"Kid, you're just not concentrating."

Needles was five years older than Han. He was tall, his voice had deepened, and his body was starting to broaden out. Han had no idea why Needles spent time with him, but he did, and he'd taught Han everything he knew.

From Needles' point of view, Han had buckets of talent and more spunk than he knew what to do with. He'd make an excellent thief one day. Maybe even a smuggler or a spice runner. He'd be a pirate of some kind, Needles knew. It was the best path for a kid from Coronet's slums.

"I am!" Han snapped, slumping back in the seat of the stolen speeder.

"You're not. What is it?" The older boy asked. "I thought you wanted to fly."

"I do," he said seriously, fidgeting in his seat before reaching for the controls again.

Needles sighed. "I'll get you flying, kid. But you've got to concentrate. Is it your Ma?"

Han sniffed and picked at some paint peeling from the dashboard. "She's real bad, Needles."

The older boy nodded. He'd watched his own parents both succumb to the same form of Corellian Fever he was sure Han's mother must have. It was a slow killer, often lasting months before finally worsening right at the end. "If she's getting worse then it won't be long before it's over," Needles said, trying to sound gentle.

Han glared at him and climbed out of the speeder. "How can you say that?"

"Well… It'll be better when she's not hurting anymore, right?"

The small boy bit his lip. "I… I don't want it to be over."

"But one day soon it will be, kid. She's not gonna get better."

Han clenched his jaw and rubbed his face with a grimy hand. He stood silently for a few moments before nodding determinedly and climbing back into the speeder. "Show it to me again."

In a week, Han had mastered hot-wiring a locked and powered down speeder and could race around the streets and back alleys of their slum with more finesse and accuracy than Needles had ever seen in anyone who wasn't himself. Han spent every spare minute he had tinkering with the engine, or fiddling with the controls, or practising manoeuvres while Needles watched, occasionally giving him pointers, but mostly being awed by the small boy's tenacity.

"You're a fair pilot, kid," Needles said one afternoon while they relaxed on the hood of his speeder, the metal still warm from Han racing around in it all day.

Han smiled to himself, rubbing at the scab on his elbow. "How much does a ship cost?" He asked. "A proper one. Like a freighter," he said.

Needles shrugged. "I dunno. Do you think I'd still be sittin' here if I could buy my own ship?"

Han shrugged back. "I'm gonna get my family outta here someday," he said, almost to himself.

Needles gave him a tight smile. "Sure thing, kid," he said, trying to sound convincing. "How's your Ma?"

"Bad," Han said. "She's asleep most of the time now."

The older boy nodded and slipped down from the hood of the speeder, reaching into his pocket and pulling two gold dice from it. "You ever played Corellian Spike?"

Han shook his head. "I've seen people play it. But I don't have my own dice," he said.

"Well these are my lucky ones, so you can't have 'em. But you can use 'em today," Needles smirked. "They were my Dad's," he said, sitting on the ground and pulling a Sabacc deck from one of the pockets on his vest. "Here, I'll teach you."

Han sat across from him. "They're real nice," he said, still eyeing the dice.

"Yeah, well. I guess if anything ever happens to me, you can have 'em. Now listen, and don't start arguing with me about the rules 'till I'm done explaining 'em. You can make good money playing Sabacc. But you gotta know what you're doin'."

Han nodded confidently. "I always know what I'm doin'."

With his vest gone, Han was missing his only real layer of protection against Corellia's Winter rains, as well as most of his pockets. He carefully slid their ration tickets into his trouser pocket alongside a handful of credits and some scrap metal to play with while he waited in line, pulled on his socks and boots and went into his mother's room to make sure she didn't need anything before he left.

"Ma?" He called quietly from the doorway, hoping he hadn't woken her up. "It's collection day, so I'll be out a while. Do you need water or somethin' before I go?"

Jaina gave him a tight smile. "Maybe some water, love. And… Any more of that medicine?"

Han nodded and gave her a small smile. He still had her medication stuffed in his trouser pocket. He'd been afraid his father would take it. He carefully got two pills out and grabbed the mostly empty water packet from beside the bed. "There's only a little," he said, helping her lift her head to take the pills and finish off the water. When she was done, he leaned over to gently kiss her forehead. "See you soon, Ma."

On his way out the door, Han quickly checked the tickets again, counting them out to make sure he had them all. Satisfied, he made his way downstairs and out into the rain.

He trudged through the puddles on his way over to the Support Centre, stopping in his tracks when he saw Needles huddled under a shop's awning. "Hey!" Han called, carelessly crossing the street to him. "It's ration day, Needles. Did you forget?"

Needles clenched his jaw as he looked up at him. He shook his head. "Can't miss it, can ya?" He said bitterly, gesturing with his chin at the miserable hordes of poverty-stricken Corellians passing them.

Han cocked his head to one side. "Well… Let's go. I need help readin' my tickets."

The older boy looked up into Han's earnest hazel eyes and sighed, holding his hand out. "Give 'em here, I'll tell you what they say."

Han carefully passed the tickets over and sat on the ground beside his friend. "Don't you have any?" He asked softly.

Needles shook his head, squinting at the tickets in his hands. "They won't let you collect 'em anymore if you don't have a place of residence," he explained, tracing the words on the tickets with his finger.

"What's a 'place of red-res-redsidence'?" Han asked, fiddling with his sleeves.

"Somewhere to live, kid. You know. A house or somethin'."

"Oh," Han frowned. "But… If someone doesn't even have a house to sleep in… don't they need more help?"

"I don't make the rules, flyboy. Here," he said, passing the tickets back. "You've got a week of meals for two adults and you've got three day's worth of water."

Han sighed and slid the tickets back into his pocket. "Come on then," he said, standing up and offering Needles his hand.

Needles frowned at him. "Come where? Didn't you hear me? I don't have any-".

"Yeah, yeah," Han cut him off. "I can share. Ma doesn't eat hardly anything and if we run out I can lift somethin'."

Needles thought for a moment before taking Han's hand and standing up. "You're gonna get yourself killed bein' such a damn good guy all the time, Han."

"Listen, scrumrat, 'cause this is the last time I'm gonna tell it to you. We're done giving out water rations. I ain't never seen so much rain as there is in this city. Go outside with a bucket and catch some if you're so thirsty."

"You're not listening," Han snapped, his hands on his hips, staring up at the official that was supposed to be his caseworker. His stunted, malnourished form would have looked funny, glaring at the man towering over him, if his small face hadn't been so fierce . "The rain's no good. It makes us sick. And my Ma's already sick enough. We need clean water!"

"Get him outta here," the officer grumbled, already moving on to whoever the poor soul was behind Han in the line.

An enforcer grabbed Han around the middle and lifted him off the ground.

"No!" Han yelled, wriggling violently, kicking with both his feet until he finally landed one in a gap in the enforcer's armour. He dropped Han and called another enforcer over for help. "Stop! I didn't get my food. I'll stop yellin' about the water, I still need my food. He took my tickets!" He yelled, pointing at the officer as a second enforcer reached them and grabbed him under the arm.

"Time to go, little man."

"No no no!" Han shouted, squirming as the other enforcer grabbed him as well, holding him so tightly it hurt. "Please!" He yelled, starting to cry. "I just need our food. That's all! My Ma's sick and she's…"

"Shut your mouth, kid, or we'll shut it for you," one of the enforcers grumbled, backhanding him across the face.

Han whimpered as they dumped him outside the front doors to the Support Centre, beside a growing queue of impoverished Corellians, clutching their own tickets tightly. His knees hit the ground hard and he didn't move when he felt Needles' hand on his shoulder.

"What happened, kid?"

Han quickly wiped his face and rubbed his nose, trying not to start crying again. "They took everything. I… They wouldn't give me water. My Ma needs clean water, Needles," he sniffled.

Needles shot a glare at the enforcer by the door, then looked back at Han with a frown. "Did they hit you, Han? Your nose is bleeding."

"It's fine," Han frowned, rubbing aggressively at his nose, smearing blood across his face. "I'm sorry I don't have anything for you."

He shrugged. "Don't worry about it, kid. Let's go home by the market, see if we can snag something," he suggested, holding his hand out to help Han up.

Han stared at his hand for a moment before reaching up and taking it, allowing Needles to help him to his feet.

Needles wrapped an affectionate arm around his shoulders. "You're gonna be okay, kid."

With the last of their water rations gone, Han doubted his Ma would make it through the night. The fever made her sweat and that made her thirsty. But at this time of day, his options were limited, and it was best if he was home before nightfall. He and Needles had managed to snatch a handful of meal portions each at the market, but clean water was much harder to come by.

He slipped down the alleyway that ran between his building and the next, sticking to the alcoves and shadows as much as he could. He quickly found a store that was still open and peered through the door. He had three credits left in his pocket. He'd been saving them in case he needed to buy more medicine, but they'd run out of water first. After some deliberation, he stepped into the shop. He'd barely taken two steps inside when someone grabbed him from behind and spun him around.

"Gotcha. Little rat," the man said, holding his collar tightly.

Han scowled at him but didn't bother to fight the tight hold he had on him.

"Stealing from me again?"

Han clenched his jaw. "Search me if you want."

The man gave him a slimy smile. "I caught you just before you started, huh?"

"I just need some water. I have money."

"That so?"

Han nodded. "Just two bottles."

"Show me your money first. We don't take counterfeit credits here, boy."

"They're real," Han said, pulling the chips from his pocket and holding them out.

The man snatched them from him and pocketed them, before lifting him up by the back of his shirt and carrying him out onto the street, kicking and yelling.

"Hey! Let go! That's not fair! Those are mine!" Han yelled until the man threw him out onto the pavement. He lay still for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Slowly, he pushed himself up on his elbows and stood up, his knees throbbing from where they'd hit the ground today already. He sent a glare back at the shopkeeper before brushing his trousers clean as best he could and making his way back into the alleyway.

He sat in a doorway, pulling his knees to his chest while he waited. He only needed to wait long enough for the shopkeeper to think he was really gone, then his guard would be down. Han hummed softly to himself, picking at a scab on his finger he'd got burning himself while trying to hot-wire a speeder. It was cold, and it was starting to rain. His little alcove provided scant shelter, and without his vest, his thin shirt soaked through in minutes.

When he couldn't wait any longer, Han stood up and made his way back out into the main street. He imagined the layout of the shop, thought about exactly where they kept the water, and ran for it. He was in and out of the store, two bottles of water in his arms, before he'd really realised he'd done it. But he stopped in his tracks when he made it out onto the footpath. Two enforcers, blaster rifles in their hands, blocked his way.

"Where're you going with those?" One of them asked, his voice slightly mechanical through the helmet.

"Home," Han said quietly, clutching the bottles tighter.

"Did you pay for those?"

Han nodded. "Three credits."

"And where does street slime like you get three credits from?"

Han was shivering, from cold or fear he wasn't sure. Maybe both.

"What's goin' on?" The shopkeeper's voice sounded behind him and Han could have cried. He had no hope now. He didn't know what the enforcers would do to him but it wouldn't be good. And nobody would be left to look after his mother.

"Caught this one stealing from your store, sir," one of the enforcers said proudly, grabbing Han's elbow.

Han watched the decision travel across the man's face. "He didn't steal those," he said slowly. "He paid for 'em. Three credits. You're terrorising him for no reason. Look at the kid, he's half-starved."

The enforcer let go of Han. "Guess it was a mistake," he said, jabbing Han in the back with his blaster. "But you watch yourself."

Han stood frozen in place as the enforcers stalked across the street. "Uh…" he said to the man, his voice trembling as much as the rest of him.

"Forget it, kid. We're all just doin' our best, huh? But I better not see you 'round here again. Hear me?"

Han nodded vigorously. "Thanks," he managed to say before turning and running.

He ran the whole way home. The rain got harder and harder, and by the time he reached their building, he was soaked to the skin and shivering violently. He hurried up the stairs again and slid their front door open, pulling his shoes off and hurrying into the bedroom, dripping all over the floor.

"Here, Ma," he said, making his way to her side and reaching a damp hand out to wake her. "Sorry it took so long. I ran into some trouble. But I handled it just fine," he said, taking the lid off the top of the bottle for her. "Ma?" He asked, looking at her properly.

Jaina wasn't moving. Her chest, which normally rose and fell shakily with painful breaths, was completely still. Her skin was pale, the feverish flush that normally sat on her cheeks gone.

"Ma," Han whimpered, dropping the water bottles on the floor, precious water spilling over his already-wet feet. He climbed up onto the bed, shaking her shoulders. "Ma, can you… Can you wake up? Please?" He said desperately, tears starting to run down his cheeks. "Mama, I don't wanna be on my own," he whispered, laying down beside her body and curling close while he cried.

Han gasped and jumped when he heard their front door slide open, and he climbed off the bed, trembling as he scrubbed the tears from his face. "Dad?" He asked, stepping out into the hallway where his father was toeing off his shoes. "Dad," he sighed, for once relieved to see his father. "Ma needs help."

Jonash grunted and peered into the bedroom, frowning deeply when he saw Jaina. He hurried to her side and placed one hand on her chest and the other gently under her chin. "She's gone," he said softly, looking into her face. He carefully brushed her hair back from her face and leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Why're you still here?" He asked quietly, turning to look at Han.

The small boy frowned. "I…"

"Get outta here," Jonash snapped.

Han nodded. "I'll just be... on my bed," he whispered.

"No," Jonash said firmly. "Get outta here. I don't wanna see you again. She was the only thing keepin' you here."

Han frowned, tilting his head to one side. "I... You're my Dad."

"Not any more," he grunted.

Han stared at him, looking completely stricken. "I n-need to... get my stuff," he stammered, biting hard on his lower lip.

"What stuff?" Jonash demanded, grabbing Han's shoulder.

Han trembled and did his best to meet Jonash's eye. "Um… My blanket," he said softly. "My clothes."

Jonash grunted. "You take your clothes. Everythin' else is mine.

Han nodded, blinking rapidly before scampering into the living room and grabbing the small rucksack he sometimes carried, quickly stuffing his clothes into it. He looked over his shoulder and when he didn't see Jonash in the room, carefully pulled his star chart from the wall, folding it and starting to tuck it into his bag.

"I said everythin' else is mine," Jonash growled slowly as he made his way down the hall. "Including your little map, flyboy."

"It's mine," Han said defiantly, holding the piece of flimsi to his chest.

Jonash shook his head. "It ain't. Hand it over," he snapped, making his way quickly over to Han and holding his hand out.

Han shook his head, refusing to let go, even when his father grabbed him around the middle. "Let go!" He shouted, kicking at him until he managed to land his foot in Jonash's stomach.

His father dropped him and Han crawled away, his star chart still clutched in one hand. Han looked up at him. The huge man loomed over his son, his fists clenched, the right corner of his mouth twitching as he glared at Han. "You don't kick me, boy," he said quietly, grabbing the front of Han's shirt and pulling him up to stand in front of him. "Say you're sorry."

"You grabbed me, Dad," Han said angrily, trying to stuff the star chart in his pocket.

Jonash slapped him, Han's head whipping to one side with the impact. He winced, his eyes filling with tears. "Say you're sorry," Jonash repeated.

"I'm sorry," Han whimpered, struggling to pull away from him. "Let me go, Dad."

"Give me the chart."

Han glared at him. "It's mine," he said fiercely, still fighting as Jonash grabbed one corner of the flimsi, giving it a firm tug and ripping most of it from Han's hand. The small boy still had a small corner clutched in his fingers, and he tucked this into his pocket while his father moved away from him in triumph.

Han bit his lip and glanced over at the loose wall panel by his bed.

"What're you lookin' at, huh?" His father said, pushing him out of the way and kneeling on the bed.

Han stood frozen on the spot as Jonash jimmied the panel free and uncovered Han's stash.

"You been stealin' from me?" He demanded, looking through the credits and ration packs Han had hidden there.

"No," Han said quickly, shaking his head. "I… I earned it and I put it there for when we need it. It's for us. I didn't steal."

"Don't lie," Jonash snarled, standing up and going back over to the boy. Han started backing away, looking for where he'd set his rucksack. "And you look at me when I'm talkin' to you."

Han looked up at him, trying hard to stop his body from shaking. But he was cold and afraid and his Ma was gone and his father had hit him. Jonash often shouted and sometimes he took Han's food portions, and he was cranky, but he'd never hit him before.

"Sorry," Han said quietly.

"What sorta kid steals from his own father, huh?"

"I didn't steal, Dad. I didn't," Han said emphatically.

Jonash curled one hand into a fist and Han winced, shutting his eyes. When he opened them again, Jonash was pointing a finger at him. "I told you not to lie to me."

This was not the first time, and far from the last time that Han's stubbornness won out over his survival instincts. He squared his shoulders to make himself feel a little bigger and stared into his father's eyes. "I didn't steal from you," he said firmly, starting to get worked up, his face burning from where Jonash had hit him. "I earned it and I hid it so you wouldn't throw it away at the cantina! You could have saved her, but you played cards and drank instead! And now she's gone !" He yelled, regretting it as soon as his father grabbed the front of his shirt again and lifted him off his feet.

"Get out of my house," Jonash said through gritted teeth, throwing his son's body vaguely in the direction of the door. His aim was off, and Han flew straight into the corner of the wall. He crumpled to the floor, his face smarting, tears sliding down his cheeks. He quickly grabbed his rucksack from where it lay, thankfully only a metre or two away, and ran from the apartment, grabbing his shoes but not taking the time to slip them on yet.

Han ran down the stairs, pushing past a group of teenagers trying to sell deathsticks, and didn't stop running until he was a few blocks away. He leant against a wall to catch his breath and gingerly pressed a hand to his chin where it still ached. His small hand came away wet with blood, and he made his way over to a relatively reflective shop window to assess the damage.

He wiped the blood away with his sleeve until he could see the deep, lopsided cut travelling across his chin. He frowned at his reflection, tilting his head this way and that before deciding he'd better get used to it. Without bacta or a re-gen patch it would definitely scar. He tugged his shoes on and slung his backpack onto his back, swiping at his eyes when he felt them starting to burn with new tears.

It didn't take him long to find Needles, huddled undercover outside the marketplace. The roller-doors were all pulled down and locked, and piles of Coronet City's homeless gathered around makeshift fires and cobbled together meals.

Needles sat cross-legged in a circle of other street kids, many of whom Han already knew, clutching a hand of cards and casually toying with his gold dice. "Han?" he frowned, starting to stand up before Han gave him a tight smile.

"Finish your hand," he said softly, sitting on the ground near the group, wiping fresh blood from his chin. He sat his bag carefully on the ground and tugged it open, taking stock of what he'd managed to hang onto. As he did, his vision swam slightly and he swayed where he sat. Sidling a little closer to the group of children he curled up on the ground, clutching his bag to his chest as he fell asleep.