Shower Serenade

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.

***

There was something about Petrelli Mansion that bothered Claire. It was a gorgeous house, certainly, but there were no carpets, everything smelled like Angela Petrelli’s strong, haughty perfume, and Claire didn’t really know anybody. Alright, so that was three somethings, not to mention there was more where that came from. Who could blame the poor girl, though? Claire was country-raised, with homemade waffles in the morning, and a furball of love named Mr.Muggles frolicking around.

The mansion was a townhouse in the heart of the city. Angela didn’t cook. Nathan owned no pets. Claire had weakly hoped for at least some stuffed animals and Lucky Charms in the cupboard; they did have two small boys, after all. But Simon and Monty both had specialized, healthy, diets, and their rooms were decked in space motifs. Funny, how everyone accused nearly-legal Claire of being young and “not mature enough to handle this”, when they expected their seven and four year olds to act like rocket scientists.

So, Claire pretty much tried to keep a low-profile in the three days that she was forced to call the mansion “home.” It seemed to work, for when the only other two people in the house, Angela and Nathan, were out at the same time, no one noticed that Claire was left home alone. It gave her a little bit of relief, the privacy. The world-or at least the 3000 square feet that she was confined in- was her oyster and she could do whatever she wanted. Blast music from her boom box…but she didn’t have one. Raid the fridge…but there was no junk food. Call up her friends and talk loudly wherever she wanted…if she had any friends, or anything to talk about.

There was one thing that Claire did like to do, though, and that was to sing. However, her voice was a little rusty, and she’d never dare sing in front of anyone else. But even better was singing in the shower, which seemed to even out the kinks in her voice as the sound reverberated off the cool, wet tiles.

Claire caught a glimpse of herself in one of the hallway mirrors and tugged at a slightly greasy lock of hair. She hadn’t really had a chance to take a good shower since before her mom ended up in the hospital. Spending a night in the hospital, having her house burn down in the morning, ending up on Peter Petrelli’s doorstep the following night, and watching said Peter come back to life the next afternoon hadn’t left a lot of time for hygiene. She’d taken a quick wash-off the night she arrived in New York, but that was almost two whole days ago. Yes, Claire could do with a long shower, and what better time to take advantage of Nathan’s master bathroom, but when she was home alone?

After checking her watch to make sure that nobody would be arriving soon, since having her bio-dad find her using his shower was not the best ploy to get him to like her, Claire crept up the large master staircase. A twist of mischievous excitement knotted in her stomach as she carefully opened the door to Nathan and Heidi’s large bedroom. The master bath was off to the left, and Claire let out a low whistle upon entering. Real white marble coated every inch of the room, and she wondered how it was light enough not to just fall through the floor. There was not only a glass shower, but a hot tub sized bathtub with several jets. Also taking Claire’s breath away were the duel golden sinks, and toilet in an entirely separate corner. This bathroom was almost as big as her bedroom back in Texas.

Claire nearly cooed with joy when she spotted the large shower radio/CD player mounted to the wall. She found a good Indie Rock station and breezily stripped herself of her clothes. After making a last-minute decision to, aw hell, just leave the door open, she cranked up the volume on the radio and stepped inside the frosted glass shower.

What she hadn’t, unfortunately, counted on, was the other Petrelli that would spontaneously show up from time to time: her young uncle, Peter. He didn’t make a habit of popping up at Nathan’s until Claire arrived. Ever since then, it had been hard to walk around the place without running into him, but she figured at ten o’ clock in the morning, he’d probably still be asleep or eating breakfast.

In actuality, Peter moseyed through the front door with his copy of the key about three minutes after Claire stepped into the shower, and began calling out the names of his family members. 

“Nathan! Claire! Mom! Anyone home?”

Peter closed the door behind him and pocketed his keys. Briskly scanning the first floor as briefly but as thoroughly as possible, Peter deduced that he was alone in the house. And then that’s when he heard it. The music. It was kind of distant at first, too far away to make out the lyrics, but as Peter followed the sound, slowly walking up the winding staircase, it became clearer.

“I never really gave up on breakin' out of this two-star town. I got the green light; I got a little fight. I'm gonna turn this thing around.”

Peter recognized it at once; it was only played every five minutes on the radio. In fact, it was played so often that he’d actually memorized the lyrics without even trying. And unlike other overplayed songs, this one actually hadn’t lost its spark to him. Peter was sort of a closet fan of The Killers and had been meaning to pick up Sam’s Town for a while, but the whole “saving the world” thing had gotten in the way recently.

He had a vague knowledge of where all the radios were in the house, and discovered that the three boom boxes upstairs were silent. Peter frowned, and still tried to follow the source of the music. He was apparently getting warmer, because soon, another voice accompanied the track: a girl’s voice belting out the lyrics as if no one was listening. Of course, she didn’t think anyone was.

“A subtle kiss that no one sees; A broken wrist and a big trapeze. Oh well I don't mind, you don't mind, cause; I don't shine if you don't shine Before you go, can you read my mind?”

Peter heard Claire clearly as he walked through the doorway to Nathan’s bedroom. The bathroom door was half open, and he could feel the humidity change from the steam as he tip-toed to the bathroom doorway. But he didn’t go in too far; let the door be a barrier between him and Claire. If she, if Nathan, if anyone, found him this close to his niece in the shower, all sorts of shifty gazes would be directed at Peter. That wasn’t his intention, though. In fact, if he saw Claire naked, he’d probably go back in time and try to forget that he was ever emotionally scarred by the sight. Not that Claire was unattractive…no, as a red-blooded male rather then a family member, Peter could still see that he was gonna have to beat the boys off of her when she got older. Now it was just plain curiosity that made him kneel by the doorway, barely whispering the words along with the track.

Claire’s voice went from strong to scream-singing at the next lyrics. “The teenage queen, the loaded gun; the drop dead dream, the Chosen One. A southern drawl, a world unseen; a city wall and a trampoline!”

“Oh well, I don’t mind, you don’t mind. Cause I don’t shine if you don’t shine…” Peter murmured along with her, resting his back against the door. He moved to a more comfortable position as the guitar solo came on, casually resting his elbows on his bent knees. He relaxed and closed his eyes, just tapping his foot along with the beat of the music. The next verse started up, and Peter found himself singing in unison with Claire at a normal speaking level then a whisper. It was quite stupid, looking back on it; he was just asking to get caught. But Peter couldn’t help it,  really. The next lyrics were full of so much passion and upbeatness that singing-along was like a rule.

“Slippin’ in my faith until I fall. You never returned that call...Woman, open the door, don't let it sting, I wanna breathe that fire again!”

Then, Peter just decided ‘to hell with it’ and belted out the last chorus at the top of his lungs. He wasn’t much of a singer, but neither were Claire or the frontman for the actual band. Just a couple solos in the Catholic church choir were about as close as it got to superstar for Peter. Now, it didn’t matter though, because he was six feet away from Claire, they were alone in the house, and they were just…singing.

Claire could hear another voice join hers, yet she didn’t stop. By its baritone, she could tell a male sat outside her door, and by its fervor, she knew it to be Peter. And for some reason, that didn’t scare her at all. Clearly, they were both self-conscious, but found solace in each others shyness. If that made any sense.

“She said I don't mind-,” cried Peter, not needing to be super human to know that Claire could hear every word. Their mutual awareness made it even better, as they unintentionally split into a duet.

“-you don't mind.”

“Cause I don't shine-.”

And then they were unison once more. “-if you don't shine!”

“Put your back on me, put your back on me-,"

“I don’t mind and you don’t miiiiind…”

“Put you back on me, put your back on me….”

The music slowed and Claire cracked the shower door open a little, seeing Peter’s feet sticking out from behind the door.

“I never took you as a singer,” she called to him, grinning. With anyone else, even Zach, she’d be cowering in the bottom of the shower, blushing furiously, and not being able to look the other person in the face for days. With Peter though, it seemed so natural. Whether it was their familial bond or the deeper roots they shared, she couldn’t decide.

Peter snorted. “Yeah, well I never took you as a Killers fan. I thought you would be more into Carrie Underwood and…that stuff.”

“The stars are blazing like rebel diamonds cut out of the sun...when you read my mind...”

“Because I’m from Texas?” she replied flatly. She interpreted the silence that met her as a reluctant ‘yes.’

“And you thought that you were the only one full of surprises, Captain America,” she smirked. It was Peter’s turn to press his sarcasm button.

“Captain America? That would be Nathan, remember? I’m more of a Batman type.” He still didn’t dare look at her when he spoke, to respect her personal privacy, but had a feeling that Claire probably wouldn’t have minded if he looked back and caught a view full of skin.

They were silent for a few moments, just the radio station jingle playing between them. Peter heard the shower door close again, and took that as his initiative that he’d worn out his welcome. He reluctantly got on his feet, and was making his way towards the hall when he heard Claire’s voice again.

“Peter!”

Her uncle frowned and headed back to the bathroom, still keeping that wooden door between their sightlines.

“Do you…do you know this one?”

It took Peter a second to realize that she was talking about the song that was now playing on the radio.

“A long, long time ago. I can still remember how that music used to make me smile, and I knew if I had my chance that I could make those people dance, and maybe they'd be happy for a while…”

“Yeah, who doesn’t know it? It’s American Pie by…Don McLean, I think.”

“Oh…yeah…do you know the words?”

Suddenly, Claire felt timid about what she was trying to get out. “Don’t go” would have been simpler in theory, but not in execution. She had to find a way make him stay, while remaining casual and familial at the same time.

“All of it?” Peter asked, slightly incredulous.

“I guess.”

“Not really. Just the chorus.”

“Oh.”

There was no reply and Claire assumed that he had left. Half-heartedly muttering the first verse, she realized that she probably ought to get out soon. I’ll stay for the chorus, at least.

And when those slow first words came drawling through the radio speakers, she thought she heard something-someone- else along with the track. But no…she wasn’t imagining it. Peter was leisurely turning round the corner of the door, watching Claire through the frosted glass as he sang.

“Bye bye Miss American Pie. Drove my Chevy to the levy, but the levy was dry.”

Claire pushed open the glass door and peaked out, the foggy barrier and steam between then still providing cover for her nudity. Peter leaned against the side of the wooden bathroom door, smiling lopsidedly at her, and Claire met his volume.

“Them good ol’ boys were drinkin’ whisky and rye…singing this’ll be the day that I die…”

Claire found her cheeks slightly pinkining for several different reasons as they stopped singing and just stared, smiling at each other.

“I better sit down. This song goes on forever,” Peter winked, plopping down onto the tile floor. Claire was still grinning like an idiot, and she pulled the shower door closed once more. She didn’t even bother to restrain giggles at nine minutes of listening Peter make up his own lyrics for the six verses he didn’t know.

It was in these moments that Claire didn’t find Petrelli Mansion oh so ominous anymore. And from then on, whenever Angela would bitch, or Nathan would pull his politician talk, Claire would silently hum “American Pie,”, or if she was feeling perkier, “Read My Mind,” to herself.

What it took to get her thinking of Peter were the ingredients to happiness.   

xxx