It was always such a treat to spend time in the Decepticon brig, Jazz thought bitterly. This is not what I was thinkin' when I told Ratch I needed a vacation! At least I've got company this time. But poor Prowler just isn't up to much talkin' right yet.
Technically, Prowl hadn't come online again since the initial ambush inside the Decepticon base, so his being chatty (which he was no Bluestreak even on the best of days) was the least of concerns to Jazz right now. But focusing on Prowl kept his processor off of less pleasant thoughts about his own injuries or what was going to happen next.
"Well, at least it looks like Raj made it out ok. I haven't seen or heard one peep outa him so I'm hopin' he split and headed back home. At least that was your plan if things went to pit on us, like they did," Jazz mused.
It was harder than he expected to keep up a one sided conversation. He wasn't use to Prowl saying much when they did talk, but he would at least look interested and nod occasionally to let Jazz know he was listening. Seeing his friend's slack frame lying on the rough floor was hard enough. If he let his processor focus on how much damage Prowl had taken to those doorwings of his, in addition to other blasts marring his normally pristine black and white paintjob, Jazz might lose what little resolve he still had control of. Jazz wasn't a bot that easily lost his cool under fire. But seeing his Prowler get shot down in front of him was something that got under his plating right quick.
And perhaps Prowl could hear his voice and it would help him online more quickly? Jazz knew from his own experiences of waking up in the Medbay to Prowl's soothing voice always made it a bit easier. Somehow Prowl had worked out a deal allowing him to stay with Jazz with so he was the exception to Ratchet's general "get out of the Medbay before I throw a slagging wrench at your head" policy. Prowler was good with rules like that.
Jazz heard Prowl shift as a low moan pierced the oppressive darkness of the brig. It sounded like Prowl was coming around finally.
"Can ya hear me, Prowler?" Jazz queried quietly.
"Jazz," the shaky voice replied quietly, "Are you badly hurt?"
Jazz had a hard time holding back a laugh at that. Here was Prowl, half slagged, asking if he was alright. "I'm fine. But how are you? You took quite a few hits back there tryin' to be all heroic!" Jazz was more amused than annoyed, but he hoped to get some sort of response out of his friend with his blunt tone.
"I'll live," came Prowl's tired reply. And Jazz prayed to Primus that was the truth.