"'Why in name of the seven mad god, who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far to complicate sand and trees,'" Tim repeated, letting the words roll off his tongue. His thumb subconsciously went back to rubbing the invisible grit off his hand.
"I have contemplated about 'sand and trees' a lot," he concluded. "I think that's why I have that particular quote in my head."
White tapped her fingers against the armrest. "'Sand and trees?'"
"Yes."
"That's an interesting theory. Why do you think that?"
"It makes the most sense."
"Okay, I can understand the 'sand' part, but why are you thinking about trees?"
Tim leaned forwarded as if he was about to impart a very important secret. White leaned in closer to hear it. "If a tree falls in the woods and there's no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?"
She carefully considered his words. "You think the quote is really about a riddle?"
He leaned back with satisfaction at the solution to his puzzle. "Of course."
"Why that riddle?"
Tim didn't say anything at first. He studied her and she stared back as she waited for an explanation on something he didn't know the answer to. "You haven't answered my question, doctor."
White leaned back as well, confused at this accusation. "To the riddle?" she clarified.
Tim nodded.
"Well," she drawled out, deep in thought. "It's a philosophical riddle about perception and reality, Mr. McGee. There really is no right answer."
Tim gave her a weary smile and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. The shadows cast from the lights made the pale tint of the panels look almost grey.
"Then I guess I'll have to live with all the wrong answers."