Okay, so new chaps for the Rewrite and NA are almost up, but sometimes plot bunnies run rampant and if I don't get them out, they clutter up the other storylines.

I'm not proud of this, but it's been a hell of a week and it amused me to write, so here it is. I'm not gonna recap, so reread the previous chapters at your own risk. It also references the original Setting a Precedent quite a bit, so again, at your own risk, though admittedly a lot of the chap doesn't make sense without the background. Or maybe it doesn't even with the background. Shrug. Like I said, just working the plot bunnies out.

Setting a Precedent 2: Keeping the Rhythm Going

Chapter Three

(Yeah, I can't believe it has three chapters, either. Good grief.)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Calling to memory the picture he'd seen of the medcenter layout, Obi-Wan made his way to the nearest lift. Once inside, he pushed the button for the appropriate floor and leaned against the wall with a grimace. Now that the haze from the medication was fading, the pain in his ribs was trying to remind him that he wasn't fully healed yet. He drew a deep breath and centered himself calmly. First he would need to dispel the remainder of the medication from his mind; then he could work on his ribs.

He'd just managed to clear all the cobwebs from his head when the lift bumped to a halt. Obi-Wan winced and pressed a shaking hand to painful ribs, drawing himself up carefully. He'd have to work on them later; Qui-Gon needed rescuing from an unnecessary surgery that probably wasn't going to end well.

Blend, he tried to encourage himself enthusiastically, straightening his borrowed green scrubs carefully as he maneuvered through the rushing people toward the surgical bay.

The air here was tense with excitement, and Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh at the sight of obviously ecstatic doctors and nurses pushing loaded carts from room to room. Way too excited about their new toys, he thought tiredly.

With a little help from his memory and a lot of help from the Force, Obi-Wan managed to find the prep room where his Master was sequestered. Obi-Wan knew that very shortly his escape would be discovered, so he hurried to the bed where Qui-Gon lay. As he approached, he could hear the nonsensical words spilling from Qui-Gon and his forehead scrunched in confusion.

"Put my hands up … playing my song … moving my hips … like yeah …" The Jedi Master followed his approach hazily, with only the faintest gleam of recognition in his glassy midnight-blue eyes. "Obi-Wan?"

"Master? Master, I'm sorry about the mistake," Obi-Wan said hastily. "I'm going to get you out of here, okay?"

The Padawan swiftly scanned the various pieces of equipment, noticing especially the vitals monitor and the intravenous leads that were pumping who knew what into Qui-Gon's bloodstream. Grimacing, he set to work detaching cables at random and waiting for a second to watch for changes in the monitors. Probably not the best way to go about unhooking his Master, but, Obi-Wan was modest enough to admit, wearing scrubs didn't really make him a Healer any more than posing that one time for the "Padawans of the Year" calendar made him a model.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Hmm?" Obi-wan watched carefully as he pulled a lead from the machine. A light on the monitor started blinking a frantic red. Quickly he reattached the lead. "Yes, Master?"

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said muzzily, reaching out and snagging the apprentice's hand as the young man worked haphazardly on the monitors by the bedside. "Obi-Wan,"

"Yes, Master?" Obi-Wan repeated, his attention focused on his work.

"Sithly Strawberry is right for you."

Obi-Wan wasn't sure he'd heard correctly; it could have just been the roaring in his ears. He actually glanced over at his Master, confused. "What??"

"Sithly Strawberry," Qui-Gon elaborated. "For your toes."

Obi-Wan glanced down at his bare toes. There hadn't been any boots in the closet. Strawberry what? The medication must have really scrambled his Master's brain.

"Okay, Master, whatever." He tried to sound enthusiastic about whatever his Master was so sure of, but he knew he sounded even less excited than the time Qui-Gon had tried to take him … 'fishing,' whatever the hell the point of that was. Bait the hook, catch the fish, throw the fish back. Obi-Wan simply couldn't see the appeal of it or how one could possibly 'win' at 'fishing.'

"For the party," Qui-Gon insisted hazily, interrupting Obi-Wan's wandering musing. "Because it's a fun thing to do, Pada—Pada ... Obi-Wan. Evacuate the dance floor!" he added, happily off-key.

Obi-Wan worked faster, searching frantically for the drip for his overmedicated Master. "Okay, Master. Just as you say. Just let me take this drip out, okay?"

Qui-Gon smiled, pleased to have dispensed yet another bit of wisdom to his Padawan. "Good. Because we don't have enough fun," he stressed, the seriousness in his gaze undermined by the sheer glassiness of his dark blue eyes. "Too much angst."

"Yes, well … " Obi-Wan tried to think of an appropriate answer, but in the end was speechless. It was true; they certainly had a good deal of angst in their lives.

"Sith happens," he said philosophically.

Qui-Gon smiled. "You're a good Padawan. So bright, eager. Ready to learn. Not like my last Padawan."

Obi-Wan grinned gently, disconnecting the last monitor. "I think the time for talking about that is long past, Master."

"You're right," Qui-Gon agreed, nodding with sluggish earnestness. "Am never gonna abandon you … Ani."

Obi-Wan frowned.