"Damn." Hawkeye takes a gulp, quickly refilling the glass. "Damn, damn, damn." He empties the second glass in record time.
Trapper takes up his own waiting martini, praying the alcohol will dissolve the lump forming in his throat. "He shouldn't -- he was going home, he --" He swallows the liquid, wincing at the burning aftertaste.
Hawkeye hesitates. "We probably shouldn't -- drinking now isn't --" He gives up, reaching for the beaker of gin once more.
"I'll only drink until my tears are alcohol," Trapper answers, morosely, "And forget why I'm sobbing."
Hawkeye nods, glass held in mock salute.