Do something useful. The words echoed in White Knight's mind. He knew, logically, that he wasn't infected -- not after all these tests. But the shimmer of uncertainty kept him at this. So much had changed these past few months, so much had been wrenched from his control. Outside, Cybertron was nothing but chaos and uncertainty, and it was getting more and more difficult to cope. Here, at least, shut in and alone, he had something he could control -- but even that was uncertain, as long as there was that slim possibility that he had nanites in his blood. He couldn't lose control of himself. Not here.

But when he couldn't put down the needle for a moment, when he couldn't get up and fix his armor or work on equipment or make himself useful even as Six urged... maybe even without nanites, he wasn't as in control as he might have imagined.

"God, Six," he muttered, gripping his weak hand into a fist, "this is all I have."