When I was asked in school where I saw myself in five years I wouldn't have said I'd be here; in Korea, in a war, with you. It just seems that ever since you arrived, fresh out of residency, you've been crawling under my skin.

Honestly, I hated you at first. I had been in this war for a year and half before you even got your orders delivered to you in your cozy home in Mill Valley. I also felt sorry for you.

The entire duration of my stay in this godforsaken place made me feel as though I was watching my life pass me by in my own little rearview mirror. You had everything and your life was put on hold. When my life was put on hold, I was working in a hospital. I was alone.

I never really intended to fall in love you know. Much less find love in a barren land that was painted with the blood of innocent people. I'm going crazy. I'm losing it.

I'm dying inside; and no one can see it; which means my efforts are working. Yet, maybe, I want you to see; see that I'm falling. I'm barely breathing.

My name is Benjamin Franklin Pierce. I'm thirty two. I'm a surgeon... I'm broken.

I've been running in endless circles. What am I running from you might ask. I'm running from myself. From my thoughts and my dreams that are never going to come true and still haunt me. Haunting me and serving as a permanent reminder that I'll never be good enough.

Beej. I know you love your wife; but, I also know you love me. I see it. It's in the way you look at me, the way you caress my cheek when you think no one is looking...the way you say my name, as if no one else matters.

I also know I'm a phase. I will end when the war does if I don't die first. I'm falling even faster than before. Breathing hurts. I need something to believe in! Just please, please dear God, tell me this isn't just in my head.

The looks and gestures aren't enough anymore. I want you to tell me, I need you to tell me. Tell me you love me. Tell me that I mean more to you that forgetting this place, if only for a moment. Tell me that I'm more than just a smile on your face your wife won't understand. Tell me I'm more than a stain on your reputation, on your conscious. Tell me.

I need to mean something to you. I'm stuck in this war, stuck in this war with you. There's nowhere I can hide. I can't shake you.

BJ Hunnicut. Will you take me? Take what's left of me? Because, what's left of me is already yours. I just need you to accept me. Will you please take what's left of me, make me whole again?

I see my life fading. It's like looking through a fog almost. I can see myself slowly becoming more and more transparent and soon, I'm gone. Like I was never there. If nothing else, I want to be remembered. BJ Hunnicut; if you can't take what's left of me, remember what's left of me.

BJ put down the letter he had found under Hawk's bunk, tears swelling in his eyes. If only he had known, known before Hawkeye...before Hawkeye left for Battalion Aid and never came back.

BJ grabbed the letter and thrust in his jacket pocket. No. Hawkeye was not going to be forgotten. BJ grabbed the dog-tags the wounded soldier had brought in when he arrived from the Aid Station. He ran his fingers over the indented letters: Captain, Pierce, Benjamin F.

He slid the dog-tags around his neck, listening as they clanked against his own pair. No, definitely not. Hawkeye; brilliant, witty, broken Hawkeye would be remembered. If memory was the only part of Hawkeye left, you better believe BJ was going to accept what was left of the man he had fallen in love with.