Kings Cross Station, London
2nd April, 1943

Rodney McKay stepped off the train and looked around for his escort -- someone had to carry his bags, they were bad for his back.

“Dr. McKay?” asked a deep, lazy voice, and when Rodney turned, there was an Air Force grunt -- another in a long line -- dressed neatly as usual in uniform, smiling.

“Hmm?” said Rodney. “Yes. My bags are over there.” He nodded to his three suitcases, and lifted the book he was reading again, waiting for the man to pick up his bags -- after what seemed a lifetime of hesitation -- before following him off the platform.

“We’ve got to take a train from here to--”

“Yes yes,” said Rodney absently. “Whatever you say, lieutenant. Don‘t bother me with the details.”

He didn’t look away from his book to see the man’s eyebrows quirk.

“Major,” he said.

“What?” Rodney was confused enough to look up.

“Major,” he repeated, and Rodney was about to retort that, yes, he’d heard him the first--, he continued. “Major John Sheppard. That’s me. If that‘s not too small a detail for you.”

Rodney sniffed. “Well it’s too late now, you’ve already bothered me with it.” He looked back down to find his place. After a moment he looked back up. “Well? Lead the way.”

They moved off again.