Fic: Genesis (Star Trek)
Guinan loves beginnings.
She’s lived for a long time, and her memory stretches across the years. Every moment is cherished, held and remembered, like a relic from the past that she can hold in her palm, tracing her fingers over the curves and dips, grief and joy, pain and love. But out of all of it, everything she bears with the weight of her years, the beginnings are her favorite.
- - - -
She’s new. Guinan has never seen her before - just assigned to the Enterprise? She stands out in a crowd. An outcast, alone at a table, but by the hunch of her shoulders, she doesn’t want any company.
There’s something very compelling about her, though; she has intense eyes, dark hair. Bajoran, by the nose ridges. Ensign, by the collar pips.
“Hey, Guinan,” says Geordi la Forge, seating himself across from her.
She smiles, in greeting. “What’ll it be?”
“Got anything special?” he asks.
“I just might.” Guinan cocks her head. “Depends. Are you feeling adventurous?”
He shrugs, palms outwards. “Hit me, Guinan.”
A wry grin twists the corner of her mouth. “You asked for it.”
When he’s already taken the first few cautious sips, Guinan leans forward. “What can you tell me about her?” she asks, indicating the mysterious woman with a nod of her head.
Geordi doesn’t even have to look. “You mean Ensign Ro,” he sighs.
“Sounds like there’s a story behind that,” Guinan prompts, and Geordi doesn’t need any more than that. He launches into it, a scornful story of disobeyed orders and deaths. Eight deaths, on her conscience.
Guinan weighs the story against what she’s seen of the woman, and decides it’s too interesting to pass up.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” says Geordi, finally. “If I ever find myself on an away mission with Ensign Ro, I’ll never turn my back on her.”
“The captain obviously thought she’d be valuable on this mission,” murmurs Guinan, thoughtfully.
Geordi shakes his head. “This was orders. Had to be. She doesn’t belong her.” His mouth twists. “Doesn’t belong in the uniform, if you ask me.”
“Really.” Guinan’s voice is even.
“Really,” emphasizes Geordi.
Guinan shrugs. “Sounds like someone I’d like to meet.”
Beginnings. Guinan loves beginnings.
- - - -
“Am I disturbing you?” Guinan asks, sliding into the seat across from Ro Laren.
“Yes,” returns Ro. She’s immediately ready, Guinan notes, to be prickly and unfriendly. To drive anyone away who shows the slightest overture of friendliness. Doesn’t care about social conventions, then. Well, that’s fine; Guinan doesn’t terribly enjoy them either.
“Good,” proclaims Guinan, seating herself more firmly. “You look like someone who wants to be disturbed.”
Ro grits her jaw. “I’d rather be alone.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
Oh, Guinan enjoys this, the thrill of the chase. There’s a woman there, behind the prickles and thorns, and Guinan will find her, because that’s what Guinan does.
“I beg your pardon?” Ro is startled, surprised that someone would come out and meet her, parry for parry.
Guinan lets a smile cross her features. Now to go in for the kill - “If you’d wanted to be alone, you would’ve stayed in your quarters,” says Guinan. “Only reason to come here is to be around people.”
That hits Ro; Guinan can see it. It makes an impression. Ro glances away. “There’s always the view,” she jests, softly.
“You’ve been looking at your drink all night,” says Guinan. “How’s the view?”
Ro shakes her head, just a little, and she raises her eyes to meet Guinan’s. “Who are you?” she asks.
“Guinan,” says Guinan. “I keep the bar. I listen.”
“Heard anything interesting?”
Yes. “Everyone’s talking about you.”
Ro half-laughs, bitterly. “Heard anything interesting?” she repeats.
“Uh-huh,” says Guinan. It was all interesting.
“It’s all true,” says Ro, quiet, looking away again.
This, this is a lot more interesting. “I’ve always found that truth is in the eye of the beholder,” Guinan tells her. In other words, there’s almost certainly another side to the story, and Guinan wants to hear it.
Some with long lives like Guinan’s shut down, step away from the world. They believe they’ve seen it all, that every story is just a reiteration of something told before. They don’t see how there can be anything new in the universe. Guinan knows better, because newness, interest - they’re all in how you perceive them.
“Isn’t that supposed to be ‘beauty’?” asks Ro.
“Truth, beauty.” Guinan waves the words away, with the back of her hand. “Works for a lot of things.”
Ro smiles, for half a second, and it makes something loosen in Guinan’s chest. Beauty. If beauty is where you see it, then for Guinan it’s right here, in the eyes and the hands of a young woman named Ro Laren.
“They say you never told the truth about Galon Two.” Guinan leans forward, a little. Time to press further. “You didn’t even defend yourself at the court martial.”
Ro’s expression shifts. “What was to defend?” Her tone is falsely light. “I didn’t follow orders. Eight members of the away team died.”
“Your fault,” states Guinan, evenly.
“My fault,” echoes Ro, but the words sound heavier from her throat.
“So you sit alone,” says Guinan, “in crowded rooms, staring at your drink.”
Ro doesn’t look at her.
“You kind of enjoy it, don’t you?”
“Enjoy it?” Ro scoffs.
“You go out of your way to torture yourself,” returns Guinan. “You work so hard at it, you’ve gotta love it.”
Ro takes a breath, lets it out. “Who are you?”
“Guinan,” Guinan repeats. “I tend the bar. I listen.”
Ro pauses for a moment. “You’re not like any bartender I’ve ever met.”
“You’re not like any Starfleet officer I’ve ever met,” Guinan shoots back. “This might be the start of an interesting friendship.”
That’s enough; it’s enough, for now. Any further, and Guinan will have pushed too far, and Ro will recoil, move away from her. Just enough to give Ro a sense of mystery, a hint that there’s something more to explore.
“I never stay anywhere long enough to make friends,” says Ro.
“Too late,” says Guinan. “You just made one.”
- - - -
It’s days later when Guinan catches the gossip, free-floating like dust motes within the social continuum of the ship.
“…restricted to quarters…”
“…unauthorized transport, I heard…”
Guinan smiles to herself. She’s not surprised.
- - - -
When she stops outside Ro’s door, it’s with the expectation that it might take a while for Ro to let her in. But Guinan is patient. She has all the time that she needs. She touches the door chime, gives it a moment. Touches it again. Again.
“What?” comes, snapped, from the intercom.
Guinan touches the door release and steps inside. “Heard you’d been grounded,” she greets.
“I really don’t feel like talking right now,” Ro dismisses.
“Sure you do,” Guinan grins, moving over towards her.
Ro sits up. “How come every time I tell you something you tell me I mean the exact opposite?”
“You’re one of those people who’s got their poles reversed,” Guinan explains, letting the hint of humor dance around her tone. “You take a little unscrambling,” she continues, “but I’ve had a lot of practice.” She eases herself down, closer to Ro. “So, what do you feel like talking about?”
It’s not going to be that easy, Guinan thinks; no, that wasn’t quite enough.
“Nothing you can help me with,” says Ro, looking away.
Just a little more, then. “Never know until you try,” Guinan prompts, gently.
“I got myself into this.” Ro’s voice is tight. “I’m just trying to figure a way out, that’s all.”
Guinan waits.
“Without anyone getting killed this time,” she says, a lot softer.
Guinan listens, because she knows how to project the aura, the one that makes people want to share their souls. Sharing makes the pain duller; it makes the joy brighter. And Guinan doesn’t mind; she loves this, loves knowing that she helps the world in small ways, that every time someone speaks to her they leave a little more at peace with themselves.
“Seems like everybody’s always just pulling my strings,” and her voice is broken. “I’ve got no control.”
“For people like you and me,” murmurs Guinan, “people who lose their homes, that’s how life feels sometimes.”
“You?” Ro questions.
“My people lost their homeworld too,” Guinan tells her, not elaborating, just stating.
Ro breathes, shuddery, and Guinan feels the connection pull tight between them. And once an El Aurian forms a connection, there’s nothing in the universe that can break it.
“There’s more going on here than anyone on this ship knows,” Ro confesses. “It’s more than I know how to deal with. And I don’t know who to trust.”
“Including yourself.”
“Especially myself.”
And Guinan knows exactly what to do. “I was in serious trouble once,” she tells, in turn. “More than I could handle alone.”
“What kind of trouble?” Ro asks, a new lilt in her voice.
“Not important now,” Guinan dismisses. “Not yet. What is important is that I’d still be caught up in it to this day, if I hadn’t trusted one man.”
From there, it’s easy.
- - - -
Guinan doesn’t see Ro for days. At first, she doesn’t give much thought to it. If she doesn’t see Ro again, then she doesn’t; it won’t change the bond that formed between them. One day, Guinan is sure, they will meet again, but Guinan doesn’t see how she has to be picky about the exact date.
When she hears, though, that Ro Laren accepted Picard’s offer of a permanent place on the ship, her chest swells, and she’s proud, so very proud, of both of them. Her friends.
And she does wonder why Ro doesn’t stop by Ten Forward. Though, she won’t push it. She gets the feeling that’s not what Ro needs.
- - - -
“Hey.”
Guinan turns to see Ensign Ro Laren, elbows on the bartop, hands clasped beneath her chin.
“Hey,” Guinan greets, in return. “What brings you here?” though the question she wants to ask is why Ro didn’t come here earlier.
Though, really, Guinan shouldn’t need to ask. She should already know how scared Ro Laren is of having friends.
“Well, I felt like I wanted to be alone,” says Ro.
Guinan glances up, and realizes that Ro is jesting with her, a wry deadpan, and Guinan lets her features soften. “Very funny,” she says. “I suppose you don’t feel thirsty either.”
“Not in the slightest,” confirms Ro. “Synthale, please.”
“Coming right up,” Guinan tells her.
When she gets the synthale, Ro looks awkward, suddenly, and cradles the glass in her hands like she doesn’t know what to do with it.
“How’s the new post been working out for you?” Guinan prompts. Ro wants to talk, she does, but she’s still not ready to start on her own.
Ro shrugs. “Better than prison,” she says.
“How much better?”
Ro tosses back a little of the synthale, and she looks down. “I owe you a huge debt, Guinan,” she says, in a rush of words, “and I have no idea how to repay it.”
Guinan slides her hand over Ro’s on the bartop.
“You don’t owe me anything but friendship, Ro Laren,” says Guinan. “And you telling me that, right there, makes anything I do for you worthwhile. Understand?”
Ro shakes her head. “I don’t,” she says, “but that’s okay, I think.”
Guinan felt the bond between them deepen, and she let Ro Laren say as much as she needed to before excusing herself to get some sleep, before the next duty shift.
It’s a beginning, Guinan thinks, and she smiles.
- - - -
It becomes a semi-regular thing after that; Ro Laren stops by at least once a week, and she tells Guinan a few things about the job, the latest challenges. She always stops short, though, of speaking of her childhood, of the Cardassians and Bajor and why she continues to wear her Bajoran earring, but on the wrong ear.
The right actions; the wrong words, and Guinan worries about it. But she’s patient; she can’t save everyone, and eventually Ro Laren will come to her and speak, when she needs help.
- - - -
And then it’s too late.
Jean-Luc tells her personally, but his words blur in her mind, in her memory. “Ensign Ro Laren is dead,” he might have said, or “I’m sorry, Guinan,” and maybe she made the connection on her own. She doesn’t remember.
She does remember, though, that it seems a lot harder to grip a glass without it slipping through her fingers, and that she doesn’t smile for the rest of the day.
In her quarters, that night, she imagines that she feels Ro near her, that the connection isn’t broken, just twisted, stretched. Guinan imagines that Ro Laren is still alive, and is apologizing to her for something inaudible, something that doesn’t matter anyway.
Guinan doesn’t sleep that night.
- - - -
The reception is her idea, the idea of a party, a happy occasion, so they can remember the contribution of Geordi la Forge and Ro Laren to this ship. When Guinan looks out at the attendees, smiling and laughing, she feels the catharsis in the room and she wishes - she wishes, and she’s not even really sure what she’s wishing for.
The words carry to Guinan’s ears, all the way across the room - “Data to Chief Brossmer. Set the anoynic beam to its highest level and flood Ten Forward.”
A flare rises inside Guinan’s chest, and her hands clench shut, and she watches as Ro Laren and Geordi la Forge appear in the center of Ten Forward. Her throat clenches, and she feels the bonds flaring bright again.
Ro Laren catches Guinan’s eyes, and Ro smiles, breaking across her face like sunrise in a wintery desert.
Guinan holds back and waits; after Ro and Geordi have answered the shocked questions, endured the exclamations of amazement, Ro slides into a seat at the bar with Guinan. “I’ll have something not synthetic, if you don’t mind,” says Ro.
“Coming right up,” says Guinan
Ro takes the drink without speaking, and she avoids Guinan’s look.
Guinan doesn’t press - Ro is in shock, and she needs a little time to come to terms with what has happened to her. They don’t speak any more that evening.
- - - -
Later, in the darkness of Guinan’s quarters, the chime rings.
“Enter,” and Guinan’s clear voice echoes inside the room.
It’s Ro Laren who steps inside, biting her lip, her eyes red. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you,” she apologizes, straight-off, and Guinan waves it away.
“You say what you have to, Laren.” She pats the bed next to her, and Ro sits, hesitant, barely perching on the edge of the mattress.
There’s a silence, broken only by the distant hum of the ship’s engines.
“I thought I was dead,” and Ro’s voice breaks. “I thought I had to say goodbye to everything I knew, and I did, Guinan-”
“Ssh.” Guinan pulls Ro into an embrace, and Ro buries her head in Guinan’s shoulder. She’s not crying, her shoulders aren’t shaking, but she needs the comfort.
Ro is so torn apart…she isn’t at peace with herself. There’s no way she could be. Guinan found her peace a long time ago, but Ro, Ro doesn’t have enough time. And it’s those, the ones who have such short lives to live, who need peace the most.
- - - -
And yet, that Ro Laren, the one who visited Guinan in her quarters and then slipped away - she didn’t appear again. The visits settled into a new routine, a slightly sparser one, and Ro Laren spent more of her time interacting with others of the crew.
Guinan looks on, and she approves - this is usually the triumphant step for her, when those who desperately wanted friends, wanted emotional contact, got it. It was when they stopped needing Guinan, though they never stopped being her friends. But with Ro - Guinan just got the disturbing feeling that it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that Ro is pulling away from her. Guinan hasn’t done anything wrong.
When Guinan realizes that, it doesn’t take long for the inevitable conclusion to follow.
“Are you all right, Guinan?” Jean-Luc asks her, once.
“I’m just fine, Jean-Luc,” she returns, with a smile that probably doesn’t even seem forced, because she’s just realized that she’s in love with Ensign Ro Laren.
- - - -
Guinan fights the urge to laugh.
Her feet haven’t dangled this far off the floor in a very, very long time. The entire world feels huge, and her usual El Aurian style outfit feels just ridiculous. It’s liberating, somehow.
Some kind of transporter accident - it didn’t leave her dead, maimed, disfigured, or dying. It just left her a kid again.
She glances over to Ro Laren, who’s also been turned into a child, and a smile quirks her mouth.
“What?” Ro snaps.
“You know,” says Guinan, “you make a pretty cute kid.”
Ro rolls her eyes. “Great. Just what I want to be - cute.”
Guinan raises her eyebrows. “Were you this much fun when you were a kid?”
Ro messes with her uniform, which just doesn’t seem to fit right. “I was in a refugee camp,” Ro shoots back. “Fun wasn’t exactly in my vocabulary.”
“What about now?” Guinan probes. “You’re not in that camp anymore.”
“Fun is being back at work,” Ro says, definitively. “In my own uniform.” She tugs at the sleeves again, and gives up, with a sigh of exasperation.
- - - -
Guinan follows Ro out of sickbay, after an endless series of tests and samples and scans.
“So what the hell am I supposed to do now?” Ro asks the empty air in front of her, irritation fogging her voice.
“You’re not supposed to do anything.” Guinan slips into step beside her. “That’s what ‘relieved of duty’ means.”
Ro sighs and starts snapping at Guinan; but Guinan doesn’t mind. She’ll get Ro to enjoy this, one way or another, because it isn’t every day that a problem on the Enterprise suggests a solution to something different, a lot more pressing.
Now, Guinan is going to help Ro recover from the hurts of her own childhood. It’s a perfect opportunity, like the human legend of the Fates have dropped it right into her lap. She intends to take advantage of it.
“Let’s go play,” Guinan suggests.
“What?” Ro’s voice is tinged with utter disbelief.
“I haven’t been young for a long time,” grins Guinan, “and I intend to enjoy every minute of it.”
“Fine,” Ro mutters. “Enjoy yourself.”
“What are you going to do,” asks Guinan, “go back to your room and pout?”
Ro rounds on her. “I am not twelve years old. If I want to go back to my quarters and contemplate my situation, it does not mean that I am pouting.”
“Okay, okay,” Guinan concedes, and she follows.
- - - -
“Where did you get the idea that being short and awkward is some kind of wonderful gift?” and Guinan understands. Ro hates this because of the memories it invokes. She’s torturing herself because what she had was wrong, it was horrible and scarring.
Guinan cocks her head to the side. “There must’ve been some part of childhood that you didn’t loathe. C’mon…tell me one happy memory you have.”
“Look,” says Ro, flatly, “it was a long, depressing period of my life, and I was grateful when it was finally over. I’d rather not relive it.”
Okay, new approach. Maybe breaking through the seriousness is the wrong way to go. Maybe… “I bet you were a jumper.”
Ro gives her a look.
“A jumper. You know, someone who jumped up and down on the furniture all the time.
“What?” Ro asks, disbelievingly.
“You were a jumper, all right,” Guinan nods. “The quiet ones, they always look so innocent…you think you can turn your back on them, then next thing you know, BAM!”
Ro jumps.
“…they’re bouncing on the bed,” Guinan finishes.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Ro scoffs. “Most of the time I didn’t even have a bed.”
The back-and-forth is easy now, Ro getting into the rhythm, starting to smile in spite of herself. And when Guinan starts jumping, Ro curls up, laughing in surprise.
“Don’t you dare join me, Ro Laren!” Guinan calls. “You don’t like jumping on beds!”
Finally, finally, Ro breaks down, gives in, and gets to her feet. Guinan can’t contain the rush of happiness that comes with Ro’s jest of, “Bet I can go higher!”
That, right then, is perfect.
- - - -
After the long adventure, the retaking of the ship from the Ferengi, Guinan reluctantly returns to her larger form. It’s a little harder to balance, to adjust, going from small to large, but she’s walking like she’s mostly sober when she goes to find Ro Laren, who wasn’t with the others when they turned back to their adult forms.
Her quarters are a bust; the same with Ten-Forward and the holodecks.
No, when she finally finds Ro, it’s inside the schoolroom, where they based their operations to retake control of the ship.
It’s sad, so sad, and poignant somehow, that Ro Laren is alone inside here, a child, bent over a desk.
As Guinan comes closer, she sees that it’s a drawing, of a woman with a lined face. Real talent, Guinan realizes, and she sends Ro a questioning look.
“It’s my mother,” says Ro. “The funny thing is…I never really drew a picture of her when I was young, but for some reason.” She hesitates. “I wanted to now.”
There are a bunch of other drawings, too - elegant, vibrant. There’s a life in them that sometimes Guinan thinks she’s the only one who sees, deep inside Ro Laren. “That’s the wonderful thing about crayons,” says Guinan, and she has to force the words out from behind the tightness in her throat. “When you’re a child, they can take you to more places than a starship.”
“It’s my turn, isn’t it?” Ro asks. Her turn to switch back.
“Only if you’re ready,” Guinan tells her.
“It’s not quite as bad as I remembered it,” Ro says softly, “being a child, I mean.” There’s a silence, then, and Ro dips her head. “We better get going.”
“There’s no hurry.” Guinan sits next to her. “The transporter will still be there.” She smiles, warm, and holds out a hand. “Pass me the burnt umber.”
Ro looks up into her eyes, and an amazing grateful look passes through her eyes. Guinan shifts Ro up onto her lap, and isn’t surprised by the warm way Ro accepts the physical contact.
“You really are a cute kid,” Guinan says, after they’ve spent a long time together.
Ro laughs, and it’s music to Guinan’s ears.
- - - -
“I just came to give this to you,” says Ro, holding out a sheet of paper. “I thought, well, I didn’t show you before, but I think you might like to have it.”
Guinan takes the paper, turns it over, and in even in the low light of her quarters it doesn’t take her long to see what the drawn picture shows. It’s herself, on a biobed in sickbay, like an instant frozen in time - one foot kicking forward, like a nervous habit, but a smile quirking the mouth, hands resting in her lap.
“Um, do you like it?” Ro asks, sliding down next to her on the bed.
Guinan is struck by the similarity to their encounter, just after Ro Laren was changed, made out-of-phase with reality.
“I love it,” Guinan tells her, honestly, and Ro smiles a little.
“Guinan,” she begins, and she’s about to say something, something way more important, “I think I-”
Guinan kisses her, briefly.
Ro keeps her eyes closed for a moment, spine tense, and then she sighs, just a slight exhalation of breath, and she moves in, tilting her head, and lets Guinan kiss her again.
Guinan has been married twenty-three times; she’s had more relationships than she can count, and yet, every time it feels like something new, amazing and fragile and breathtakingly beautiful. Love is something Guinan will never get tired of, and she can feel it in the way Ro slides a hand to her neck, the way she hitches just a little further forward and touches Guinan’s tongue - Ro Laren loves her back.
Ro pulls back, spasmodically. “Isn’t this a little strange?” she asks, her voice a little breathy. “I mean, we were just kids…”
“Ro Laren,” says Guinan, “you are the same person whether you’re one meter tall or ten,” and she pulls Ro in, letting her sprawl a little over Guinan’s lap.
“Oh,” Ro breathes, and their lips slide together, tongues together, Guinan’s hands moving from Ro’s waist to her ribs. “I want you,” Ro gasps, almost in surprise, and she leans into Guinan’s touch. “Can we,” she starts, but she stops, like she can’t finish the sentence.
Guinan lets her hands trail over this beautiful woman, so young and so fierce, and she smiles. “I wouldn’t want anything more.”
Ro’s hands move to the fastening of her jacket, and from there it’s easy.
Ro can’t seem to resist touching Guinan, curling her fingers around the curves and nuzzling in the crook of Guinan’s neck. And Guinan shows Ro Laren what it’s like to have the weight of such experience, the knowledge that it’s your partner’s pleasure that’s the important part.
Ro jerks at the first touch, and slowly Guinan digs in deeper, a little deeper, and Ro whines into her mouth.
Guinan withdraws when Ro is breathing too quickly, a sheen of sweat on her skin, and moves around, leaning against the headboard of the bed, drawing Ro back against her chest and sliding her fingers between Ro’s legs.
Ro rests her head back against Guinan’s shoulder, and twists her face into Guinan’s neck. Guinan holds her secure.
Later, when Ro relaxes, sated and exhausted, Guinan tugs her close, snug into Guinan’s side. Ro’s fingers spread on Guinan’s stomach.
“I think I’m in love with you.” Ro’s voice trembles.
“I know,” Guinan tells her, and Ro curls in a little tighter.
“You’re El Aurian,” continues Ro, “you’ve lived a long time, and I can’t help but think, maybe, you’ll leave or I’ll die, and you’ll forget about me.”
The words spill out, and Guinan can tell Ro Laren hadn’t even articulated the thoughts to herself, much less turned them over in her mind.
“Laren,” Guinan says softly, “when El Aurians love, we love forever. And we never forget.” She strokes Ro’s cheek. “Impossible things happen in this world every day. You never know what tomorrow will bring.”
Ro smiles, hesitantly, and Guinan kisses her, sweet and long. Eventually, Ro falls asleep against her.
Beginnings, Guinan thinks. She just loves beginnings.
She’s lived for a long time, and her memory stretches across the years. Every moment is cherished, held and remembered, like a relic from the past that she can hold in her palm, tracing her fingers over the curves and dips, grief and joy, pain and love. But out of all of it, everything she bears with the weight of her years, the beginnings are her favorite.
- - - -
She’s new. Guinan has never seen her before - just assigned to the Enterprise? She stands out in a crowd. An outcast, alone at a table, but by the hunch of her shoulders, she doesn’t want any company.
There’s something very compelling about her, though; she has intense eyes, dark hair. Bajoran, by the nose ridges. Ensign, by the collar pips.
“Hey, Guinan,” says Geordi la Forge, seating himself across from her.
She smiles, in greeting. “What’ll it be?”
“Got anything special?” he asks.
“I just might.” Guinan cocks her head. “Depends. Are you feeling adventurous?”
He shrugs, palms outwards. “Hit me, Guinan.”
A wry grin twists the corner of her mouth. “You asked for it.”
When he’s already taken the first few cautious sips, Guinan leans forward. “What can you tell me about her?” she asks, indicating the mysterious woman with a nod of her head.
Geordi doesn’t even have to look. “You mean Ensign Ro,” he sighs.
“Sounds like there’s a story behind that,” Guinan prompts, and Geordi doesn’t need any more than that. He launches into it, a scornful story of disobeyed orders and deaths. Eight deaths, on her conscience.
Guinan weighs the story against what she’s seen of the woman, and decides it’s too interesting to pass up.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” says Geordi, finally. “If I ever find myself on an away mission with Ensign Ro, I’ll never turn my back on her.”
“The captain obviously thought she’d be valuable on this mission,” murmurs Guinan, thoughtfully.
Geordi shakes his head. “This was orders. Had to be. She doesn’t belong her.” His mouth twists. “Doesn’t belong in the uniform, if you ask me.”
“Really.” Guinan’s voice is even.
“Really,” emphasizes Geordi.
Guinan shrugs. “Sounds like someone I’d like to meet.”
Beginnings. Guinan loves beginnings.
- - - -
“Am I disturbing you?” Guinan asks, sliding into the seat across from Ro Laren.
“Yes,” returns Ro. She’s immediately ready, Guinan notes, to be prickly and unfriendly. To drive anyone away who shows the slightest overture of friendliness. Doesn’t care about social conventions, then. Well, that’s fine; Guinan doesn’t terribly enjoy them either.
“Good,” proclaims Guinan, seating herself more firmly. “You look like someone who wants to be disturbed.”
Ro grits her jaw. “I’d rather be alone.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
Oh, Guinan enjoys this, the thrill of the chase. There’s a woman there, behind the prickles and thorns, and Guinan will find her, because that’s what Guinan does.
“I beg your pardon?” Ro is startled, surprised that someone would come out and meet her, parry for parry.
Guinan lets a smile cross her features. Now to go in for the kill - “If you’d wanted to be alone, you would’ve stayed in your quarters,” says Guinan. “Only reason to come here is to be around people.”
That hits Ro; Guinan can see it. It makes an impression. Ro glances away. “There’s always the view,” she jests, softly.
“You’ve been looking at your drink all night,” says Guinan. “How’s the view?”
Ro shakes her head, just a little, and she raises her eyes to meet Guinan’s. “Who are you?” she asks.
“Guinan,” says Guinan. “I keep the bar. I listen.”
“Heard anything interesting?”
Yes. “Everyone’s talking about you.”
Ro half-laughs, bitterly. “Heard anything interesting?” she repeats.
“Uh-huh,” says Guinan. It was all interesting.
“It’s all true,” says Ro, quiet, looking away again.
This, this is a lot more interesting. “I’ve always found that truth is in the eye of the beholder,” Guinan tells her. In other words, there’s almost certainly another side to the story, and Guinan wants to hear it.
Some with long lives like Guinan’s shut down, step away from the world. They believe they’ve seen it all, that every story is just a reiteration of something told before. They don’t see how there can be anything new in the universe. Guinan knows better, because newness, interest - they’re all in how you perceive them.
“Isn’t that supposed to be ‘beauty’?” asks Ro.
“Truth, beauty.” Guinan waves the words away, with the back of her hand. “Works for a lot of things.”
Ro smiles, for half a second, and it makes something loosen in Guinan’s chest. Beauty. If beauty is where you see it, then for Guinan it’s right here, in the eyes and the hands of a young woman named Ro Laren.
“They say you never told the truth about Galon Two.” Guinan leans forward, a little. Time to press further. “You didn’t even defend yourself at the court martial.”
Ro’s expression shifts. “What was to defend?” Her tone is falsely light. “I didn’t follow orders. Eight members of the away team died.”
“Your fault,” states Guinan, evenly.
“My fault,” echoes Ro, but the words sound heavier from her throat.
“So you sit alone,” says Guinan, “in crowded rooms, staring at your drink.”
Ro doesn’t look at her.
“You kind of enjoy it, don’t you?”
“Enjoy it?” Ro scoffs.
“You go out of your way to torture yourself,” returns Guinan. “You work so hard at it, you’ve gotta love it.”
Ro takes a breath, lets it out. “Who are you?”
“Guinan,” Guinan repeats. “I tend the bar. I listen.”
Ro pauses for a moment. “You’re not like any bartender I’ve ever met.”
“You’re not like any Starfleet officer I’ve ever met,” Guinan shoots back. “This might be the start of an interesting friendship.”
That’s enough; it’s enough, for now. Any further, and Guinan will have pushed too far, and Ro will recoil, move away from her. Just enough to give Ro a sense of mystery, a hint that there’s something more to explore.
“I never stay anywhere long enough to make friends,” says Ro.
“Too late,” says Guinan. “You just made one.”
- - - -
It’s days later when Guinan catches the gossip, free-floating like dust motes within the social continuum of the ship.
“…restricted to quarters…”
“…unauthorized transport, I heard…”
Guinan smiles to herself. She’s not surprised.
- - - -
When she stops outside Ro’s door, it’s with the expectation that it might take a while for Ro to let her in. But Guinan is patient. She has all the time that she needs. She touches the door chime, gives it a moment. Touches it again. Again.
“What?” comes, snapped, from the intercom.
Guinan touches the door release and steps inside. “Heard you’d been grounded,” she greets.
“I really don’t feel like talking right now,” Ro dismisses.
“Sure you do,” Guinan grins, moving over towards her.
Ro sits up. “How come every time I tell you something you tell me I mean the exact opposite?”
“You’re one of those people who’s got their poles reversed,” Guinan explains, letting the hint of humor dance around her tone. “You take a little unscrambling,” she continues, “but I’ve had a lot of practice.” She eases herself down, closer to Ro. “So, what do you feel like talking about?”
It’s not going to be that easy, Guinan thinks; no, that wasn’t quite enough.
“Nothing you can help me with,” says Ro, looking away.
Just a little more, then. “Never know until you try,” Guinan prompts, gently.
“I got myself into this.” Ro’s voice is tight. “I’m just trying to figure a way out, that’s all.”
Guinan waits.
“Without anyone getting killed this time,” she says, a lot softer.
Guinan listens, because she knows how to project the aura, the one that makes people want to share their souls. Sharing makes the pain duller; it makes the joy brighter. And Guinan doesn’t mind; she loves this, loves knowing that she helps the world in small ways, that every time someone speaks to her they leave a little more at peace with themselves.
“Seems like everybody’s always just pulling my strings,” and her voice is broken. “I’ve got no control.”
“For people like you and me,” murmurs Guinan, “people who lose their homes, that’s how life feels sometimes.”
“You?” Ro questions.
“My people lost their homeworld too,” Guinan tells her, not elaborating, just stating.
Ro breathes, shuddery, and Guinan feels the connection pull tight between them. And once an El Aurian forms a connection, there’s nothing in the universe that can break it.
“There’s more going on here than anyone on this ship knows,” Ro confesses. “It’s more than I know how to deal with. And I don’t know who to trust.”
“Including yourself.”
“Especially myself.”
And Guinan knows exactly what to do. “I was in serious trouble once,” she tells, in turn. “More than I could handle alone.”
“What kind of trouble?” Ro asks, a new lilt in her voice.
“Not important now,” Guinan dismisses. “Not yet. What is important is that I’d still be caught up in it to this day, if I hadn’t trusted one man.”
From there, it’s easy.
- - - -
Guinan doesn’t see Ro for days. At first, she doesn’t give much thought to it. If she doesn’t see Ro again, then she doesn’t; it won’t change the bond that formed between them. One day, Guinan is sure, they will meet again, but Guinan doesn’t see how she has to be picky about the exact date.
When she hears, though, that Ro Laren accepted Picard’s offer of a permanent place on the ship, her chest swells, and she’s proud, so very proud, of both of them. Her friends.
And she does wonder why Ro doesn’t stop by Ten Forward. Though, she won’t push it. She gets the feeling that’s not what Ro needs.
- - - -
“Hey.”
Guinan turns to see Ensign Ro Laren, elbows on the bartop, hands clasped beneath her chin.
“Hey,” Guinan greets, in return. “What brings you here?” though the question she wants to ask is why Ro didn’t come here earlier.
Though, really, Guinan shouldn’t need to ask. She should already know how scared Ro Laren is of having friends.
“Well, I felt like I wanted to be alone,” says Ro.
Guinan glances up, and realizes that Ro is jesting with her, a wry deadpan, and Guinan lets her features soften. “Very funny,” she says. “I suppose you don’t feel thirsty either.”
“Not in the slightest,” confirms Ro. “Synthale, please.”
“Coming right up,” Guinan tells her.
When she gets the synthale, Ro looks awkward, suddenly, and cradles the glass in her hands like she doesn’t know what to do with it.
“How’s the new post been working out for you?” Guinan prompts. Ro wants to talk, she does, but she’s still not ready to start on her own.
Ro shrugs. “Better than prison,” she says.
“How much better?”
Ro tosses back a little of the synthale, and she looks down. “I owe you a huge debt, Guinan,” she says, in a rush of words, “and I have no idea how to repay it.”
Guinan slides her hand over Ro’s on the bartop.
“You don’t owe me anything but friendship, Ro Laren,” says Guinan. “And you telling me that, right there, makes anything I do for you worthwhile. Understand?”
Ro shakes her head. “I don’t,” she says, “but that’s okay, I think.”
Guinan felt the bond between them deepen, and she let Ro Laren say as much as she needed to before excusing herself to get some sleep, before the next duty shift.
It’s a beginning, Guinan thinks, and she smiles.
- - - -
It becomes a semi-regular thing after that; Ro Laren stops by at least once a week, and she tells Guinan a few things about the job, the latest challenges. She always stops short, though, of speaking of her childhood, of the Cardassians and Bajor and why she continues to wear her Bajoran earring, but on the wrong ear.
The right actions; the wrong words, and Guinan worries about it. But she’s patient; she can’t save everyone, and eventually Ro Laren will come to her and speak, when she needs help.
- - - -
And then it’s too late.
Jean-Luc tells her personally, but his words blur in her mind, in her memory. “Ensign Ro Laren is dead,” he might have said, or “I’m sorry, Guinan,” and maybe she made the connection on her own. She doesn’t remember.
She does remember, though, that it seems a lot harder to grip a glass without it slipping through her fingers, and that she doesn’t smile for the rest of the day.
In her quarters, that night, she imagines that she feels Ro near her, that the connection isn’t broken, just twisted, stretched. Guinan imagines that Ro Laren is still alive, and is apologizing to her for something inaudible, something that doesn’t matter anyway.
Guinan doesn’t sleep that night.
- - - -
The reception is her idea, the idea of a party, a happy occasion, so they can remember the contribution of Geordi la Forge and Ro Laren to this ship. When Guinan looks out at the attendees, smiling and laughing, she feels the catharsis in the room and she wishes - she wishes, and she’s not even really sure what she’s wishing for.
The words carry to Guinan’s ears, all the way across the room - “Data to Chief Brossmer. Set the anoynic beam to its highest level and flood Ten Forward.”
A flare rises inside Guinan’s chest, and her hands clench shut, and she watches as Ro Laren and Geordi la Forge appear in the center of Ten Forward. Her throat clenches, and she feels the bonds flaring bright again.
Ro Laren catches Guinan’s eyes, and Ro smiles, breaking across her face like sunrise in a wintery desert.
Guinan holds back and waits; after Ro and Geordi have answered the shocked questions, endured the exclamations of amazement, Ro slides into a seat at the bar with Guinan. “I’ll have something not synthetic, if you don’t mind,” says Ro.
“Coming right up,” says Guinan
Ro takes the drink without speaking, and she avoids Guinan’s look.
Guinan doesn’t press - Ro is in shock, and she needs a little time to come to terms with what has happened to her. They don’t speak any more that evening.
- - - -
Later, in the darkness of Guinan’s quarters, the chime rings.
“Enter,” and Guinan’s clear voice echoes inside the room.
It’s Ro Laren who steps inside, biting her lip, her eyes red. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you,” she apologizes, straight-off, and Guinan waves it away.
“You say what you have to, Laren.” She pats the bed next to her, and Ro sits, hesitant, barely perching on the edge of the mattress.
There’s a silence, broken only by the distant hum of the ship’s engines.
“I thought I was dead,” and Ro’s voice breaks. “I thought I had to say goodbye to everything I knew, and I did, Guinan-”
“Ssh.” Guinan pulls Ro into an embrace, and Ro buries her head in Guinan’s shoulder. She’s not crying, her shoulders aren’t shaking, but she needs the comfort.
Ro is so torn apart…she isn’t at peace with herself. There’s no way she could be. Guinan found her peace a long time ago, but Ro, Ro doesn’t have enough time. And it’s those, the ones who have such short lives to live, who need peace the most.
- - - -
And yet, that Ro Laren, the one who visited Guinan in her quarters and then slipped away - she didn’t appear again. The visits settled into a new routine, a slightly sparser one, and Ro Laren spent more of her time interacting with others of the crew.
Guinan looks on, and she approves - this is usually the triumphant step for her, when those who desperately wanted friends, wanted emotional contact, got it. It was when they stopped needing Guinan, though they never stopped being her friends. But with Ro - Guinan just got the disturbing feeling that it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that Ro is pulling away from her. Guinan hasn’t done anything wrong.
When Guinan realizes that, it doesn’t take long for the inevitable conclusion to follow.
“Are you all right, Guinan?” Jean-Luc asks her, once.
“I’m just fine, Jean-Luc,” she returns, with a smile that probably doesn’t even seem forced, because she’s just realized that she’s in love with Ensign Ro Laren.
- - - -
Guinan fights the urge to laugh.
Her feet haven’t dangled this far off the floor in a very, very long time. The entire world feels huge, and her usual El Aurian style outfit feels just ridiculous. It’s liberating, somehow.
Some kind of transporter accident - it didn’t leave her dead, maimed, disfigured, or dying. It just left her a kid again.
She glances over to Ro Laren, who’s also been turned into a child, and a smile quirks her mouth.
“What?” Ro snaps.
“You know,” says Guinan, “you make a pretty cute kid.”
Ro rolls her eyes. “Great. Just what I want to be - cute.”
Guinan raises her eyebrows. “Were you this much fun when you were a kid?”
Ro messes with her uniform, which just doesn’t seem to fit right. “I was in a refugee camp,” Ro shoots back. “Fun wasn’t exactly in my vocabulary.”
“What about now?” Guinan probes. “You’re not in that camp anymore.”
“Fun is being back at work,” Ro says, definitively. “In my own uniform.” She tugs at the sleeves again, and gives up, with a sigh of exasperation.
- - - -
Guinan follows Ro out of sickbay, after an endless series of tests and samples and scans.
“So what the hell am I supposed to do now?” Ro asks the empty air in front of her, irritation fogging her voice.
“You’re not supposed to do anything.” Guinan slips into step beside her. “That’s what ‘relieved of duty’ means.”
Ro sighs and starts snapping at Guinan; but Guinan doesn’t mind. She’ll get Ro to enjoy this, one way or another, because it isn’t every day that a problem on the Enterprise suggests a solution to something different, a lot more pressing.
Now, Guinan is going to help Ro recover from the hurts of her own childhood. It’s a perfect opportunity, like the human legend of the Fates have dropped it right into her lap. She intends to take advantage of it.
“Let’s go play,” Guinan suggests.
“What?” Ro’s voice is tinged with utter disbelief.
“I haven’t been young for a long time,” grins Guinan, “and I intend to enjoy every minute of it.”
“Fine,” Ro mutters. “Enjoy yourself.”
“What are you going to do,” asks Guinan, “go back to your room and pout?”
Ro rounds on her. “I am not twelve years old. If I want to go back to my quarters and contemplate my situation, it does not mean that I am pouting.”
“Okay, okay,” Guinan concedes, and she follows.
- - - -
“Where did you get the idea that being short and awkward is some kind of wonderful gift?” and Guinan understands. Ro hates this because of the memories it invokes. She’s torturing herself because what she had was wrong, it was horrible and scarring.
Guinan cocks her head to the side. “There must’ve been some part of childhood that you didn’t loathe. C’mon…tell me one happy memory you have.”
“Look,” says Ro, flatly, “it was a long, depressing period of my life, and I was grateful when it was finally over. I’d rather not relive it.”
Okay, new approach. Maybe breaking through the seriousness is the wrong way to go. Maybe… “I bet you were a jumper.”
Ro gives her a look.
“A jumper. You know, someone who jumped up and down on the furniture all the time.
“What?” Ro asks, disbelievingly.
“You were a jumper, all right,” Guinan nods. “The quiet ones, they always look so innocent…you think you can turn your back on them, then next thing you know, BAM!”
Ro jumps.
“…they’re bouncing on the bed,” Guinan finishes.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Ro scoffs. “Most of the time I didn’t even have a bed.”
The back-and-forth is easy now, Ro getting into the rhythm, starting to smile in spite of herself. And when Guinan starts jumping, Ro curls up, laughing in surprise.
“Don’t you dare join me, Ro Laren!” Guinan calls. “You don’t like jumping on beds!”
Finally, finally, Ro breaks down, gives in, and gets to her feet. Guinan can’t contain the rush of happiness that comes with Ro’s jest of, “Bet I can go higher!”
That, right then, is perfect.
- - - -
After the long adventure, the retaking of the ship from the Ferengi, Guinan reluctantly returns to her larger form. It’s a little harder to balance, to adjust, going from small to large, but she’s walking like she’s mostly sober when she goes to find Ro Laren, who wasn’t with the others when they turned back to their adult forms.
Her quarters are a bust; the same with Ten-Forward and the holodecks.
No, when she finally finds Ro, it’s inside the schoolroom, where they based their operations to retake control of the ship.
It’s sad, so sad, and poignant somehow, that Ro Laren is alone inside here, a child, bent over a desk.
As Guinan comes closer, she sees that it’s a drawing, of a woman with a lined face. Real talent, Guinan realizes, and she sends Ro a questioning look.
“It’s my mother,” says Ro. “The funny thing is…I never really drew a picture of her when I was young, but for some reason.” She hesitates. “I wanted to now.”
There are a bunch of other drawings, too - elegant, vibrant. There’s a life in them that sometimes Guinan thinks she’s the only one who sees, deep inside Ro Laren. “That’s the wonderful thing about crayons,” says Guinan, and she has to force the words out from behind the tightness in her throat. “When you’re a child, they can take you to more places than a starship.”
“It’s my turn, isn’t it?” Ro asks. Her turn to switch back.
“Only if you’re ready,” Guinan tells her.
“It’s not quite as bad as I remembered it,” Ro says softly, “being a child, I mean.” There’s a silence, then, and Ro dips her head. “We better get going.”
“There’s no hurry.” Guinan sits next to her. “The transporter will still be there.” She smiles, warm, and holds out a hand. “Pass me the burnt umber.”
Ro looks up into her eyes, and an amazing grateful look passes through her eyes. Guinan shifts Ro up onto her lap, and isn’t surprised by the warm way Ro accepts the physical contact.
“You really are a cute kid,” Guinan says, after they’ve spent a long time together.
Ro laughs, and it’s music to Guinan’s ears.
- - - -
“I just came to give this to you,” says Ro, holding out a sheet of paper. “I thought, well, I didn’t show you before, but I think you might like to have it.”
Guinan takes the paper, turns it over, and in even in the low light of her quarters it doesn’t take her long to see what the drawn picture shows. It’s herself, on a biobed in sickbay, like an instant frozen in time - one foot kicking forward, like a nervous habit, but a smile quirking the mouth, hands resting in her lap.
“Um, do you like it?” Ro asks, sliding down next to her on the bed.
Guinan is struck by the similarity to their encounter, just after Ro Laren was changed, made out-of-phase with reality.
“I love it,” Guinan tells her, honestly, and Ro smiles a little.
“Guinan,” she begins, and she’s about to say something, something way more important, “I think I-”
Guinan kisses her, briefly.
Ro keeps her eyes closed for a moment, spine tense, and then she sighs, just a slight exhalation of breath, and she moves in, tilting her head, and lets Guinan kiss her again.
Guinan has been married twenty-three times; she’s had more relationships than she can count, and yet, every time it feels like something new, amazing and fragile and breathtakingly beautiful. Love is something Guinan will never get tired of, and she can feel it in the way Ro slides a hand to her neck, the way she hitches just a little further forward and touches Guinan’s tongue - Ro Laren loves her back.
Ro pulls back, spasmodically. “Isn’t this a little strange?” she asks, her voice a little breathy. “I mean, we were just kids…”
“Ro Laren,” says Guinan, “you are the same person whether you’re one meter tall or ten,” and she pulls Ro in, letting her sprawl a little over Guinan’s lap.
“Oh,” Ro breathes, and their lips slide together, tongues together, Guinan’s hands moving from Ro’s waist to her ribs. “I want you,” Ro gasps, almost in surprise, and she leans into Guinan’s touch. “Can we,” she starts, but she stops, like she can’t finish the sentence.
Guinan lets her hands trail over this beautiful woman, so young and so fierce, and she smiles. “I wouldn’t want anything more.”
Ro’s hands move to the fastening of her jacket, and from there it’s easy.
Ro can’t seem to resist touching Guinan, curling her fingers around the curves and nuzzling in the crook of Guinan’s neck. And Guinan shows Ro Laren what it’s like to have the weight of such experience, the knowledge that it’s your partner’s pleasure that’s the important part.
Ro jerks at the first touch, and slowly Guinan digs in deeper, a little deeper, and Ro whines into her mouth.
Guinan withdraws when Ro is breathing too quickly, a sheen of sweat on her skin, and moves around, leaning against the headboard of the bed, drawing Ro back against her chest and sliding her fingers between Ro’s legs.
Ro rests her head back against Guinan’s shoulder, and twists her face into Guinan’s neck. Guinan holds her secure.
Later, when Ro relaxes, sated and exhausted, Guinan tugs her close, snug into Guinan’s side. Ro’s fingers spread on Guinan’s stomach.
“I think I’m in love with you.” Ro’s voice trembles.
“I know,” Guinan tells her, and Ro curls in a little tighter.
“You’re El Aurian,” continues Ro, “you’ve lived a long time, and I can’t help but think, maybe, you’ll leave or I’ll die, and you’ll forget about me.”
The words spill out, and Guinan can tell Ro Laren hadn’t even articulated the thoughts to herself, much less turned them over in her mind.
“Laren,” Guinan says softly, “when El Aurians love, we love forever. And we never forget.” She strokes Ro’s cheek. “Impossible things happen in this world every day. You never know what tomorrow will bring.”
Ro smiles, hesitantly, and Guinan kisses her, sweet and long. Eventually, Ro falls asleep against her.
Beginnings, Guinan thinks. She just loves beginnings.