"From pain comes beauty." Charles smugly said, exiting the tent.
BJ clenched his jaw, anger rising. "Our residential Socrates."
"Beej --" Hawkeye started, knowing just what was coming, knowing just what pain his other half was in.
"He's dead, Hawk. Dead, under my hands, right on the table. And there's no beauty in that, none at all." He reached for the nearest object, a lone martini glass, and hurled it at the door. The tinkling sound of smashed glass brought a smile to his face. "Beauty," he added, "is a casualty of war."
Hawkeye picks up the shattered remains, agreeing.