Time for Tea, 11th June

"I will understand if you will not want to teach me any longer. Cotton." Pye answered. "...Because I know that.. even if we're talkin' 'ere ..friendly like..you'um feelin' tense and....you don't trust me, do you?.. You won't ever. And partners need t' trust.. even those that are just bein' taught need ter be trusted.." He averted his gaze away from Cotton.

His cheek seemed less inclined to care and was chirping happily when she saw that the human might produce something for her. Success!

Cotton felt like hitting Pye over the head with his tin cup. He was irritable, rather than angry, though.

"I never said I'd never want to teach you again, Pye," he said eventually, somehow managing not to grit his teeth. "It ain't that I don't trust so much as... so much as I dunno if I can, which ain't the same thing."

He did have a bit of grain right in the bottom corners of his breadbag, and he pulled his meagre lunch rations out before turning the breadbag inside out so the chick could go foraging for the grain.

"An' it'll take time to be able to trust you again. Which ain't to say that'll never happen, either." He shrugged. "Captain's all right with you. You'll get a partner, soon's he can manage it."

".. When you don't know if yer can trust... you don't trust. If you don't know how long.. then it means you might not trust ever.. ain't that t' same thing?"

He felt frustrated. He did not think he had betrayed Cotton for a moment during those days that he wore the uniform. Although he could not show the man, could not have shown it then, his heart had always been true. But... how could he when men were judged by their actions and when those were confusing men just made their own opinions on things.

He sighed. "...I'd not like anything better than a partner...but if you don't know ter trust me.. how would a man who does not know me, but has heard of tales from you." It was not Cotton directly, but from the other escapees.

His chick happily feasted on the food, that came dropping out of the breadbag, and only chirped every so often as she hopped forward.

Cotton sat up, frowning. "I don't tell tales - I on'y gave him a report of what happened, I never told him anythin' of what I thought about it all. I ain't never used me position against anyone - an' if I ever did, reckon the Captain'd turn me off 'fore you could say Jack Robinson."

"..I don't think you did. But others...to others. It ain't just Captain's decision. If he says but everybody says no...." He hesitated. "I trus' you Cotton. I know , of wot' I've known you, you wouldn't try ter... ter hurt someone jus' couse of something personal. Not like that anyway. If someone threatened your Maggie, then yes.. but that's understandable."

"Look, I..." He stopped as Pye's words registered properly. "When you get a partner, it don't matter who it is or what I might or mightn't have said. You talk to him, figure it out - an' if you ain't right for each other, it'll be a decision on both your parts. Takes both Riflemen in a pair to work together, or not. Captain can't split a pair up once formed, not without the say-so of both the men - you 'member that time with the provosts, when they'd bin kicking the liver an' lights out o' Newb'ry, 'member what the Captain said to us both then?"

He sighed. "It don't matter what I think of you pers'nally. You'm in a fair way to becomin' a good Rifleman - you listen, you watch. It's jus' that one thing you done, that means I dunno if I can trust you. I mean, I can trust you to use the stuff you know already, but can I trust you not to put a ball in me back an' decide you'm better off with the Frogs? I dunno any more."

He shrugged again. "'Cept that you'd wind up in a real sticky patch with 'em if you did try that, I reckon."

"I'd rather fire at m'self than cause harm to you, Cotton." He said that firmly, propping himself up on his elbow. "You'um worrying that I changed sides. An'.. I didn't. I wore that coat so that we could all 'scape. That's all. I'd not want to kill you. I tole you to think of when I firs' joined t' rifles. That's 'couse. I couldn't have been more grateful to be let in. Couldn't have been more glad even if I were frightened that I would be claimed back. But t' captain stood up fer me, and I stayed. And it was a happy day I got meself a rifle. One I was let to choose." His words were haughty, his speech fast and passionate.

"I know wot' I say don't mean much and.. it won't change it, couse I can't make yer hear me thoughts or know wot' was. But. That's honest truth. You'm m' family.. Cotton. T' only I've got. Do you really think I'd abandon' it all, you... Lucy , Davy,.. Wilton too, jus' couse Frogs got lots of food?..."

"Frogs've got less food than we have," Cotton pointed out absently. He looked up from watching the chick. "Like you say, words is words. I seen you do summat I never thought I'd see a Rifleman do, an' now I dunno if I can trust the words over what I seen. I'm goin' to have to see you be a Rifleman afore I can trust you prop'ly as a Rifleman, Pye."

He shoved his rations away and buttoned his haversack flap. "I can teach you stuff - I will teach you stuff, 'cause the Captain ain't told me he's changed that order to me. But I won't be able to know you'm for real till I see it, for real."

".. I..understand." Pye's shoulders slumped and while his chick ran back up to him and nestled herself against her primary rifleman, he looked much less happy. "I hope you will see in time." He began to get up, scooping the fluff of feathers into the palm of his hand. The chick was then transferred into his shako, which he did not think to put on his head just yet. He reached down to take his haversack and his knapsack, which was the last reminder of whom he had nearly served. He had liked it though, being as how comfortable it was to carry it on his shoulders.

"For God's sake, Pye," Cotton said. "It's your bloody fire, I ain't goin' to chase you away from it. An' I never said as it'd never happen, did I?" He reached for his rifle.

"Right. Did I show you all the diff'rent firin' positions with a rifle?" he asked, laying the weapon across his lap. Something occurred to him as he did so and he looked up. "I never said thanks for gettin' me my own rifle back, neither, did I?"

Pye held onto his knapsack, half way into slinging it over his shoulders. "...some.. I don't know, I don't think so." He murmured, relenting. "..don't really need ter thank. I'm jus' glad you got it back." He turned to look at the man and his rifle. His sweatheart as much as Pye's own was his. ".." He opened his mouth to say something about the fire and how he could have made another or that it was not quite his own anyway as it was a fire and could not be owned. Any of those witty remarks remained unsaid though, the lad looking just a bit tired and resembling a pup who's been kicked and did not know what to do to make it all better.

"Get your pack off. Can't show you stuff if you've got that weighin' you down," Cotton said, making his mind up. "I know you know how to fire standin' - all the redcoats do that. But do you know how to fire kneelin'? Or sittin'?"

The soft thump announced his pack having finally struck ground. Though he was still hesitant and rather bemused about the sudden helpfulness, Pye sat down beside the other rifleman. "..not 'zactly well." He murmured quietly. His shako was laid down next, the chick quite confused as to why her travel has suddenly come to such an abrupt end. Were they not just getting up to go somewhere?

He clutched at his rifle with the good hand, flexing the fingers of his injured a little, keeping his teeth gritted. He looked as confused as he felt. He blinked at Gabriel. What would happen now? Would he be shown?

He wasn't entirely sure himself why he was doing this, but even if words were just words, Pye couldn't prove himself to be a trustworthy Rifleman without knowing how to be a Rifleman.

He shifted position until he was on one knee with the rifle raised, as though ready to fire. "Right, kneelin'. Right knee on the ground, left knee up, elbow jus' in front of your kneecap - don't put bone to bone, it hurts. Get the butt right into your shoulder - an' pull the rifle sling tight."

Though he did not know why it came to be, he decided to use the chance for as long as it lasted. He followed Cotton's instructions. He pulled his rifle into his shoulder, so that the butt of it rested comfortably in the nook of it. Carefully balanced, he had his elbow placed infront of his kneecap and made certain that he was not resting bone against bone. If Cotton had said it was a bad think, he would rather listen to the advice. It probably hurt as much as striking bone against something solid. And if it was anything like that, that warning was best listened to and followed.

"Rifle sling.." The later part he had some trouble with, not sure how to do it with his fingers fumbling up the grip, three instead of five, serving to make any further adjustments.

"Pull the sling tight along the stock with your left hand, sorry," Cotton said, looking over at Pye. "This is how I fire in a shootin' competition - it's easier to reload kneelin' without changin' position too much. Quicker, too." He showed Pye how it was easy to kneel up and reverse the rifle along his left side so he could withdraw the ramrod and ram a round down the barrel.

The lad adjusted the sling and his hold and then also shifted his legs just a bit so that he was kneeling more comfortably and with more control over his position. He watched the presentation of loading with complete and undivided attention, listening to all that Cotton had to say about it too. It was a way to shoot when in competition, so it must have been also a better way to fire , more accurate perhaps, easier certainly. "Do you hit better if you fire like that?" He asked, daring to speak up only when he was certain that Cotton would not say anything more.

Cotton nodded. "The rifle don't move all over the place 'cause it's better supported than when you'm standin', see. Means that you can be a lot more accurate kneelin', which is why I like it. Kneelin' mean that you can use a bit of cover that you couldn't use if you was standin', too - like a bush or a rock, that sort of thing."

"I see." So, in a competition if ever he was permitted to enter one, he was certain to fire from this position rather than standing. He'd mark that. He smiled. He'd do his best to fire at the Frenchmen from that position too unless ordered differently.

"Aye, you are.. fighting different than as a redcoat. We.. I used to be used to stand when firing only. Not kneel like that. Shoulder ter shoulder." He looked sheepish. "I'll practice firin' that way when my fingers are well enough. S'... anythin' that needs correcting how I kneel now?"

Cotton stood, and moved to check Pye's position. "How comfy is it for you?" he asked. "If it ain't comfy, chances are summat's wrong an' you won't be aimin' quite straight. You want to get used to how it feels now, so when you'm in battle, you get it right without havin' to think too hard about it - if you'm thinkin' too much about your position, you ain't watchin' the Frogs you'm s'posed to be firin' at."

"A little uncomfortable." Pye adjusted his possition so that his knee did not rest directly on a sharp edge of a stone and then rubbing it , dusted of some of the smaller bits of rubble. When he placed his knee back on the ground, he found the position much better.

He remained in position, more relaxed now. "Aye, I'll try taking t' position a couple of times.. as many as I need ter have it come naturally ter me." He said with confidence and conviction.

"Good idea." Cotton chuckled a little as Pye moved; he'd obviously found a stone or something to kneel on. "Always helps when you ain't kneelin' on a stone, though sometimes you have to put up with it." He stepped back to give the younger Rifleman room for his practising.

"I'll make sure I find a nice comfortable patch of grass each time I mean to kneel." Pye said half jokingly. He shifted again, straightened up completely and then fumbled into a kneeling position, with the sling pulled on.

Then he straightened again, dusted his knee made a few steps forward and then did it again, glancing at Cotton. Was it ok? Cotton would know best. "How long did it take you ter learn everything you needed to know to be a rifleman?"

Cotton shrugged. "Dunno. Don't forget, though, I had time at the 60th's depot on the Isle o' Wight afore comin' out here, which you ain't got, so you'll likely learn quicker'n I did. Though, I already knew a bit about skirmishin' an' the like, bein' as I was in the Light Comp'ny of the 22nd afore I transferred to the Rifles."

"I'll push m'self harder." Pye promised. He ignored the pain caused by his fingers, which had to cooperate at least a little, while he worked his way into the position again and again. He motions were becoming more flowing now, and much less awkward. It would still take many more tries and practice for it not to be coincidence but rather a trained motion. One that would come so natural, that he would be able to do it while concentrating on his surroundings instead.

"I only know t' runnin' about an through t' streets." He smiled, not the fondest memories, but they were memories of his childhood still. "Sometimes with people on our tail." He glanced at Cotton and moved into position again. It was clear he was trying to distract himself with something, so as to see how well he'd have done it, when this went on for real.