Handshake achieved. Jim's grip is steady, but not overly firm. (Less of a practiced lack of machismo and more diplomatic training, you don't want to end up harming a humanoid with hollow bones, or something.) "Nice to meet you, Ianto."

Maybe overdressed-- but Jim's used to uniforms meaning formality, so it just looks acceptably old-fashioned, to him. His own uniform is in no state to be worn, having been chewed up pretty badly in the crash that brought him to the planet's surface some months ago, but his Starfleet badge is high on his chest, tucked under the front of his leather jacket, only visible every so often.

"Somewhere been surreal and devastating?" he offers, with a wry edge of sympathy. "I've been here about two months, and I still haven't decided what I think about it, for sure."