“You know this is wrong."It isn't a question. When he turns, White is still wrapped snug in the counterpane, motionless, just his gaze pursuing the doctor about the room. "I am wrong to do this." The doctor says it as if instructing himself. White says nothing. With a sigh, Archer sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing White's curls back from his forehead. "Do you know what we did last night?" To admit it, to speak out loud, seems in itself a terrible affront. It might be his imagination, but the doctor fancies he sees a slight lowering of black lashes, the tiniest quirk of a shy smile. He says, wearily but not without affection, "No, I don't suppose you do.”

“He says black, I say white and we do grey”

“Do you know what it's like," he said, "to feel that you're in the wrong body?""Well actually..." the Doctor began, wiggling his own fingers in front of his face.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?" I blurt out. Holy crap--I just said that out loud?His lips quirk up in a half-smile, and he looks down at me."No, Anastasia. I don't do the girlfriend thing," he says softly.”

“Doctor doctor, what do you say, lets put the id back in yid”

“For a long time he had been white smoke. He did not realize that until he left the hospital, because white smoke had no consciousness of itself. It faded into the white world of their bed sheets and walls; it was sucked away by the words of doctors who tried to talk to the invisible scattered smoke... They saw his outline but they did not realize it was hollow inside.”