"So could you." It's not an accusation, just a statement. But Drift's not really interested in arguing with Rodimus or guilting him. He doesn't want to fight. He just wants to talk.

Drift wishes Rodimus would at least meet his gaze, but he imagines Ratchet must have done a number on him; he would know. His optics shift back to the scuffs on Rodimus' plating, the fresh welds on his arm that seem to go all around his shoulder, and his optics narrow in concern.

"What happened to you? Are you all right?"

Whatever else Drift has to say -- it can wait.