I cannot cry, because I know that's weakness in your eyes.

- Kelly Clarkson, Because of You

A scrawny Corellian boy ran through the streets, barefooted, racing his younger brother to his rundown home in one of Corellia's poorer districts. His clothes were dirty; so dirty you couldn't be quite sure of the original color, ragged and torn. A loaf of bread was sticking out of his pocket. His tawny hair was long and unkempt, blowing in the wind as he ran. He burst through the door, which was little more than a piece of cardboard, and skidded to a halt in the kitchen. "Mommy, mommy, look what we've got!" he called, shoved the loaf of bread in her face. A moment later his little brother held up a bunch of some kind of fruit.

"Momma!" he called out. "Look it!"

She tried to silence them quickly, but a gruff voice yelled from the other room, "Can't you keep those kids of yours quiet! I told you, I've got a headache!" Their mother grabbed another ale from the small refrigeration unit and hurried into the bedroom. His father was often nursing a bottle and always in a bad mood. His mother was often in tears when his father wasn't around. His father hated crying, and the punishment was usually a beating. Han took the blame for everything that went wrong in the house, and he knew that tonight would be no different.

The two boys gently placed their meager offering of food onto the counter and cowered into the small cupboard they called a bedroom. Their mother's face appeared a moment later, "Thank you Hannie, Jase, thank you." She always repeated her appreciations, praise, any words that she had, as if she was attempting to make up for the lack of words from their father. But never reprimands, his father handed out enough of those that she didn't feel the need to add to them. The boys quietly came up with stories to tell each other of spacers and fighters out in space.

An hour later, when they emerged, their father was waiting for them. "Han Solo," he said impatiently.

"Yes father," the young boy replied.

"Did you steal this food?"

Han knew how deeply his father's pride ran, and he also knew how deep his temper and anger ran. "No father, someone gave it to me."

"You are a liar!" Han felt a hand on his cheek and a sharp pain, his eyes welled up with tears and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he willed himself to remain steady. His father hated crying, he said it was a sign of weakness. "Jase! Answer me correctly this time. Did you steal this food?"

"Yes sir," the younger boy replied quietly.

Han could see that his father was about to deal out punishment and called out, "It was my idea! I made him carry the food I stole!"

"Then you can take his punishment," his father said, showing Han the door. The boy gulped and walked out. A yelp of pain could be heard a moment later and their mother hurried out. Han limped back in, and the boys retreated back to their cupboard. They wouldn't be getting dinner that night, even if they had gotten it.

The next morning, Han was the first to wake. He quietly set about getting the fire started and preparing his fathers breakfast. Jase was awake soon after, and Han sent him outside to get firewood. His parents were still asleep when the breakfast was ready, but Jase had not returned yet. Then Han heard a shout and a scuffle. He abandoned the food and rushed outside. Coming around the side of the house, he saw two men trying to grab Jase. Overcome with rage, Han jumped on one of them, screaming "DAD! DAD!" He fell off of the man that he had jumped and hit his head. Everything went dizzy and he barely managed to scramble away. His father ran out of the house, kicking him accidentally, and firing a shot. But the men were already gone. And so was Jase. He looked up and noticed that his father was dressed, and he had mud on his boots, even though it hadn't rained in a week and the ground was dry. Han got a sick feeling, that his father planned it.

His father turned around and picked Han up by his collar. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Han choked. "I sent him out to get firewood like always! He didn't come back, so I came out to check on him."

"Abandoning the food that is now cold!"

"I'm sorry, but those men were trying to grab Jase. So I attacked one of them, fell, and hit my head. I called for you," he was sobbing. His little brother was gone. And according to his father, it was his fault. Everything was his fault.

His father gave him a beating that he would never forget, and he probably would have continued until the boy was unconscious if his mother hadn't rushed out to stop him. Han stumbled away, fighting his body to make it back to the empty cupboard. Something in the back of his mind told him that his father was now beating his mother, but he blacked out before he could act on it.

When he awoke, his house was on fire. Smoke choked the night air. He got up quickly, then remembered his beating, and sat down at the protest of an aching body. He crawled through the kitchen to his parents' bedroom. His father was asleep, but his mother wasn't in bed. He tried to shake his father away, and barely ducked the arm that shot out at him. He tried again, screaming, "Daddy! Daddy!" But the man didn't move.

Han turned away, crawling through the house, trying to find his mother. The house was burning quickly, and he decided to save himself and crawled out of the house. Outside, in the light of the flames, he saw his mother's body lying on the ground. He ran to her and collapsed by her side, coughing. "Momma? Momma?" She didn't move. A hand seized his shoulder and he looked up into his father's face.

"Why didn't you wake me boy?" he said, shaking him. "I could have saved the house!"

"Daddy I tried! I tried, you wouldn't wake up! I tried!" Han pleaded. He tried to shrug off the hand, but it gripped him harder.

"Well you didn't try hard enough now did you?"

"Daddy, why won't momma wake up, why?" his voice was desperate. A tear slid down his cheek.

"Never you mind, is that a tear? Boy you are —" his father was cut off by a neighbor.

"Don't you lay a hand on that boy, Jet!" their burly next door neighbor pulled him away from Han. "Aleeza, take the boy inside." A kind face and soft hand directed him into the next house. Han had a feeling that the neighbor was dealing his father a bit of what his father had dealt him all of his life. The kind woman gave him some water and a bite to eat. Han scarfed it down and sat staring out the window at his burning house. The woman disappeared into another room and Han took the opportunity to disappear himself. Stealing the canteen full of water and some food in a sack, he snuck out a back door and ran off into the night with the solemn promise to never be like his father.

That was one of the few memories Han had of his childhood, and he didn't like to discuss it. All of the other memories were full of screaming, his father's bad temper, and abuse. The night he ran away he had sworn to never become addicted to the drink, to never hurt a woman, to never blame a child.

Now that he was older, he was certain that his mother had taken most of his beatings for him, and he was certain that his father had both arranged for the kidnapping of Jase and killed his mother. He turned back to the swoop bike. Climbing on, he let the anger he felt towards his father well up inside of him. The buzzer sounded, the light turned green, and Han let that anger propel him to another victory for Shrike.