This is what this whole ordeal was supposed to be from the beginning on. Comfort given because of a heart-given urge.
No pain. No danger. Just a third on the way to healing.
Jazz - he is not sure what produces the sound, hologram or true body - whispers a promise to the air. Words that hide their meaning behind the walls of language. All to make sure that Midvalley does not 'hear'.
For these words cannot, must not be spoken. If they were understood, everything would change.
"Third of my line," he speaks these forbidden words to a lover that he cannot touch. "Most cherished part of my self."
It does no longer matter if someone understands his language. The only thing that matters is saying the words.
Even if they threaten to rip open his very spark.
[OOC: It's near to midnight here. I'll go to bed. Til tomorrow then.]