The light of Drift's optics flickers slightly when Rodimus grabs his arm, and for a moment he stays like that, frame slightly tense, ready to move, as if he expects Tarn to appear round the corner any moment. But then he vents out slowly, relaxing, his hand falling away from his sword.

"Good." There's a world of relief contained in a single word, Drift's optics brightening again. He knows perfectly well what Tarn is capable of, that Rodimus had been more than lucky to get away alive -- and he's not sure Rodimus will be so fortunate next time. Drift might have commented on Megatron saving him, questioned his motives, but honestly, he's not sure what to make of the tired ex-warlord since they'd spoken.

But Rodimus is all right -- that's the important part. And now that Drift knows Tarn's got his best friend's number, he'll be keeping an eye out. Drift puts a hand over the one on his arm, the usual levity not quite returned to his face.

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

No doubt Rodimus already knows what that's about.