Disclaimer: The character of Tom Paris as well as the others on Voyagerbelong to Paramount.  The imaginings are mine.  What I do to other fanficwriters’ versions of Tom Paris are also mine.  What they do to him is thefun they provide us.  If I missed naming an author (besides counting yourblessings!) it’s not that I don’t love you.  There’s just so much that canfit into one little story.  Whatever’s left is copyright, 1997.  This is myfirst submission.  E-mail is welcome!  Send to jlf@door.net.A TenBy Judy     The assistant director desperately searched for the director.  Her eyeswild, her motions frantic, she bumped into one of the talent on his way tomake-up.       "Oh, God," she breathed.     "Hey.  Everything all right?"     The voice was as light as the hair, face, and eyes of the tall man whostepped back a pace to look down on her disarray.     "Robbie.  Uh. Hi," she acknowledged.  "Don’t go in there."     "Where?"     "Make-up.  Isn’t that where you’re headed?"     "I was.  But . . .?"     "Don’t go.  Have you seen Woody?"     "Our director?"     "Yeah."     "No."  Robbie looked around.  "What’s wrong in make-up?"     "Don’t go in."     He regarded her thoughtfully.  Her short brown hair settled around herface, her blue eyes — almost as blue as his own — frantically darted aroundthe set.  She sighed, "Finally."     To his bemusement, the AD flew off leaving the handsome young actorshaking his head at the very strange early morning encounter.  Shrugging,he headed on toward the make-up trailer. But before he reached it, the ADand the director charged past him and hurried inside.  He wondered what itcould be and followed them inside the trailer.     Oh, dear God.     His knees almost gave out as he saw them.  The AD had been trying to gethim outside before that could happen, but it was too late.  She held him upby one arm as the director addressed the noisy group.  From where he stood,trying to catch his breath, Robbie saw a sea of blue shirts, punctuatedhere and there by the red and black Starfleet top all on men crowded intothe small trailer.     "Quiet down.  Quiet down," the director shouted.  "What’s going on here? Is this some joke?"     Robbie had broken out in a cold sweat.  He couldn’t believe it.  How many.. . . how many were there?  As the noises crashed over him in meaninglesssounds, his eyes began to sort them out.  It was truly staggering.  A dozenmen, maybe more, who all looked like him.  Not completely like him.  Somewere older, some younger, some blonder (very blonder), some thinner, somein costume.  Those not in costume seemed to have chosen blue shirts.  Oh,and there was one woman.  He sucked in his breath.  Uh-oh.  She looked likehim, too.  Sort of.           Woody had things more or less under control.  "All right.  Now we’ll goaround the room.  Each of you tell me who you are and what you want.  Let’sstart with you."     He pointed to a shy looking, very slender, young looking Tom who was halfhiding behind one who looked even younger with silky clothes, a cocked hip,and pouty attitude.  The flamboyant one asked.  "Me, sweetie?"     "No, you’re next.  Him."     The shy one looked around, pointed to himself and mouthed ‘me’?  At thedirector’s nod, he softly introduced himself.  "Well.  I’m — uh — BrendaAntrim’s Tom.  And she . . . well . . . " he stammered, ". . . she had mebeaten and worse in prison and made me have PTSD.  And I had to getcounseling from Chakotay and Tuvok and even the captain."  The young manhad tears in his eyes.  "It was . . . it was really embarrassing."     The director nodded.  Gently, trying not to spook this scared looking Tom,he asked, "So.  What do you want?"     "I want . . . I want her to take it back."     The flamboyant kid next to him sighed theatrically.  "Oh, give it a rest,sweetheart.  You should be Supercat’s slut.  She’s made me have sex witheverything that moves."     "Okay, beautiful," Woody told him, "You’re next.  What do you want?"     "I want her to get Chakotay to make up his mind about me."  The next wordswere spoken very softly.  "And to make him see that I’m not a whore."     The young man’s eyelashes fluttered at Woody, the mouth pouting prettily.In the back, R’rain’s Tom spoke up.  "Forget Chakotay.  What about Harry?"     Another voice added, "Chakotay, Harry.  Pretty soon it’ll be Tuvok."     "It already is," raku’s Tom told him.          Before Woody could respond to any of these sidebars, the woman pushedforward.  "What are you people whining about?  Do you know how long I’vebeen a woman?"     Robbie sat down on a nearby chair.     "And who are you, dear?"  Woody asked reasonably.  He’d seen out of thecorner of his eye the stunned reaction of his talent to this latestvariation of Tom Paris.     "Jennifer Plelland created me in a transporter malfunction.  And then shestranded me on a planet for years with Chakotay while I changed into awoman.  Now, at first she brought me back and made me a male again.  But,"she looked about to join Brenda’s Tom in tears, "but now she’s changed hermind and I don’t know how long she’s going to make me stay a woman."     "Sheesh.  All you have to do is read to the end of the story.  Duh." Supercat’s Tom taunted.     She blushed, bright red flushing her fair skin.  "It’s . . . it’s toomuch.  I’m a male.  No more messing around with my chromosomes."     A darker haired Tom stepped forward.  "What’s all this talk about Tom —woman or not — and someone else?  Tom’s only romantic interest isB’Elanna."     "And who are you?"     "I’m Neetz’ Tom, and DangerMom’s Tom, and the whole PT Collective’s Tom,"he said somewhat proudly.  He flashed a killer smile at the director.     Woody sighed.  "And what do you want?"     "These fanfic writers have to work overtime because you people don’t payenough attention to Tom and B’Elanna.  I love B’Elanna, but you haven’teven let me say it on the air.  What’s she going to think?  Probably whatmost people think. . . that I’m just some shallow lightweight like thisSupercat’s Tom."     "Hey, sweetie, you’re as bad as Chakotay.  You don’t think I’m capable ofanything but an exploitive, shallow relationship.  But let me tell you — "     "Wait.  Guys.  And lady."       As Woody tried to sort things out a new Tom Paris moved forward.  "Youguys have it easy.  At least you’re experienced."  He blushed furiously. "My writer?  Joanne Collins?  Do you know what she did to me?"     His voice was indignant, his blue eyes flashed.  None of the othersanswered.  Into the silence he almost spit out the words, then faltered onthe last word.  "She made me a — a virgin."     There were gasps of genuine shock.  Even Supercat’s Tom was stunned intosilence.     Deciding he might as well accept this declaration much as he had theothers, Woody asked, "And what do you want?"     "I want to be a little more like the others.  Even Harry is, you know. Experienced."     "Any time sweetie, just say the word.  Kiss, kiss."     "Shut up, Supercat Tom."  Collins’ Tom blushed furiously.  "This isn’tfunny!  A 30 year old virgin in the 24th Century.  What’s wrong with me?"     Two very blonde, very bruised lips, very sweet faced Toms in the backexchanged looks and smiled knowingly.  They were perched next to each otheron the make-up counter.  The mirror and lights behind them refracted theirgolden heads brilliantly into the room.  Woody noticed their verycharacteristic Tom Paris smirks and called them out.  "You two.  Yeah.  Youtwo.  In the back.  Who are you?"     "I’m Amirin’s Tom," one said, voice all musical and sensual.     "And I’m torch’s Tom," the other added, porcelain blue eyes expressive,heat radiating off his sleek, unselfconsciously sexy pose.     Robbie buried his face in his hands. What was he going to tell his wife?      Woody asked them what they wanted.     "I like what Amirin does to my Tom.  Well, except for that interrogationscene."     "Do tell," torch’s Tom urged.     But an older Tom reprimanded him.  "There may be children under 18 readingthis."           Although he flinched, Amirin’s Tom continued on bravely, "So, I want tosee more of the sexy Tom on the show."     torch’s Tom agreed.  "Lighten his hair to golden blonde.  Explore hissexuality and his capacity to love.  He can you know.  Love, that is.  Showhim off duty more -- maybe in a Jeffries tube.  And show others loving him. He’s sensitive.  He’s lovable." Amirin’s Tom giggled as torch’s Tomfinished, "very lovable."     A swaggering Tom sneered at the torch and Amirin Toms.  "Jeez.  Guys.  I’mDarrell Beach’s Tom and I know I’m God’s gift to women.  You don’t want tomess with that.  It’s my core, see."     Robbie groaned.     "So what do you want?"     "I want you to see my heroic side."     "As if you had one, muscle head."          "Shut up, Supercat."     "I do have one.  But Beach just shows my cocky, arrogant, irritating side. Maybe I was once like that.  But I’ve grown up.  That’s gotta show."     "Yeah.  You were like that," Brenda Antrim’s Tom spoke up softly.  "I’msorry, but you’ve got all these masks you use to keep anyone from seeingthe real you."     "Whoa," sneered Beach’s Tom.  "You better watch that therapy stuff. They’ll make you the ship’s counselor next.  You’re already the nurse."     "Hey.  The ship needs a counselor," rejoined the female Tom.  "Believe me,I know."     "Hold up, folks," an older Tom spoke up.  "Listen to you.  Like a bunch ofteenagers.  Oh.  I’m Subha’s Tom.  Married to B’Elanna.  And we haveteenagers.  And that’s what you all sound like."     "Well, pardon me for breathing, You’ve gotten stuffy in your old age."     Four voices told Supercat’s Tom to shut up.     Woody cut in and asked Subha’s Tom, "And what is it you want?"     This Tom looked down, ran a hand through thinning, grey flecked hair, andsaid, "Don’t get me wrong.  I love my kids.  I love my wife.  But . . . Iguess I’d like to have stayed younger longer, free of responsibilities. It’s been hard, really hard."     "I’ll say," Carly Hunter’s Tom agreed softly, arms crossed over his chest,his sparse hair totally grey.  "I’m too young to be this old."     Woody sighed.  "Okay.  Has everybody introduced himself — or herself?  Ithink there’s a few in the back . . ."     A serious Tom spoke up.  "I didn’t want to say anything, cause a lot ofyou are going to hate me for this.  But Janeway and I . . . "     There were definite gasps of surprise and at least a few exclamations, onewith a question "The Captain?" and another with a declaration.  "Damn.  TheCaptain."     "So.  What do you want?"     "I love Kathryn, and I want us to be accepted, to have a chance likeRhiannon and Padovan write me.  You know that all The Powers That Be willallow is Kathryn and Chakotay.  And I get so jealous."     "So do I."  No one was surprised at who said that.     Robbie shook his head and talked to his knees.  "Kate’s going to kill me."     Woody thought about the statements of these unhappy Tom Parises.  Helooked over the crowd, at their great diversity of appearance, personality,and life styles.  "I appreciate all you’ve told me.  I know it’s hard beinga character on an ensemble show like this, especially a show that inspiresso much fan fiction.  When you think about it, maybe you’re the luckyones."     Robbie looked up with interest, watching the director talking so earnestlyto this group of malcontents.  He hoped Woody could talk his way out ofthis.     Not finished with trying out his hard-won therapy skills, Brenda’s Tomsaid, "What do you mean, Woody?  We’re the lucky ones?"     "You’re on the Internet, crafted by writers who love you.  Maybe a fewhundred, maybe several thousand know about you.  But our Tom Paris?  He’sout there with eight million watching him every week.  And like yourwriters?  Ours don’t always see him the same way either.  But we try to beconsistent.  And sometimes we fail.  Who was it?  The PT Collective Tom? Yeah."  Woody smiled at the drop-dead gorgeous Tom who looked at himexpectantly.  "Yeah.  At least writers like yours are out there.  And yourreaders get to see the holes plugged, get to see the Tom they want to see. You get my meaning?"          Woody stared pointedly at Supercat’s Tom, and then at the sensual pair inthe back, and to Brenda’s and Plelland’s and the other Toms who filled theroom.  There was some shuffling of feet, some nods at the beleaguereddirector, some sheepish self-reflection.     "All right, so for our part we’ll try to do better.  I’ll speak to thePowers That Be.  We’ll get more Tom on the screen.  But think about this:You guys — and lady — you got it easy.  You should be that Mulder on theX-Files."     "Oh, yeah?  Why’s that?"     "They’ve got a whole archive of fanfic stories called ‘Mulder TortureAnonymous’, rated from 1 to 10.  You hit a 10 on that site and you’re indeep shit.  So count your blessings.  Now go on home to your URLs beforeyour authors miss you."     "Could I . . . could I say hello to Robbie?"  Brenda’s Tom askedhesitantly.  "I mean.  I think he really does do us justice.  He could pullit off if TPTB let him go through what we go through."     There were nods of agreement around the room.  One of the older Toms spokeup.  "Yeah.  He can put on the screen what we deal with.  Well -- all butlosing his hair."     "Very funny," Robbie grimaced, speaking up for the first time and thenlaughing good naturedly with the others in the room.     "Come here, you hunk," Supercat’s Tom pulled Robbie to him and gave him ahug, then passed the dazed actor along, first to Brenda’s Tom, then to thefemale Tom, and so on around the room.     Woody turned to the AD.  "What do you think?"     "You bought yourself a little time.  But I can already hear the fanficwriters gearing up a Tom Paris Torture site."     "Oh, no.  I gave them that idea."     Supercat’s Tom put an arm around the director and leered at him.  Hewhispered gleefully, "I can hardly wait to see how we rate.  Supercat’sgonna love it!  Oh, and so will Amirin and torch and Emma Woodhouse andMona R. and Margaret Berger, and Walsvick and VoyWriter and TerriTrek — "       As Supercat’s Tom puckered his lips, Woody backed away in horror.  "Don’tkiss me!"     "A ten," he purred.  "We’re going to rate a 10."     Robbie stood in front of Supercat’s Tom.  Something had to wipe off thatwiseass smirk.  "You get to go first.  Real torture.  Real angst."     When the kid’s mask crumbled and he whimpered, "I want to go back toSupercat," Robbie gave him a broad, genuine grin.     "Go on, get outta here."      One by one the Tom Parises winked out.     And one by one, taking their places in the crowded trailer, holodocsappeared, altogether a very cranky looking group.  The AD screamed andpushed her way out, tugging Robbie along behind her.       "I’m a doctor, not a fanfic writer’s wet dream," could be heard.     And then, "All right.  Where the hell’s Picardo?"     The door to the trailer closed softly.The end.