Aug 182009

Title: Theme Songs!
Fandom: ST XI
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, Uhura
Rating: T
Warnings: Kirk opens his mouth. Spock finds Uhura fascinating.
Notes: Crackmeme strikes again. OP wanted some theme songs for crew members. I filled in the blanks.

From this prompt
I’m just curious, really. But.. let’s say.. the whole crew has a love for old music. You know.. old music as in, music from today’s time.

So.. what is everyone’s individual favorite song? Or.. their theme song? It can be a list or a fic or just throw in your opinion.. but I just really want to know what you guys think :D

Spock: Shout, by Tears for Fears
Kirk: Kiss Me I’m Shitfaced, by Dropkick Murphys
Chekov: Dancing Queen, the Beat Crusaders version, not the original, by ABBA.
Bones: Mind Your Own Business, by Hank Williams, Sr.
Sulu: Gunmetal Tiara, by Torley Wong
Uhura: Uska Dara, by Eartha Kitt
Scotty: Scottish and Proud, by The Real McKenzies

Yeah, Jim Kirk’s got a theme song, and everybody knows it. He gets trashed between missions, and sings it at the top of his lungs, in the Officers’ Lounge. Sometimes Scotty and Chekov join in, because it really is a party song. He thinks this means he’s kissed them both, at least fifteen times — not that it matters. They were drunk, it’s not like anyone can hold it against them.

"I play in a band," he starts, stepping onto the table, and holding out his hand.

"We’re the best in the land," Chekov chimes in, laughing and poking at Sulu.

"We’re big in both Chelsea and Fraaaance!" Scotty finishes the first verse, leaping from his seat, and swinging the mug of beer he’s still drinking.

Uhura stands up to leave, trying to pull Spock with her, like she always does, but this time he’s taken a bit of chocolate, and is watching them interestedly. He mutters something about fascinating human customs, and she shakes her head and laughs, ruffles his hair, and leaves, all the same.

As the second verse begins, Bones buries his face in the crook of his arm, on the table, and Sulu pats his back, companionably. It’s just tradition. This is just the way it goes. And he will not, for fuck’s sake, sing along.

Spock likes to spend time alone. Emotional control was never as easy for him as it was for his father, and in an effort not to shame his Vulcan heritage, he shuts himself away, for a few hours each day, just to put things in perspective, and put it all away.

And these days, he opens by listening to a song he found in the captain’s collection. It is a song about him, even though it isn’t. It is the space between control and lashing out, and hearing it in someone else’s voice, set in powerful music, he knows that it doesn’t matter if he’s the only one. It is oddly settling, and today, perhaps, he’ll play it twice.

"You shouldn’t have to jump for joy," he sings along, absently, tracing the window frame with his fingers, and staring into the gleaming void of space.

Hikaru Sulu was a man who loved classical music — when he was reading, or cleaning his quarters, or doing something that needed a distraction to keep his mind on task. When he was fencing, he needed music that moved with him, and he liked it best electronic. In particular, he had a fondness for a particular late-twentieth century Chinese-American composer called Torley, and most often referenced with the image of a watermelon slice.

He’d gotten the usual inattentive remarks about ‘Asian music’ from a few crewmates, but he really didn’t have time to explain the differences between China and Japan, especially since neither nation had an independent leadership, these days, nor did France or America. It was all United Earth. Fuck it. The music was worth a few ill-placed comments.

There was no one on board who could keep up with him, when he turned up he music, so he’d resorted to the recreation room’s fencing program, and that brought more than a few onlookers. This time, as he stops the program, and sinks to his knees, dripping sweat, Chekov steps up, holding out a slice of cool, freshly-replicated watermelon. All he can do is laugh.

McCoy is a man with a taste for the crankier things in life, and good old honky-tonk music is pretty high up the list. Hank Williams, Roy Rogers, Patsy Cline’s a little further up the rope, but she’s still his kind of gal.

So, really, it’s no surprise when Jim comes bursting into his office, while McCoy’s trying to file some reports, eyes all alight with some adventure McCoy knows he’ll have to treat him for, and stops dead, pointing at the speaker, with a look of horror.

"Bones, what the hell is this? What in the everloving fuck are you listening to?"

McCoy holds up a finger, calling for a pause, then points at the speaker and sings along. "Why don’t you mind your own business? ‘Cause if you mind your business, then you won’t be minding mine." He pauses with a self-satisfied smirk. "Now, what did you actually want, Jim?"

Chekov’s elbows-deep into Europop — doesn’t matter what language it’s in, or if he even understands that language, it only matters if it makes him want to laugh and dance, in even the darkest moments. He is, after all, in space. It’s dark an awful lot, in space.

Just recently, though, he’s discovered that the Japanese had an equally bright and poppy music scene, in the late 20th century, and that there were some groups who made his favourite Europop songs even brighter and poppier. And it’s Sulu who finds him, twirling around, in their quarters, singing along — and deems it inappropriate to walk out and walk back in, in case it’s a hallucination. Actually, Sulu notices, the kid’s pretty good.

"You are dancing queen. Young and sweet, only sewenteen!"

If he’d just stop trying to sing…

She’s a practical exolinguist, but it’s more than just what she does for a living, it’s what she does for fun. Uhura can sing thousand year old Andorian battle anthems, better than the Andorians who taught them to her. But, really, she likes to sing jazz, and she’s particularly fond of a particular odd-voiced Terran jazz singer, with a shocking sense of humour, for her time.

Spock can’t really understand the appeal of the woman’s voice, but even he admits that listening to Nyota, as she violates the Turkish language, in imitation, is more than any green-blooded Vulcan could ask for in a lifetime. There’s something about this song that always ends in her bed, possibly due to it’s merrily misandristic lyrics. There is something illogically appealing about a woman who can sing about seducing her secretary — especially in Turkish, which is such a sensual and contextual language.

And logic can go straight to hell, tonight, as far as he’s concerned, watching her sing as she finishes editing a transmission intended to invite a particular Romulan senator to a peace conference.

"Üsküdar’a gider iken bir mendil buldum. Mendilimin içine lokum doldurdum," she sings, standing up from her desk, and tossing him a small chocolate.

This always ends the same way.

Scotty’s drunk again. No, that’s not fair. It doesn’t do the situation justice. He’s shitfaced. And, as usual, he’s shitfaced with Chekov, and they’re debating the merits of Scottish music versus Russian music.

That might also be a lie. They’re singing very loudly and nearly incomprehensibly at one another. And they’re singing two different songs. In two different languages.

By the time Scotty gets to, "So if you’re a fighter, and scrappin’ a lot, you’d best shy away if you’re scrappin’ a Scot," they’re on the floor of the engine room, rolling about and drunkenly swatting at each other. Of course, it’s Thursday night, so the crew is used to this. They know it won’t end in anything serious — Scotty loves his engines too much to allow Chekov to bleed on them.

Besides, by the end of the night, Scotty is going to be passed out in Chekov’s lap, while Chekov sings drunken Russian lullabies. Thursdays are just like that.