Drift's been homeless, an addict, a failed one-mech mutiny, nearly crushed to death, and exiled from the one place he ever thought he'd really get to call home, and somehow, this right here still ranks as one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. It doesn't quite register that America means she's worried about abuse until she hands him that card and Drift stares at it, wondering if it's possible to die of spark failure induced by extreme mortification.

"No, it's not like -- " he tries, holding the tiny card and feeling impossibly stupid and, weirdly, a little bit like he's just been offered the number for a crisis line by a concerned Ultra Magnus. And then Megatron opens his mouth and Drift looks over his shoulder with a flat look on his face.

"There won't be a problem," he says firmly, more to Megatron than America, his tone warning. Intimidation will only get him so far with Megatron -- Drift knows he doesn't pose as much of a physical threat -- but he's hoping it'll at least get Megatron out of the room. He starts to rise to his feet. "And there won't be any further disturbance. Thank you, uh..." She didn't really give a name, and Drift feels weird about calling someone the Law. He fixes a bright, friendly smile on his face, the first one since Megatron walked into the room. "Thank you. We'll be on our way now."