Nobody in their right mind would be out in this storm. A deep, grumbling roar rolled across the sky as the rain chilled the air. Some found their comfort in clutching a stuffed bear, some in counting "elephants" between flashes and rumbles, some in reading a good book, and yet others found theirs in board games with their loved ones. Tonight, Claudia found hers in a punching bag.

Her knuckles were raw, and she had stitches she really shouldn't burst. Her body ached from head to toe, but this was all she knew to do. The only way to keep it out of her head was to fight it, literally. The incorrect but prevailing theory was that if her body hurt enough, her heart wouldn't, but hurt is just hurt. Nevertheless, she hoped the numbness in her hands would somehow prove otherwise someday.

"Claudia Rogers, lately you are one of the most predictable people I've ever known."

Claudia snapped out of her haze and looked down at her hands. Blood was slowly seeping through her wraps. She pushed her damp hair out of her face and, mopping her forehead with her arm, turned around to address the voice. "What are you here for, Sam?"

"You." Sam Wilson, scarred and graying, smiled at the scowling young woman. "I knew you had to be at home, haunting a church, or intimidating a punching bag, and you weren't at home and the preacher said he hadn't seen you brooding there since sunrise on Tuesday."

"I guess I'm pretty hard to miss. It's not often you see a woman who looks so much like she's been run over by a truck."

"I know the feeling. What was the truck this week?"

"Some Neo-Hydra terrorist cell. Except that they had more reinforcements than we realized, and then they had a personal bone to pick with a female Captain America. You know the type." She began to unwind the wrap on her right hand, suddenly realizing that it was partially scabbed on as a small, wet rip punctuated her sentence. She moved on to her left.

Sam winced. "I know them better than you could understand." He sat on a gym bench and rested his elbows on his knees. "That shield is heavier to carry in life than it is in combat. Especially for people who don't quite fit the mold people expect of it. Hell, even Steve had trouble with that mold. Then you're left standing up to people who hate you for a world that won't stand up for you and only sometimes doesn't hate you."

Claudia's gaze was fixed on the floor. She got down to the skin, dried blood sticking the gauze to her hand. She ripped it off without flinching in the least. "Yeah. Like I said, you know the type." She looked up at him, the patterns in her gray eyes shifting like a kaleidoscope of gears. "What are you really here for, Sam?"

"Come on, man, you really thought we'd forget?"

She feigned ignorance. "Forget what?"

"Your birthday, you stubborn little freak."

"I was literally created in a lab, Sam. I count New Year's as my birthday because all I know was that I was born in the winter. It's just a technicality, really." Claudia looked down at her hands. They barely even looked human. Her knuckles hardly had any skin left on them, and as for the rest, one couldn't even tell their condition from the amount of blood and grime on them. "You didn't get me a manicure to go with the pep talk for my birthday, did you?"

"Sadly, no, and Steve wasn't really born on the Fourth of July, either, but you know how much crap we gave him anyway."

"Ha ha, very funny. What's your point?"

"Geez, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Nightmares again?"

"No. No nightmares."

"If I had a quarter for every time I heard that lie from a different person in this job, I'd have two quarters, which isn't a lot, but I could buy a gumball or something."

"Since when do you ask Bucky about his nightmares?"

"It was a bonding experience."

Claudia raised her eyebrows. "That explains it."

Sam shook his head. "Anyway, my point in tracking you down was to tell you that we're having a little party for you tomorrow, whether you like it or not. One of the only things Bucky and I agree on is that you're worth more than you realize. It's not a big, flashy event or anything— you know we're no good at that—just… something for you. This job isn't easy, and you can't really do it alone. If you aren't at my house by seven, I'll drag you there myself."

"Oh?" Claudia smirked, packing her things in her gym bag. "Do you even know how old I am?"

"Do you even know how old you are?"

"Touche, but I'm pretty sure I'm 30."

"Dang, I'm old. I could've sworn you were 15 yesterday. You were a scrappy little thing at the beginning."

"And I'm not now?"

He searched her eyes for a moment. "No, you still are. No true Captain America hasn't been so far. Anyway, you know the place, tomorrow night, 7pm, and if you don't bring yourself, you will be brought. Try to take it easy till then, and get someone to look at those hands."

"Any ideas on who?"

"If you come early, I can see if Shuri can bring some doohickey. Dr. Strange isn't invited, you know, because he sucks, but it would sure please his ego if you asked him for help. If all else fails, you can ask Wanda and hope you don't end up with lobster claws instead."

"I'll probably just bandage myself up and hide them under my gloves, but thanks for the list of things I'm not going to do."

"Practical, I like it. Just take care of yourself, okay?"

"I'll try."

Author's note: Claudia is a brand new character for y'all, but for me, she feels like an old friend. I created her when I first started writing fanfic about seven years ago, and her development has been a journey of self-exploration for me. After TFATWS, I felt inspired to resurrect this version of her. I am fully aware that this story won't be everyone's cup of tea, but I'm writing it for myself. So, this is your reminder to write what you need, not necessarily just what people want. Your work's value does not come from its marketability. 3