Jackson had been standing at his desk, inspecting a diagram in his book, getting ready to reproduce it on the wall. He had a cigarette in one hand, and he was smoking it absent-mindedly enough that ash was only miraculously hanging on to its end. When Sunny's arrival pulled him out of his study, he shifted, and the ash fell on the desktop, unheeded.

He watched her, and frowned at her words. Whatever they were supposed to mean. "Wait, I know this." He stuck the cigarette between his lips as he abandoned the book about general surgery to find the one about neurology. "Traumatic brain injury can lead to language impairment. Patients have been known to lose an entire language." Wait, traumatic brain injury. He looked back up at Sunny, frowning. "What happened to you?"