of a thin triangle-shaped object. There was a brief flare of light, and with a satisfied nod he pushed his way back out again.

"You can button up," Carson said.

Elizabeth made a steeple with her thumbs and pointer fingers. She tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Where are you from, Ianto?"

Ianto's cranberry colored tie had been flipped over his shoulder for the examination, and he straightened and smoothed it before starting on the shirt.

"Wales. Cardiff, Wales." He was reaching out for his black suit jacket when his eyebrows came together, and he frowned. "I'm sorry. Did you say Atlantis?"

Ianto wasn't much help in solving the mystery of his appearance. He was unfailingly polite, punctuating his responses with 'no sirs' and 'yes ma'ms,' but there was no information gained through the multiple interrogations Weir and then Sheppard put him through.

It took any number of check-ups, tests and more techno babble than Ronon ever wanted to hear before they were convinced Ianto wasn't:

A wraith

A servant of the wraith

A Genii spy

Evil

Personally, Ronon also had option E. A not entirely bad guy who's still plotting to kill us all rolling around in his brain, but he wasn't so stupid as to think that was the only reason he'd said, "I'll watch him" when Weir asked what they presumed to do with their new city-crasher.

It had earned him a raised eyebrow from Teyla, but firm simple sentences usually got him what he wanted, and this time was no exception.

"Any chance I could get my coffee pot back?"

They were in the mess surrounded by dozens of curious eyes. Ianto had one of the thin paper napkins tucked into the collar of his shirt, and his attention was momentarily diverted from the hunks of meat and vegetables drowning in brown gravy that Ronon assumed was stew. The meat was tasteless and the vegetables rubbery, but Ianto chewed and swallowed through all of it as though he were a clockwork doll.

"What?" Ronon asked.

The napkin drew his attention to the length of Ianto's throat, and Ronon had been entertaining a brief fantasy where he licked his way up the side before dipped his tongue into the hollow of it.

Ianto's lip twitched into what Ronon guessed was a smile. "My coffee pot. It's my best one."

Ronon made a quick listing of all the things a coffee pot could be used for when trying to wipe out an ancient city.

Container for a biological disease, not a coffee pot but a mechanical monster capable of hacking into our computer systems, specialty brewer of poisonous coffee, hiding age old documents that legitimizes his claim over the land, the ocean and everyone inside Atlantis.

Ronon shrugged. "Probably."

Melena caught him on his walk home from work one summer evening. The sky was dusky purple in the twilight, and three of Sateda's four moons, all in various phases, could already be seen glowing brightly above.

She entwined her fingers with his. Her skin was damp and soft. There was a callous (still is a callous) in the patch of skin near the center of his hand, and Melena circled it slowly with the pad of her thumb.

He'd been tired, a headache settling over his brain like a blanket, but the sight of her work-mussed made him smile. He bent his head to kiss her, and she went up to her tiptoes to meet him halfway.

"Hello," she said, a slow smile blossoming across her face when they broke apart.

Melena's hands pressed against his waistcoat. When Melena unbuttoned the garment she slipped her hands along his sides. The lining of the waistcoat was smooth and soft to the touch, not unlike the silk fashioned on Earth, and Ronon shivered when he thought if it brushing against Melena's knuckles.

Ronon half expected to hear a wolf whistle pierce the darkening air, but there was nothing but silence and the rustling of clothing as his hands traced the line of Melena's hip bones, and her mouth connect with his again.

Ronon had a few very choice, and very favorable words for describing the Welshman's taste in clothing, but practical wasn't one of them. Wardrobe for men and women on Atlantis didn't have much variety to it, but being associated with the military tended to do that on any planet. Uniformity made it easier to know who you weren't supposed to kill on the battlefield, and if it weren't for Teyla and himself there would be nothing but gray jumpsuits as far as the eye could see. Before Ianto Jones had dropped in Ronon's thoughts on the clothing around him had been contained to a passing question of how long it had taken Teyla to learn to fight so well in a skirt.

If it turned out that Ianto wasn't with the group that had infiltrated Atlantis Ronon planned on asking him how he managed to soundlessly pad panther-pawed through the city in dress shoes.

"Give me a gun." Ianto demanded (again).

It took an incredible amount of self-control to not rub the silk tie he'd been dragging Ianto around by between his fingers, but Ronon Dex was a man who could prioritize.

"So you can try and shoot me in the head?" Ronon whispered. "No."

"I told you I'm not with these people!" Ianto hissed.

The sound of heavy footfalls echoed through the corridor, and Ronon swung Ianto behind a wall one large hand pinning him as the other lifted his gun.

A clump of soldiers all wearing an identical shade of dark blue rushed past. Ronon let them go with a scowl. His aim was the Stargate where Sheppard and McKay were held up.

Ronon peered around the corner, and then began walking once he saw the coast was clear.

"You show up without a warning, and right on your heels we have enemies in Atlantis," Ronon snapped. "I'm supposed to believe that's a coincidence?"

Ronon considered releasing Ianto's tie and grabbing him by the wrist instead, but they hadn't worn ties on Seteada, but he was discovering a fondness for them. His grip stayed tight.

Ianto huffed. "It would be nice yeah."

Ronon's shirt was too large on Melena's small frame. The cuffs were rolled up to her elbows, and open in the front. The waist coat was one that Ronon usually saved for weddings or funerals; black and made of a cloth that resembled velvet with silver buttons hung off the sides. They glittered in the beam of sunlight that slipped through the bedroom curtains and stretched across the bed like a cat.

Melena straddled his hips, their pants abandoned across the floor, and the shirt and waistcoat unbuttoned. Ronon was naked underneath her, and he cupped her hip with one hand, his fingers kneading against the line of brown birth marks that stretched up her skin like a constellation. His other hand slipped across the crushed black waistcoat, his fingers brushing the threads in the opposite direction like the fur of a cat, and the way Melena purred under his hand when he pushed the cloth away to trace her nipple he could almost believe the simile true.

The lining of the waistcoat slipped back and forth across his knuckles so smooth that it caught on the rough chapped skin.

The funny thing about being rescued was that Ronon had never quite gotten over hating it. Even when the rescues came from Teyla who was standing over an unconscious group of bodies panting hard, with her gun pointed into the air.

"That was very unpleasant," she announced to no one in particular.

Ronon marched the surviving intruders into the cells, cataloging the variety of cuts and bruises that cover his body. It was nothing life threatening, nothing that would even require stitches or a trip to Carson. Nothing but very annoying injuries to end a very annoying day.

Sheppard leaned against the far wall, and Ronon joined him their shoulders nearly touching.

"That wasn't so bad," Sheppard said, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yeah."

Ronon could see Teyla in Elizabeth's office, relinquishing all of the details behind her rather daring rescue of the entire city. Ronon made a note to ask her the story later over food. There was nothing quite like a good war story to make digestion more enjoyable. It wasn't every day he saw Teyla blow something up. He wondered if he could get her to do it again. Maybe this time when he was further away from her.

He saw Elizabeth stand, and move to place her hands on Teyla's shoulders. Teyla leaned into the touch with a tired but satisfied smile.

He'd ask after breakfast.

"Hey," Sheppard asked. "Where'd you hide the guy in the suit?"

One of the puddle jumpers was missing.

"The logs say the Stargate was activated about fifteen minutes ago," Elizabeth said. "The only consolation we've got is that he doesn't have the codes to any of the other gates and it won't be hard to track him."

"Um, actually he might," McKay announced.

He grinned weakly under the scrutiny and then threw his arms wide. "He makes excellent coffee, and while he was giving me mine he might have overheard me discussing a few gate modifications with Zelenka."

"Ah, god Rodney!" Sheppard exclaimed.

Rodney huffed. "We were trying to speed up the trip home. Zelanka and I thought there might have been a way to alter the course by adding more power to certain gates using-"

"Rodney!" Sheppard growled.

"I was talking about complex equations and alien technology that is light years ahead of most people's ability to comprehend," Rodney defended. "How was I supposed to know he understood any of it?"

"He showed up in the board room out of thin air," Sheppard shouted. "We have no idea who he is or what he is, and for all we know he's smarter than everyone here."

"Ronon was supposed to be guarding him, the man's like a giant feral cougar or something I didn't think one guy in a suit would be a problem," Rodney shot back.

"I was a little busy pulling your sorry ass to safety," Ronon said moving into McKay's personal space. "Next time there's a spray of gunfire duck!"

Teyla stepped between the three of them. "He mentioned Wales. He said that was his home. Wales is on Earth so I believe we know where he's headed."

"I'll go," Ronon said. "He was my responsibility, and I'll go get him back."

"I'll go too," Sheppard insisted. "I'm actually pretty familiar with the planet. Which, you know, could be helpful."

Weir nodded. "I doubt that will be necessary. Even if he reaches the mountain there's no way SGC will let him slip past. I'll try to send a message anyway. Remember we don't know if he's a threat, but we don't know if he's a friend either. Everyone else move out."

Ronon turned and headed for his quarters to pack. Behind him Mckay's voice reached his ears.

"When you said 'smarter than everyone' you meant everyone one but me, right?"

The tailor's son was named Liam, and he was seventeen.

Ronon was two years his junior, and still growing into his high, his huge feet and gargantuan hands.

Knives fell from his hands during training, and bullets missed their mark. His blade instructor often lost her voice after a session with him she shouted so much, and his arms instructor left the field with splitting headaches. Ronon's tongue was just as clumsy as his gunshots and knife work.

Being with Liam felt like being part of a dance Ronon instinctively knew the steps too.

"I like this collar," he said and let his finger brush up and back across the folded triangle of fabric. It was damp from the summer heat, the shop so humid that Ronon almost had troubled breathing. "Can you make mine look like that?"

Liam Adam's apple bobbed and Ronon wished his fingers could have been higher so he could have felt the muscles flex under his fingers. Beads of sweat decorated Liam's black skin, and every so often one broke away from his forehead and slid down his cheek.

"Of course," Liam tapped a finger against Ronon's chest. "If you come into the back with me we can get your measurements."

Ronon raised an eyebrow. "Do you think my body has changed since the last time I was in here?"

"A lot can change in a month," Liam responded simply.

Ronon's hand slid lower until it rested against Liam's belly, and Ronon could feel the heat rippling off the soft skin underneath.

"It's good to see you again, Ronon," Liam said.

"It's always good to see you," Ronon said, and leaned close to nuzzle Liam's cheek. "Always."

"Do you think he'll want a job?" Sheppard asked. "If he doesn't turn out to be a psychotic killer I mean?"

Neither of the two plain clothed soldiers responded, and neither did Ronon. Not that he thought the possible job offer was a bad idea. Anyone who could sneak out of Atlantis, go on to escape a top secret military base located in the heart of a mountain, and then slip out of a country when said country's entire military was on alert had Ronon pretty damn impressed.

It also had Colonel O'Neil spitting bullets, which was amusing.

"Are we sure Wales is where he'll be?" Ronon asked.

A light drizzle started up, and Ronon tipped his head back and allowed the drops to stain his skin.

"The accent fits," Sheppard said. "And one of our guys spotted him heading for the UK. If he's here we'll find him."

They had a runner on their hands, and Ronon was so sure something somewhere was getting one hell of a laugh out of his situation. It's was a exhausting job, running. It took more than just speed, especially with a clever and persistent enemy at your heels. Ronon had been a good runner, but Ianto Jones was better, because while Ronon had been smart and fast he'd had no home to run to. Ianto apparently did.

"We should split up," Ronon said. "Send them to search the inner city, you take the shopping center and I'll check around the bay."

"Who's the senior officer here?" Sheppard asked.

Ronon stared at him, and then headed in the direction of the Millennium Center.

Sheppard shook his head. "Right. Good that we went over that."

The raindrops had grown fat and heavy by the time Ronon left the center, but though he'd suffered worse weather conditions he predicted a change of clothes would be necessary once they returned to the hotel. He started down the pier, but didn't have much hope in finding Ianto. Ronon was a good tracker, but he wasn't vain enough to think he could pick up such a cold, wet trail. If Ianto had gone to ground there wouldn't be much chance of ever finding him.

Ronon's feet banged along the wood plants as he walked. He could hear the rustling of the waves in the distance, and while the familiar sound was a comfort he'd never be fooled into thinking he was home. The ocean that lapped at the shores smelled different than the one that cupped Atlantis in its palm. It was thinner somehow. Back on Atlantis the salt smell permeated every inch of the air and sometimes left Ronon tasting it at random parts of the day.

Gulls cried at him from overhead, and Ronon reached the end of the pier to find a small shack with the words "Tourist Information" stenciled across the top in fading blue paint.

He pushed the door open slowly, and cringed when a bell tickled above to announce his entrance. Sheppard hadn't been too thrilled with having them walk around armed, but as he slid his gun out of its holster Ronon was glad he'd insisted on carrying it.

The door swung open without another sound, and Ronon squinted into the darkness. There was nothing but dust bunnies scrambling across the cement floor, and the shelves that lined the walls were bare and cobwebbed. An old wood desk was pressed against the back, and an open doorway lead to smaller area that Ronon guessed would have been used for storage.

Ronon stepped into the shadows and squinted into the dark. His boots left prints behind in the thick dust, and he wiggled his nose to keep from sneezing. Outside he could hear the storm grow stronger, and the rain thundered against the roof. The wind blew hard against his back, and Ronon winced as a shower of drops thudded against his neck.

The rain wasn't what had caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand though, and as he closed the distance between the doorway and the desk he raised his weapon higher.

The head of dark hair was what he saw first. Ianto was crouched behind the desk, resting on one knee with his eyes to the brick wall. His fingers were gently tracing the outline of the rough red brick, and occasionally they paused and a knuckle rapped against one of the stones.

"Ianto," Ronon said.

His gun was trained for Ianto's left shoulder, no need to take life if he didn't have to, but Ronon was really hoping that he wouldn't have to fire.

"It's not here," Ianto said softly.

The announcement was loud enough to reach Ronon's ears, but whether that had been purposeful was unclear.

"Ianto," Ronon repeated, he made his voice hard lacing the edges with steel. "Stand, and face me."

Ianto's back stiffened and his head snapped up. Like a rusted tin solider he carefully pushed himself off the floor, and set his red chapped hands behind his ears. His movements were as precise as Ronon's had been only moments before when he'd been sure Ianto would turn and force him to stare down the barrel of a gun.

Ianto's face was pale, and his eyes fever bright. His jacket was torn in the shoulder and looked like someone had grabbed a handful of the pocket and widened the opening considerably. Black stains covered the undershirt, the waistcoat was undone, and the tie was tattered at the edges.

"Ronon," Ianto greeted. "Nice to see you again."

"Are you armed?" Ronon asked.

Ianto shook his head. "No."

Ronon moved forward, and patted him down. He pulled a knife out of Ianto's pants pocket, and a taser from under the intact section of his suit jacket.

"Not anymore," Ianto muttered softly.

Ronon pocketed the knife and taser, and reached forward. Ianto flinched, and his eyes darted from side to side searching for escape. Carefully, Ronon straightened the stained silk tie.

"You can put your arms down."

His closet full of suits burned during the wraith attack. Carefully pressed pants, polished black shoes, and brass belt buckles left melted and charred in the ruins.

Ronon had grown out of suits tailored by Liam's skilled fingers years ago, and hadn't seen him since he was twenty-two and paid a rare visit home. Still, more than one nightmare had slid through Ronon's mind where wraith claws snapped threads and tore cloth apart before moving deeper. Flesh was parted and Liam screamed, but Ronon could never run fast enough to reach him.

There were days when he was grateful that Melena was killed in the explosion at the hospital. Her body destroyed like the closet full of well-made clothing that she once left in a puddle on the floor by their bed.

The elevator doors slid shut, and Ronon stared back at his reflection in the gold surface of the metal doors. He was soaked to the skin, and brought the storm inside, the waterfalls of rainwater rushing off his skin and hair decorating the polished floor

"Someone's going to have to mop that up," Ianto commented.

The Ronon reflected back at him had his hand resting atop Ianto's shoulder. He thought about leaning forward, pressing his back against Ianto's and kissing the patch of skin behind his ear. When the elevator paused with a changed the doors slid open, and the image was gone.

Ronon led him down the hallway. "You volunteering?"

"Wouldn't be the worst thing I've ever cleaned up," Ianto said with a smile that was far too cheerful for someone who barely looked strong enough to stand.

Sheppard was waiting for them in the room with a dinner of paper wrapped sandwiches, and chips. Outside the rain pounded against the windows, and a crack of thunder had Ianto tense under Ronon's hand.

Ronon guided Ianto to a chair that came complete with a handcuff to make him stay put. He pulled the other chair close to the small table and sat. Ianto traced a finger around the cuff that encircled his wrist.

"One of those is for you," Sheppard said between a mouthful of salami and bread.

"Eat before you pass out," Ronon ordered, and popped open a bag of chips.

Ianto sat straight in the chair, and his hand smoothed down the front of his shirt. Reaching across the table he picked up the last sandwich on the table.

"I thought while we were eating," Sheppard continued. "We could talk. You, me and Ronon."

Ianto looked up from his meal, eyes deceptively wide. "Is there anything you'd specifically like to talk about, colonel? I can hold a conversation on a wide array of topics."

Ronon snorted at Sheppard's blank stare.

"Right," Sheppard said. "I was hoping you could start with the how the hell you got out of two top secret government bases, and move onto why you came here."

"I came here because I was trying to get back home. I thought this was my home," Ianto said. He took a bite out of the sandwich and chewed slowly. It was impressive, the amount of self control Ronon was sure went into Ianto not attacking the sandwich like a rabid wolf.

"Thought?" Ronon asked.

Ianto swallowed. "Yes, thought."

The trip back to Atlantis felt longer without the constant adrenalin rush that chasing Ianto had brought Ronon. Exhaustion had taken its place, and as the puddle jumper hummed under their feet Ronon was grateful for the small closed-in space where Ianto had little room to maneuver and nowhere to go except the vastness of space.

Ianto's suit had been replaced by jeans and a hooded sweat shirt which Ronon personally thought looked a little ridiculous on him, but he was showered which was a step in the right direction.

"We've got about two more jumps after we go through this one," Sheppard called back from the cockpit. "Everything all right back there?"

Ianto was like a block of marble, still and clam his hands pressed flat against his thighs.

Ronon answered for both of them. "No problems."

Ahead of them the next gate flared to life, and the surface rippled like the waves of the ocean. The flash made Ronon turn his head, and he was surprised to find Ianto starring in fascination.

"The way your scientist talked," Ianto said softly. "I believed this device could take me anywhere in the entire universe."

Ronon remembered the surface of the gate from another time. When it had been his only passage to freedom, and utterly useless. The path to freedom nothing more than a lie.

When Ianto turned to meet his eye Ronon held the gaze, and waited.

"Do you think he'd be interested in seeing if it could be modified to take you even further than that?" Ianto asked.