Drift is too tired and achy to move, mostly, but surprise flickers bright in his optics when Ratchet puts both his palms to Drift's, twining their fingers together. Ratchet's never really talked to him like this, not that Drift can recall right now -- Rodion, maybe, but that's different. That was another life entirely, and Ratchet didn't know him then. Not like he knows Drift now. It makes it mean something else, something more.

He nods, just a slight incline of his head, his hands settling loosely against Ratchet's, and his optics brighten slightly in a faint, tired smile, though it fades after a moment. I know. I thought he was going to, at first. But he clarified that about halfway through the fight. His mouth presses into a thin line, air hissing softly from his vents. That's about all he's willing to say on that subject, though. The rest of it he's saving for Megatron.

I'm sorry I don't remember. Everything that happened with you and me, I mean. I wish I did.