Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, although I'd be willing to bid for Yondaime.

Author's Note: I'm not quite sure why, but the first line of this drabble-fic sprang into my head at 12:30 in the morning, and it took 15 minutes to write. I'm quite pleased with it; there may be more Yondaime-fics coming up in the future, if they're all as fun to write as this one was. It's vaguely inspired by sna's Yondaime stories and by the lj community fourthundersecorehokage, but probably mostly by my desire to see Yondaime and Kakashi sans angst!

Handle With Care

He's been a jounin for all of three weeks when they assign him his first genin student, and from the dismay in the kid's face on the afternoon of their first meeting, his student didn't expect anyone nearly so young. Neither did he, in point of fact. The youngest jounin in ten years has been assigned the youngest genin in fifty—in all of Konoha's history, as far as he knows. The kid's tufty silver hair barely comes up to his sensei's waist, and he's not a tall man. Boy. He's got another five years of growth ahead of him, Jiraiya-sensei says, and he's looking forward to it, because he can't stand being head-and-shoulders shorter than Jiraiya for the rest of his life.

He already feels his shortcomings in so many other ways.

"So, kid," he says, a little awkwardly, because he hasn't talked to anyone this young since…since he was a five-year-old himself, probably. Ten years ago. It's not the first time he's regretted being an only child, but it probably is the first time he's regarded his nonexistent siblings as a training exercise. How do you talk to a kid who's all wild silver hair and big black eyes and stubborn little mouth with its bottom lip already thrusting out in a pout?

Handle him carefully, Hokage-sama had told him. His father's a hero, a legend in his own right—the boy's had to deal with those expectations all his life. Sakumo's a good man, but his shadow's a little too big for his son to stand in. Don't push him too hard. Don't let him push himself too hard.

Good luck, Jiraiya-sensei had told him, and laughed.

He tries again. "So, kid. What d'you like to do?"

The kid blinks at him, like he's just announced that he tap-dances in pink boxers on the counter of the new ramen stand every night at eight. A long, awkward pause, and then the kid says flatly, "Train."

Well, he kinda expected that, given that the kid graduated from the Academy in less than six months, while his age-mates are still trying to figure out what the heck their sensei's talking about when she mentions chakra and hand-seals. And given that the kid's father is the White Fang of Konoha, the man who's said to be on par with the Sannin themselves….

But his own sensei is one of those very Sannin, and he's seen Jiraiya-sensei groaning with enough hangovers to realize that even legends still get sloshed on Friday nights. Which means that this kid can unbend a little and still get where he wants to go.

"You know," he says carelessly, "I'm kinda hungry. What say we go get lunch first and then head out to the fields and start training?"

He's pretty sure the mention of training so soon will grab the kid's interest, and he's right. The tiny sandals fall into step beside his as he heads down the street, short legs double-timing to keep up. He glances down at the kid's set, determined face, and he doesn't shorten his stride.

That'd be cheating, after all, and the boy who will become the Yondaime Hokage has never taken the easy way out.