[OOC: That's ok. We're pretty much entering AU here anyway, as far as TF canon goes.]
He hears the voice, sad words that seek to comfort him. He hears but does not hear. There is a barrier between himself and the outside that is defined by Midvalley, a barrier that to breath through Jazz lacks the power just now.
Again and again, repeated ad absurdum, he mubles words from his youth. Old phrases taken from long forgotten poetry and third declarations, a mantra of 'I'm sorry's and 'Please forgive me's.
The complex clicks and whirrs of his native language create a cocoon of noise around him. So dense is this cocoon that Jazz never is consciously aware of the glittering holo-mass leaving his body, the dripping fluid stretching over the expanse that is keeping two lovers apart.
The holo, when it finally completes, is no likeness of simulated flesh. It is Jazz as he is and always was, naked without the armour of his current body.
A protoform made fragile by the hopeless look on its face.
"You're bleeding," it stammers while the true-body convulses into painful fits of grief.