AN: Everyone knows I don't own Star Wars. Anyway, this fic takes place maybe a few months after ANH and contains minor spoilers for the Solo movie, but you need to see Solo now because it's AWESOME.

Well, after forty years of Star Wars lore saying Han never knew his parents, the Solo movie tells us that he remembers his father. I was all, "OMG, WHAT?" when that happened, so lo and behold, this fic was born. I really hope they make another Han movie and I hope it reveals more about Han's childhood.

"Fathers Missed"

By EsmeAmelia

Luke didn't think Father's Day would be celebrated at the Rebel base, but it turned out that quite a few of the Rebels had fathers who had died fighting or were fathers themselves. Leia had given a speech to honor all fathers who had died in the war, including her own father, Bail Organa, and many of the Rebels who were themselves fathers had been showing off holos of their kids.

Eventually Luke found himself awkwardly wandering around the base, imagining what Uncle Owen would think if he were here. During Luke's childhood, this had been Owen's day, when Luke and Beru often took him out to eat at a tiny restaurant owned by a neighbor. Sometimes Biggs and his family would come along too, and there would be presents and laughter.

Luke missed his uncle's big laugh.

Well Uncle Owen, I'm here, Luke thought. I DID follow Ben on some "damn fool idealistic crusade" just like my father did. Are you disappointed or proud?

His father – the Jedi Luke still knew so little about. Hopefully he would be proud of his son now.

Somehow Luke had ended up in the hangar – in front of the Falcon, no less, and it occurred to him that he hadn't seen Han all day. With that also came the realization that he didn't know anything about Han's family. Since he was a smuggler, Han had probably grown up with no parents – he might not have ever even known them, like how Luke never knew his.

Well the ramp was down, which probably meant Han was in there, probably tinkering with the ship's mechanics. Luke made his way up the ramp and into the ship.

To Luke's surprise, Han wasn't fiddling with wires or bolts. Instead, he was seated in the lounge with a bottle sitting on the game table and a shot glass he was constantly refilling. "Hey kid," he said in a low voice.

Luke raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Han, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doin'?" Han slurred. "I'm drinking. Wanna join me?"

"I can see that, but why?"

Han shrugged. "Why not? It's Father's Day, ain't it? People with fathers give their dads presents, people who are fathers get presents from their kids, and people with dead dads drink."

Luke felt his stomach jump. It was the first time Han had mentioned having family of any kind, even obliquely. "So . . ." he said in an awkward manner, ". . . your father's dead?"

"Yeah," Han said, downing another shot of whatever was in the bottle. "Mom too. I was ten."

"I'm . . . I'm sorry."

Han let out a hiccup. "Don't expect you to understand. After all, you never knew your dad, but you get to ido . . . idolize him." He hiccupped again. "Your dad was an awesome Jedi, but mine was a lowly starship builder who lived and died at the bottom of Corellia." He spread his arms out. "Worked long hours buildin' these things for almost no pay, but he never got to fly one." He blew a long sigh out of his mouth as he rested his elbows on the table. "He was always tellin' me and Mom that someday we'd make enough money to buy our own ship and get the hell off of Corellia."

There was a strange look in Han's eyes – a distant look, as if he wasn't in the Falcon but was instead reliving his childhood. "Saved every penny he could spare, which was never much. He and Mom both toiled at their jobs, but we still had barely enough to eat."

Luke suspected that Han wouldn't be telling him this if he weren't drunk.

" 'Things're gonna get better, son,' that's what he was always tellin' me," Han babbled, flicking his fingers against the bottle and making a pinging noise. "And stupid child me actually believed it."

Luke gulped, wondering if he should take away the bottle. "But things did get better for you. I mean, you have a ship now and you got away from Corellia."

"Yeah," Han said crisply. "Better for me. Not for him."

"I'm sorry," Luke repeated, unable to think of anything else to say.

Han cocked his head at the younger man. "Why do people always say that when bad stuff happens? It's like they have to apologize for the bad stuff happen . . . hap . . . happening."

"Well . . . how did your father die?"

Han let out a long sigh. "Well, he didn't get murdered by Darth Vader or anything glamorous like that." He hiccupped again. "Lotta accidents happen at those starship factories. He got caught up in one." He poured and drank another shot as if his body were acting independently of his mind. "And if you think there's any such thing as life insurance in the Corellia slums, you got another thought comin'. Mom's income alone wasn't enough for both of us, but she always insisted I eat even if that meant she got just a bit of food or none at all." His voice softened as he stared down into the shot glass as if he were expecting to see his parents in it. "Probably why she got sick just a few months later and left her ten-year-old kid all alone."

Luke felt frozen in place, simply staring at the drunk man who had poured out his life story in his inebriated state. "Han, I . . . I don't know what to say . . . I had no idea."

Han was about to pour another shot, but Luke quickly grabbed the bottle. "I think you've had enough," he said.

"Oh, so you're my dad now?"

"No, but I don't think your parents would appreciate it if you died of alcohol poisoning."

Han's brow furrowed. "I've survived much stronger stuff than this, kid."

"Maybe," said Luke, "but I still think you've had enough." He yanked the bottle away and screwed the cap back on before Han could grab it back.

For a moment Han gazed longingly at the bottle, but then a slight grin formed on his face. "C'mon, let me show you something."

With that, he rose from his seat and started stumbling towards the cockpit. Luke twisted his mouth, placing the bottle back on the table before following his friend. Whatever Han wanted to show Luke, he was obviously excited about it, so Luke figured that he should humor his friend while he was in this state.

When Luke reached the cockpit, Han was fingering the gold dice that dangled from a chain. "See these, kid?" Han said. "Dad's lucky dice. Sure, it's no lightsaber, but I got a memento of my dad too." He pulled down the chain and let the dice dangle from his fingers. "Dad let me play with 'em sometimes when I was a kid . . . he said he was gonna ha-hang 'em in the cockpit when he got his own sh-ship and they'd bring us all good luck." He was swaying from side to side, but he still kept a firm grip on the dice. "Well he never got that chance, so I hung 'em on my own ship."

Luke smiled at the dice. "I think he would be proud of you."

"Really?" exclaimed Han. "I don't know of too many people who are proud when their kids become crim . . . criminals."

Luke's stomach jumped slightly. He'd never heard Han refer to himself as a criminal before. Smuggler sounded like an occupation, but not criminal.

"Well . . ." Luke said awkwardly, "technically, we're all criminals here, fighting against the standing government. And . . . I think he'd be proud of you fighting for the underprivileged – that includes the underprivileged on Corellia too."

"Corellia . . ." Again Han got that faraway look in his eyes. "Corellia's a hellhole, kid. It was a hellhole when the Republic existed and it's a hellhole when the Empire exists. What makes you th-think it won't still be a hellhole if we win the war – and that's a big if?"

Luke swallowed. "I don't know for sure, but we're working to bring hope to the galaxy."

"Hope." Han snorted. "Lotta good hope did my dad."

"Well he gave you hope, didn't he? You got off of Corellia and got your own ship and now you have a cause to fight for. You even have friends fighting by your side. Now I'd say that's worth being proud of."

Han didn't answer; instead he kept fingering the dice with one hand and gripping a seat for support with the other. His eyes seemed to have a reddish tint to them as he stared down at the dice, or maybe they just appeared that way since his face was so flushed.

Suddenly the smuggler's feet slid out from under him, but Luke managed to wrap his arms around his friend's body before he could hit the floor. "Han, I think you could use a nap," Luke said.

Han let out a loud, drunk chuckle. "You really are my dad, ain't ya?"

"No," Luke said firmly. "I'm just your friend who cares about you." He nudged Han in the direction of the captain's quarters. "Come on, let's get you to bed before Leia sees you like this."

"Leia . . ." Suddenly Han was grinning. "What'd Dad say if he knew his son had a princess for a girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?" Luke hoped Han was too drunk to notice him blush. "Han, come on, don't get carried away."

"Okay, she ain't my girlfriend now, but she could be someday. I think she likes me."

Luke grunted as he led the wobbling smuggler towards his quarters. "Really? Usually she yells at you."

"All the more reason to ki . . . ki . . . kiss and make up. Yeah, kiss and make up."

Han's body was starting to feel like a weight on Luke's shoulder. "Come on Han, I think your dad would want you to sleep off the alcohol too."

By the time they reached Han's quarters, Luke was practically dragging his friend across the floor. Han giggled as he slid off of Luke's shoulder and onto the bed, though Luke wasn't sure what was so funny.

"Do you mind telling me what's so funny?" Luke asked as he sat on the edge of the bed and started removing Han's boots.

"Oh, just thinkin'," said Han. "If I showed Dad the Falcon he'd probably challenge me to sabacc so he could win it for himself."

Luke tossed Han's boots on the floor and rotated his aching shoulder. "Yeah, maybe he would."

"Not that he'd win it though," babbled Han. "IIIIIII've got the lucky dice now."

"I don't think that's how luck works."

Han stretched his arms over his head, sighing as he sank into the pillow. "You know kid, I think Dad would like you."

"What?"

"Yeah," Han replied with a content smile, his eyelids drooping. "He'd say I needed someone to kick me in the butt . . . when things go wrong . . . someone to set me on the right path, ya know? . . . someone like you . . ." With that, his words dissolved into a snore.

Luke knew he should leave, but he felt unable to do so. Would Han remember this when he woke up? If not, should Luke tell him that he knew about his parents? What was the general protocol after friends got drunk and blabbed their pasts that they kept locked up when sober?

He glanced at Han's hand resting on the pillow and realized that he was still holding the dice, the gold chain peeking out between his fingers. Luke found himself squeezing his father's lightsaber, which always dangled from his belt. What would his own father think of Han? Maybe a Jedi wouldn't approve of his son being friends with a criminal, as Han had so aptly called himself. But then again, a Jedi should be able to see past Han's rough exterior into his caring heart, right?

Maybe somewhere in the afterlife both their fathers were friends.

"Sleep well, Han," Luke said, patting his friend's side. "I hope you don't have too big a headache when you wake up." He slowly rose from the bed. "And I hope you remember that you told me about your parents. Next time you're missing them, maybe you could come talk to me before you start drinking?"

He slowly made his way out of the cabin, but before he left, he turned to look at his sleeping friend once more.

"Happy Father's Day, Han."

THE END