As soon as Cameron collapsed, Conan set about forming a plan of action. Until now he had been either unconscious or too drugged-out to form any level of coherent thought, but with medicines waning and his concussion easing off, he found his mind working double time. So many things had happened in the last week alone, it would be hard to keep them straight even without brain injury.

First things first, he had to get out of here. Experience had proven that the longer he stayed in one place, the more dangerous the situation became. Two years living at the Mouri residence had been quite the lesson in that respect. The complacency he'd inadvertently let himself feel there had eventually put everyone he loved in danger. Never again, he'd vowed, face grim as he boarded the plane that would take him away from his homeland. He would keep on the move until the Organization fell, or until he was caught. Whichever came first.

Coughing slightly, he braced his good arm against the hard mattress and sat up. A wave of dizziness threatened to knock him straight back down, but he stubbornly fought the urge to pass out. The anesthetic dart from his watch usually lasted no longer than fifteen minutes or so, and he wanted to be long gone before the doctor came anywhere near consciousness. So, against all protests of his aching body, he slowly managed to sit up. Once upright, he was forced to pause and catch his breath, waiting for his head to stop spinning. What the hell medicines had they been giving him, anyway?

A tug on his arm as he made to move forward brought his attention downwards. He grimaced as he caught sight of the IV line running out of his arm. Other leads and wires caught his eye, and as he gave himself a cursory glance he realized for the first time just how many devices he was hooked up to. Machines monitoring pulse and blood pressure, regulating his medication, oxygen, all with some electronic lead to his body. He would have to disconnect every one of them without being noticed if he wanted to escape. He coughed again and glared to himself. Well it was this or die. Even if the Organization had initially presumed his trip down the stairs to be fatal, they would have been sure to see the ambulance. Operatives were probably combing every hospital in the area looking for him while he sat here dumbly looking at wires.

So he set to action. With a quick glance around for any prying nurses or hospital employees, Conan grasped the IV, grit his teeth, and pulled. The needle and tape came free with a sharp stab of pain, spitting a stream of medication and blood onto the sheets and floor. That probably hadn't been a great plan, health-wise, but drastic times called for drastic measures. As long as he didn't die in the next few minutes it was fine.

He stopped to let another wave of dizziness pass, eyeing the heart monitors warily. He had a feeling they wouldn't be disconnected quite as easily as the IV had been. Didn't an alarm always sound when people took those things off in medical dramas? (He had to smile at that one—for once he actually had learned something from television. How many times had he used TV as an excuse for knowledge of things well beyond first-grader level?)

Glancing around for some solution to this predicament, he paused as his eye caught the power outlet. Would that…? He racked his brains for any consequence of pulling the plug he could think of. Well, what could happen? The machine wouldn't be able to sound any alarms if it was unplugged. He glanced at Cameron, snoring peacefully, and quickly made up his mind. If she woke up and figured out what exactly that mysterious sting in her neck had been while he was still here... Well, he was better off trying and failing than waiting around for that unpleasant inevitability.

Gathering up any wires he could find on himself and draping them over the cast on his left arm, he slowly edged to the side of the bed. Amazing how long a drop of a few feet looks when you're barely as tall as the railing. Nothing doing but to go for it… He lowered himself as far as he could on one shaky arm, then dropped. The ground came up much too fast and he stumbled but managed to keep his footing, leaning on the bed as the world teetered around him. Best not to think about what this was doing to his body.

There was the outlet, a few feet from his hand. He squeezed his eyes shut, reached out, and pulled.

Nothing happened. He opened one eye carefully, then both as he realized that most of the machines around him had been silenced. He looked up and tried to work out what he'd accomplished. The heart monitor was down, at least. That was the one he'd been aiming for. He disconnected a sensor, and hearing no shrill beeping announcing he'd done so, quickly removed the rest. He was now wire-free, standing behind the bed on the opposite side of the giant pane of glass that doubled as a wall. The blinds were shut as he peered around the edge of the mattress. A plus for him, although he would still have to work out how to get out of the room without being noticed. The white hospital gown would surely give him away the second he stepped into the hall, say nothing of his broken wrist and the thin line of blood dripping down his arm from where he'd removed the IV.

First things first. Cameron had stupidly brought him his entire backpack, rather than just the watch he'd asked for. It was a fortunate boon for him, since new clothes, along with the glasses now perched familiarly on his nose, would probably disguise him quite nicely from the nurses. He placed his good hand on the bed for support, and slowly moved along the mattress until he came to the other side, where his old brown bag leant on the wall next to the bed. He quickly rifled through it and procured a pair of faded jeans, one of his old "Beika City Junior Soccer League" t-shirts, socks, and a spare set of shoes he'd been carrying around ever since he discovered that his usual electronically-powered pair were now a size too small. The professor had been working on a new set for him, with added modifications besides just the electrical strength-enhancement, but he'd been forced to abandon the work… A brief thought of exactly why he had been forced to do so stopped him momentarily, but he shook his head violently to get rid of it, then reeled at the sudden careening of the room. Unpleasant thoughts or not, he probably should lay off the excessive head movements. At least the nauseating spinning did a fair job of distracting him from bad memories.

After the swaying and the rushing in his ears calmed down, Conan quickly dressed himself and wiped the blood off his arm with the hospital gown before stuffing it into a drawer on the bedside table. Best hiding spot he could find on short notice. If the hospital staff didn't realize he'd changed they would be more likely to search around for a boy in white hospital garb, letting a fully-dressed, bespectacled child walk right past them.

As soon as he was clothed he stood up, and had to fight another bout of dizziness before managing to gain his bearings. It had been, what… Five minutes? He moved to the end of the bed and peered around it. Cameron was still dead asleep, a thin line of drool creeping its way down her chin. He smiled and moved back around to the window-facing side. About ten minutes left before she woke up and started panicking.

And now the question: How to get out?

What I wouldn't give for a floor plan… he thought irritably to himself, testing his weight before pushing himself lightly from the bed-railing he'd been hanging onto. His legs were growing stronger quickly, he could stand on his own now. Things had also thankfully stopped spinning so violently when he moved, now merely careening in small waves around his head as he tried to think. Knowing the layout of the hospital would help immensely; he would stand a far greater chance of escaping if he could find a stairwell or supply closet to duck into if chased. Visions of white-clad thieves disappearing into hidden alcoves flitted across his mind, and he scowled as he cast about for any sort of map he could use. Surely there was something…

A placard on the wall caught his eye, and he turned a little too quickly in excitement. The room spun a few times before he could begin moving towards it. It was the fire escape route, white paper in a clear plastic holder that indicated the fastest route from this room to the exit. Oh this was just too perfect… He grinned somewhat manically and climbed onto the nearest chair to pry it down. A few good tugs left him with the cheap plastic holder and he slid out the printed map. He wasn't too far from the main exit, it seemed. He continued to study the map carefully as he made his way to the huge pane of glass that doubled as a wall. (Honestly, this was one of the strangest interior design jobs he'd ever seen.)

Pressing his ear to the door, and hearing no obvious sounds, he carefully parted the blinds. A blank wall decorated with generic hospital paintings greeted him, illuminated dimly by lights spaced evenly down the hall. He turned his head and took in the nurse's station down one end, doors to patients' rooms like his own stretching down past it. All the nurses seemed to be busy with patients as they hurried from room to room, barely taking stock of anything but their immediate tasks. Chances were he'd just look to them like a kid visiting his poor sick mommy.

He glanced down at his makeshift map, gauging distances, and slid the door open just enough to squeeze his small body out. The nearest nurse disappeared into a room, and he took his cue to jog to the other side of the hall, duck into an alcove, and peek around the corner. No one in sight. He closed his eyes momentarily to ward off a bout of dizziness, then quickly rolled to his right and placed his good hand on the wall before he began to walk along in the direction indicated by the fire route. Strangely, despite the myriad of other complaints his body was suffering, it was his wrist that hurt the most. He tucked the thick cast against his stomach as he walked. Just had to hope nobody noticed the lack of a hospital-issue sling.