"In another life," Hawkeye breaks in, arms buried in a spleen, "There would be no war, no meatball surgery."
Across the room, Margaret seems vaguely interested.
"We'd all be home, with our families, and we'd know nothing about Korea." He pauses. "Suction."
The sound of scalpel slicing skin breaks the silence.
"Not one of us would have ever met," Hawkeye lifts a piece of shrapnel out, dropping it with a ping into a jar, "And we'd be that much happier for it."
BJ catches his eye, holding it. "Do you really think so?"
A significant look drives the point home.
