Absolute: Team Four

This short fic has been in the works for almost a year on a start-and-stop basis. It grew out of a desire to write a series of snapshots about Team Dana, Hayate's team from his genin days in my own personal fanon -- both to develop Hayate's pre-tokujou backstory a bit more and to flesh out the character of Dana, as I've come to be quite fond of writing her. I've finally finished the first in the series, so I hope you enjoy it :) Hayate belongs to Kishimoto, but Dana, Tarou, and Ikumi are of my own creation.

Absolute: Team Four
Acceptance and Refusal

From the moment Gekkou Hayate was born, the Gekkou clan had high hopes for him. There was just something about the infant boy as he rested in his mother's arms that spoke of promise. Even when he caught scarlet fever at the age of two, he prevailed over the illness as they would have expected from such a promising child -- or so they thought.

He began his formal training in the family kenjutsu as soon as he was old enough to lift a small practice sword. He was barely four years old, but as soon as his little fingers touched that sword, his father got a fleeting glimpse of the child's full potential -- something great and formidable, something that, if properly nurtured, could far exceed his own mastery of the katana. Gekkou Hayate was going to be an incredible swordsman.

Hayate was enrolled in the Academy at the age of five, and even by then there were whispers of his unofficial title as clan prodigy. He was expected to graduate by the age of ten. Fate, it seemed, had different plans in mind for him.

His parents thought it a little odd and a little worrisome that he fell under the weather at least twice as often as his peers -- that his colds and bouts of flu lasted longer than they should have; that the child, even so young, grew to look perpetually tired. It was even more alarming when, at the age of six, their usually complacent son began to constantly complain of pain in his wrists and knees, or when he had to stop in the middle of a training session with his father because of a spontaneous coughing fit. By the time he was six and a half, his parents were significantly concerned. It didn't seem like a phase that would simply pass. The boy who had only just begun to earn the official title of clan prodigy was looking like he might already lose it.

They took him to the doctors. They didn't know what was wrong with him, and it was difficult to say. Series after series of tests were conducted, results carefully examined, reassessed, jumbled about like bone dice in a cup. But no matter how they were rolled, the numbers read the same.

There wasn't even really a specific name for what was wrong with him. There was the respiratory problem, but his parents had suspected that for some time. All the doctors could tell them was that there was something wrong with his immune system, with his whole body -- it was as if something was eating at him from the inside out, very, very slowly. It wasn't something terminal, but he wasn't healthy. He was just sick. The disease accounted for the fatigue, for the constant illness, for the pains all over. Even at just under seven years old, Hayate seemed to understand what the doctor was telling his parents. His pale little feet swung idly from the examination table.

The doctor was silent for a short while, letting the news sink in -- then he spoke again. Treatments would start immediately, of course, but there was no cure. There were things they could do to ease the pain and symptoms, but the disease would always be there -- it was simply a part of the boy's life. It wouldn't be an easy one -- even with all of the treatments they could offer, he would no doubt still be frequently sick. To continue with his shinobi training, the doctor said, was unadvisable. It was possible, perhaps, but it would be harder on the boy than most. He recommended a civilian life -- something simple, something easy.

Hayate's parents disagreed vehemently. Even now, through the waxing illness, the potential Hayate held was unmistakable -- the sole heir of the Gekkou clan, abandon the path of the ninja, when he'd only just begun to turn that potential into something real, something tangible? It was unthinkable. Even little Hayate, sitting quietly on the examination table, agreed with his parents.

"But I want to be a ninja," he said, with surprising conviction. The next day, Hayate returned to the Academy.

It was, as the doctor had promised, difficult. Despite his best efforts to combat the frequent bouts of illness with all manner of treatments and bed rest, Hayate was missing a considerable amount of class -- enough that his teacher finally decided that he could no longer keep up with his classmates. Hayate was set back one year in his studies, and it no longer looked like he would graduate by ten.

He continued to miss school, but managed to keep up with the peers he'd been placed amongst -- it was a small glimmer of hope for the Gekkou clan, as if confirming that the second chance for his potential to be fulfilled would not be wasted. Despite the obstacles thrown in his path throughout his schooling -- constant illness, the permanent admittance of his mother into the psychiatric ward, the vicious attack on the village by the nine-tailed beast -- by the time he was twelve years old, he had not only graduated, but graduated with his original classmates.

"Team Four," their homeroom teacher announced on the day of their graduation -- every student sat in almost uncomfortably dire anticipation, glancing around the classroom anxiously at their classmates to see whom they'd end up with. "Iwasahi Miho, Ashiya Tarou, and Gekkou Hayate."

It didn't matter, just then, that his two teammates were almost strangers to him from the years of separation in another class, or that they paid more attention to each other than anything else, or that there came a hushed but chorused sigh of relief from the remaining children in the class -- relief that the sick kid wasn't on their team. It didn't matter, because Gekkou Hayate had finally become a ninja.