By his third day in Post-Op, BJ felt like he might go insane if he spent another night there. Hawkeye visited whenever he could (BJ had to convince him to go back to the Swamp after he fell asleep in the middle of a conversation), and he spent most of his shifts there sitting by BJ's bed. Margaret and Col. Potter made frequent appearances as well, Margaret knitting...something as she spoke to him and Col. Potter entertaining (and sometimes boring) him with anecdotes. Even Charles stopped by a handful of times, at one point giving him a small jar of pate and a box of crackers he'd received from home, which, for Charles, was like handing BJ the deed to his summer home. Klinger, Radar, and Father Mulcahey dropped by as well, adding small gifts to the growing pile next to his bed.

He was grateful to all of them, but all of them had duties to attend to, and they all tended to sleep at night (or try to), and when it was dark and quiet in the ward and the only sounds were the nurses softly moving from one patient to the next or someone someone snoring softly or sometimes weeping in their sleep, the night seemed to press against him, to settle on his chest like a tiger, and he fought to catch his breath against it.

He hadn't slept well the past couple nights - first because the morphine gave him strange and unsettling dreams it was hard to wake from, then, when he started refusing morphine on the second day after his surgery, the relentless ache had made it hard to settle his mind into the soft pattern he needed for sleep. And, of course, there was always the dread of the man across the room lying strapped to his bed.

The dread he felt toward this man confused and frustrated him - it wasn't as though the man had a weapon or was in any position to find one. There was no way the man could harm him again, and he didn't seem to want to - when they took off his restraints to allow him to use the latrine, he trudged there and back without any sort of resistance. And when he returned, he submitted to being strapped in again without complaint. But still, BJ felt a trickle of fear whenever he happened to catch sight of him

Charles gave him the go-ahead to walk to the latrine on his own, and BJ was a little surprised at how overjoyed he was at the prospect. He left Post-Op, slowly, Hawkeye hovering around him like a sheepdog worrying a sheep, each step sending a wave of pain through his belly, but when he stepped outside he stopped for a moment just to feel the sun on his face (not filtered in through the dusty windows in Post-Op) and breathe in the relatively fresh air.

"You all right, Beej?" said Hawkeye, anxious next to him.

"Yeah," said BJ, coming out of a reverie, "Just nice to be outside."

They made their way across the compound without issue, but on the way back BJ was annoyed to find himself panting with the effort to keep walking. It wasn't just the pain, though that was there in spades - he was just so tired.

"Want some help?" said Hawkeye, trying to take his arm, but BJ waved him off.

"I'll make it," he gasped. "Slowly. But I'll make it."

One slow step at a time, he did make it all the way back to the doors of Post-Op. But as he reached out to push them open, a sense of dread came over him once more, and he turned around to lean against the wall instead.

"What is it?" Hawkeye asked.

"What if I went back to the Swamp instead? I'm recovering fine so far."

Hawkeye frowned. "You've only been out of surgery three days."

"I know, but it's not like I'll be doing anything more strenuous there than lying in Post-Op." He raised a hand to wipe sweat from his forehead.

"Look, do you want me to get you Peg's letters? Or a flask of gin? We could tell the other patients it's a new type of medicine."

BJ gave a swift exhale of a laugh at that, then groaned and clutched his belly. His legs felt loose and watery, like a puppet trying to stand on its own after the puppeteer dropped the strings.

"Come on," said Hawkeye, ducking under his arm. BJ no longer had the energy to shake him off. "Let's get you back inside."

"No," BJ gasped, panting. "I don't-want-"

"You need to lie down, Beej. I'm pretty sure I'm supporting most of your weight, and I took an oath never to lift anything heavier than a martini."

"Don't-don't take me back in there," BJ said.

"Okay," said Hawkeye slowly, a different kind of concern in his voice. "How about a compromise? We'll get you a wheelchair, and you can tell me why you don't want to go back to Post-Op. Deal?"

Reluctant as he was to discuss his strange and irrational fears with Hawkeye, he was more reluctant to collapse in the dirt outside of Post-Op, which was growing more and more likely the longer he tried to stay upright. He nodded.

"Corpsman!" Hawkeye shouted.

"So, that's all? You don't want to stay in Post-Op anymore because you're sharing it with the guy who shot you?"

"That sums it up, yes."

"Beej, we get North Koreans through here all the time who've been shot by one of the other guys in the ward. Or the other way around. He's strapped down, and he doesn't have access to weapons anyway."

"I know, I know, I know, it's- I-" he pinched the bridge of his nose, "It doesn't make sense."

Hawkeye was wheeling BJ through the compound, the grit crunching under the wheels of the chair. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

"So talk to me," Hawkeye said. "Tell me about it."

BJ sighed. "I'm having a hard time sleeping in there. I keep having nightmares. The morphine made them worse, but…"

"You think they'd get better if you were sleeping in the Swamp?"

'I don't know. I just feel like he's watching me, even though I know he's not."

"Maybe you should talk to him."

"Sure, I just finished up my Korean correspondence course."

"There are enough Koreans around, I'm sure one of them would translate for you. You might have to pay them, but…"

"No. I do laundry, not talking to enemy soldier."

"Come on, Ji-yoo," said Hawkeye, "it's important. We'll give you five dollars."

"Important is finish laundry job on time, so GI hire again tomorrow."

"Ten dollars," said BJ, from his wheelchair.

Ji-yoo pursed her lips, considering. "Fine," she said at last. "But if Major underwear is not finish tomorrow, I tell her it is your fault."

"Trust me, she'll believe you," said Hawkeye. "Here's five dollars," he said, handing over the money, "and you'll get five more when you're done."

"Fine," said Ji-yoo, taking the money and tucking it into her skirt pocket. "Where is soldier?"

They led her over to Post-Op, Hawkeye still wheeling BJ in the chair. Once inside, Hawkeye pushed BJ's chair to the North Korean's bedside, then stepped back to look at the chart hanging from the end of the bed, glancing up at BJ.

"Uh," said BJ, "I wanted to talk to you, so Ji-you agreed to help me."

Ji-yoo spoke in rapid-fire Korean. She didn't sound particularly friendly, but BJ supposed he could hardly blame her - they were on opposite sides of a war, after all. The man looked from Ji-yoo to BJ but didn't respond.

BJ wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs, trying to think of what to ask.

"What's your name?" he said, unable to come up with anything else.

Ji-yoo translated the question. The man stared up at them, looking from one to the other.

After a moment's pause, he responded, "Lee Kyung-soo."

"I'm BJ Hunnicutt," said BJ. Ji-yoo translated this as well. His right hand jumped forward to shake Kyung-soo's hand, but he remembered halfway through that a handshake wasn't the correct greeting here, so he retracted it quickly. Everything seemed extremely vivid and surreal, and he imagines telling himself from two years ago about this conversation.

"So...Lee-san," BJ started.

"Ai cham!" said Ji-yoo, "-san is Japanese! You think you are in Japan, BJ-san?"

"Sorry," said BJ. "Is there...how should I address him?"

"Call him Kyung-soo. Good enough for American. He know you are not Korean."

"Okay, Kyung-soo...why did you shoot me?" He'd meant to ask it less directly, meant to lead up to the question, but it had been burning inside him for three days and two sleepless nights, and it tumbled out of his mouth without warning. Hawkeye looked up at them, not even bothering with pretending to read Kyung-soo's chart anymore.

Ji-yoo stared at BJ, then turned to Kyung-soo to relay the question.

Kyung-soo didn't answer immediately. He lay back on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. When he spoke, it was soft, addressing no one in particular. Ji-yoo had to lean closer to hear him.

"He say he is scared. Does not know where Americans take him. He want to kill officer, to be shot instead of go to prison camp."

"How could he tell I was an officer?"

"He say you give orders to others."

Kyung-soo looked over at BJ, then back at the ceiling. He started to speak again.

"He say he is sorry. He does not want to shoot doctor. His father is doctor."

"Tell him...tell him I forgive him. And tell him not to worry - American POW camps aren't too bad, from what I've heard."

Ji-yoo translated this, and a small smile played around Kyung-soo's lips.

"Ask him if he'll cause any trouble if we unstrap him."

A pause while Ji-yoo translated, then, "He promise not to cause trouble."

"Hawkeye?" said BJ.

Hawkeye bent over the man, his hands on the restraints.

"You sure, Beej?"

BJ nodded. Hawkeye unbuckled the strap.

Kyung-soo propped himself up on his elbows and gave the best bow he could from that position to BJ. BJ, surprised, awkwardly ducked his head in response.

"Thank you, Ji-yoo," said BJ. Hawkeye pulled out another five dollars and handed it to her. She counted the money, nodded, and left.

"All right, driver," BJ said to Hawkeye, "wheel me back. I think I've had enough excitement for the day." He felt a lot of the tension that had been keeping him on edge draining out of him, and suddenly it was a struggle to stay awake.

Hawkeye wheeled him over to his bed and helped him into it, then sat down next to him.

"I think I'm going to call Sidney," said Hawkeye. "I think we could both use a chat with him. Maybe Father Mulcahey could, too."

"Sounds good to me," said BJ.

"Are you going to take a nap now, or do I need to read you a bedtime story?"

"I need to write to Peg again," BJ said, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"I think you need to get some sleep," said Hawkeye. "Look, if I write to her on your behalf, will you take a nap?"

"Deal," said BJ, and he let his head loll to the side.

Hawkeye heard BJ start snoring almost immediately, and he smiled. Picking up a pen and paper from the table between the beds, he started a new letter.

Dear Peg,

It's Hawkeye again. I made a deal with BJ - if he'd agree to take a nap, I'd write to you for him. He's really doing well, even better than I expected. He's able to walk short distances already. Also, he managed to make friends with the North Korean soldier who shot him, and if that's not the most BJ thing I've ever heard...