One week later…

"You're sure I'm cured?" the boy asked, looking down at his own chest as if doing so would miraculously cause any dormant health issues waiting there to appear.

"Well, since you're still three feet tall and sound like a Muppet Baby, I'm pretty sure you're not cured," House replied sarcastically. He and his patient were walking through a little-used hallway leading to the freight entrance of the hospital. A lone security camera hung some ways behind them, having been knocked off its mounting by a metal bedpan moving at approximately the speed of a powerful soccer kick.

"But I'm not going to pass out in the middle of the street and start bleeding from the eyebrows or anything," Conan pressed.

"Keep taking the hordenine supplements, and no."

"I still can't believe that's all it took to fix this," the boy said, smiling slightly as he looked up. His faded blue backpack rattled with a several-month supply of herbal pills.

"'Fix' is a relative term. The hordenine-tainted alcohol your friend gave you only made you grow because your body was still getting used to the toxin. Taking more now is just giving your immune system what it needs to keep cell death in check, not reverse it."

"I know, but still," Conan replied, having heard this explanation more than a few times in the last few days, "it just seems like such a simple thing. And you're sure I can't just—"

House, also having heard the coming argument more times than he had patience for, rolled his eyes.

"All you'll get by overdosing is a killer headache and dead kidneys. I have no idea what kind of magic crazy voodoo-drug allowed you to grow ten years in as many seconds, but this isn't it," he replied.

"Yeah, yeah," Conan answered with a slight huff. He'd been hoping for a real cure out of all this, "All we're doing is blocking the side-effects. One pill every twelve hours, right?"

"Right."

The boy nodded, and the two of them stopped at the wide, load-bay doors at the end of the hall. A quick perusal of the hospital's delivery schedule in the bulk supply room had confirmed that the parking lot beyond would be free of any trucks or personnel. Furthermore, the camera overseeing that side of the building was set up to only record the areas where loading trucks were likely to park, leaving a surveillance-free strip some ten feet wide leading away from the premises. Perfect for anyone wanting to sneak out of the building unnoticed.

"Thanks," Conan said, looking up to meet the eyes of the tall man beside him, "you know, for everything."

"Hrmph," House replied and averted his gaze to the doors. "You've got about twenty minutes before those FBI goons figure out we gave them the slip."

"It's fine," the boy replied, tapping the slightly glowing right-hand lens of his oversized glasses. He'd shown House the embedded tracking device earlier and gotten a suitably impressed response. They were now using the feature to keep tabs on the guards posted outside his room by Jodie and her agents. Conan had been grateful for their help, but the prospect of being taken into protective custody, hidden away in some out-of-the-way city while the government ran in bureaucratic circles trying to take down the Organization, hadn't appealed to him in the least. With House's help he had conspired to sneak away and continue with his own investigations.

The two of them stood silently for a few minutes.

"Good luck," House offered finally, turning to leave back the way they'd come.

"You too."

The boy smiled at the retreating back of his doctor and leaned against the door behind him. He didn't know where he was going to go after this. New York, probably. After some digging he'd managed to determine that his parents had never been reported missing. While in the case of his father this meant little (the man was well-known for dodging editors and deadlines while writing his books), his mother generally liked to keep up with her acting friends and spoke to several of them daily. This, along with no signs of a struggle having been discovered in their hotel room, have the boy hope that the couple had known about the planned hit beforehand, and merely fled. Knowing them as he did, he wasn't really sure he would be able to locate them if they didn't want to be found, but it gave him a goal.

Conan suddenly raised a hand to the side of his mouth and yelled back down the hall.

"Oh, and when Doctor Cameron wakes up this time, tell her I said sorry!" the boy grinned to himself with the statement and quickly disappeared thorough the door.

House rolled his eyes as he walked, but couldn't resist a small smirk. After the amount of times he'd persuaded the boy to lend him his stun watch last week he'd be surprised if Cameron didn't develop some kind of phobia.

Digging his phone out of his pocket, House selected a contact from his phone's list and pressed send.

"Agent Starling? This is Doctor Greg House… Just calling to tell you your patient's ready to be discharged. You can pick him up in the morning. Yep. Uh huh… You too, see ya."

He flipped the phone closed and tucked it back into his pocket as he pressed the button for the elevator. Somewhere in this hospital there was a bottle of vicodin with his name on it.

FIN.