6th July, evening; Special Delivery

Unlike the last time he'd visited the Rifles, Martin was on business. Not, he told himself firmly, to hide from his company. Or his captain. Though if that ended up being the case, he would not be too sorry for it. Even though he knew the Rifles were, at the moment, considered in a dim light. He suppressed a shudder when he recalled the early morning summons his captain had gotten, then he forced that train of thought away.

This was business, after all. If he kept himself thinking about that, he should be all right. He ignored the wary glances turned his way by Riflemen going about their usual evening routines and made his way toward the tents. Only officers had tents and there were only three of these anywhere in view, which meant the 60th's officers would be right there.

"Excuse me," Martin said once he was close enough. "Is there a Rifleman Cotton anywhere about?"

That he hadn't stuttered once was something of a surprise - but then, he was as close to confident on this errand as he ever got.

Cotton was clearing away after Vickery's dinner when he heard someone asking for him. Now what could that be about, he wondered, wiping his hands on a rag and leaving the Captain's things to fend for themselves for a moment.

"You've found him," he said, blinking in surprise as he discovered it was a Guardsman asking for him. "What d'you want him for... me for?"

Oh good. There was the man himself. Relieved, Martin nodded. He hadn't wanted to have to go looking for the fellow.

"I h-have - " He caught himself, swallowed to steady his sudden, slight flutter of nerves, and tried again. "I have something for you."

He held out a paper-wrapped bundle, which had previously been tucked under his left arm.

Cotton was taken aback and couldn't help frowning in confusion. "For me?" Who would be sending him parcels... and why?

He accepted the package, and unwrapped it, careful to save both the string and the paper it was wrapped in - after all, those were not so easily come by out here.

He said nothing, but waited patiently while the Rifleman carefully opened the bundle. It had taken him a while to make up the bundle's contents, since he hadn't taken any of the man's measurements. The trousers would probably be too big, he guessed, but that was easy to fix. There was no help for the trousers being blue, however. It was the only cloth Martin had been able to get in any quantity.

New...? Blue cloth, anyway. He shook the garment out and blinked. Trousers. He wasn't quite sure what to say. Should he be insulted, or was it just meant as a friendly gesture? It was no secret that his own worky-day trousers were past their best, what with patched knees and seat - and more than one tear in them where the fabric had worn paper thin.

He decided to take it at face value, though he still wasn't quite sure what to say. "I didn't... ah. Um. Thanks. Do I owe sup'm for 'em?"

"No," said Martin, shaking his head.

"Well, that's... vast gen'rous of you," Cotton replied with a grin. "Might have a bottle stashed som'ers though - I can't jus' take 'em, not when you've put yourself out gettin' 'em together."

Payment was not something Martin had really expected, though perhaps he should have. All the same, he had the presence of mind to nod. "I shouldn't say no to a drink," he said and tried a smile. It felt strange on his face and hopefully didn't make him look too embarrassed. Or worse.

"A drink it is then, mate," Cotton said, and held out the paper and string he was still holding. "Reckon you might find another use for these bits, too?"

What? Oh. The packaging. "No, thank you." It was not anything he was likely to need again, in all likelihood. Anyway, replacement materials of that sort were easily gotten. He'd learned that much, he thought with an internal grin.

"What's that you got, Gabe? Oh hello!" Maggie gave the Guards fellow a smile, recognizing him but not remembering his name. He was batman to one of the officers, and she remembered that he was awkward and shy.

It never failed. Just when he got onto an even footing and felt honestly confident, something happened or came along to set him squarely back on his heels. In this instance, it was the Rifleman's wife, whom Martin remembered from his previous visit.

"H-hallo," he greeted and resented himself for his stutter.