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It's just the four of them in the cold of space, and Jazz is down with that. He's had longer assignments, colder assignments, assignments in the middle of nowhere with no hope of contact with another living being for hundreds of years. Those were the hard assignments, with nothing but the music and the culture in his data banks to keep him going. This is different and he's primed to revel in it. Two kids under his watch, two of the weirdest Autobots to ever grace the great face of cybertronian society. Wings and jets and jury-rigged alternate chassis—Jetstorm and Jetfire are all smiles and energy and burning enthusiasm. They're hard to wrangle but they listen to him like they listen to no one else, and when they're antsy in the hour before lights out, he'll sit cross legged before them and spin them a wicked tale of some mission or another from his youth. Back when there were real live Decepticons to fight, and they weren't just a nightmare fairy tale from the history books.
The twins ask about Decipticons with a wonder that, to Sentinal, seems unhinged. Decepticons are the enemy, but the twins want to know all the sweet details, and Jazz gets that it's not barely-restrained treason like Sentinel suspects it is (and writes about in his rambling Captain's Log that he doesn't know Jazz reads). They ask because they're not what any other Autobot is. They've been changed at the core, warped by the alternate programming Wheeljack and Perceptor funneled out of a Decepticon clone and into twin Autobot sparks. They've got wings and they've got ambitions, and they don't have millions upon billions of years of history to base their identities on. They're the first of a kind—Autobots who fly by nature not talent, and they want to know the story of where that nature comes from.
So he tells them.
Sentinal grumbles like the lazy pile of slag that he is, and after hours when it's just the two of them and the twins are in recharge, when he spouts off shouting for five minutes straight about how Jazz should be teaching them Autobot history and Autobot lore and not falling to their constant questions about Starscream and even the great Decepticon leader himself (he who shall not be named), Jazz just tunes it out and cranks his personal music up loud until Sentinel turns on his heel in a huff and strides off the bridge.
Later, even later when Sentinel is in recharge too and it's only Jazz at the bridge controls, he reads the message snuggled in deep encryption in the ship's inbox—coded to show to his optics only and to delete directly after. Passing secret notes with Ultra Magnus himself. It's a position few bots acquire and one Jazz holds with fond pride.
What is your status report on the twins Jetstorm and Jetfire?
They're doin' just fine, he sends back with a smile. Because they are. And if they ever aren't, he knows they trust him enough to let him know.