**Rally's Reckoning**

Prompt: Gunsmith cats fanfiction rally goes to see a therapist for her PTSD from serving in the marines in Afghanistan what she can’t understand she tells the doctor guns don’t set off her PTSD but Cars backfiring and fireworks do

Rally Vincent sat rigidly in the therapist's office, the faint smell of antiseptic mingling with the air-conditioned chill that set her teeth on edge. The walls were decorated with soothing paintings of serene landscapes, but they felt oppressive to her—reminders of the normalcy she used to take for granted before her time as a Marine in Afghanistan. As she fidgeted with the strap of her messenger bag, a cascade of mixed emotions surged within her. She had fought her way through firefights, extreme heat, and the chaos of war—the sounds of gunfire and explosions were second nature to her. Yet here she was, unraveling at the sound of a car backfiring outside the clinic. “Why don’t we start with what brought you here today?” Dr. Halcyon asked, his voice calm and measured. His eyes were warm behind his spectacles, but they felt scrutinizing in that moment. Rally took a deep breath and forced herself to focus, her pulse racing. “I don’t know why I’m here, honestly. You know, I’ve handled M4s and IEDs, but the sound of a firework or a car backfiring... it just flips a switch in my head.” Dr. Halcyon nodded, jotting something down in his notebook. “Many veterans experience triggers that seem irrational. The mind processes trauma in unexpected ways. Can you tell me what happens when you hear those sounds?” Rally’s hands clenched into fists in her lap. “It’s like I’m right back in the desert. My heart races, my palms sweat, I feel the heat creeping in… I want to run, to hide. I feel so—so trapped.” “Yet gunfire itself doesn’t trigger you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “No!” she replied, almost defensively. “It’s frustrating because I love guns. I’ve always loved them. Firearms make sense to me. I find strength in them. When I shoot, it’s—empowering. But a backfire? I can’t explain it. It feels like the ground has opened beneath my feet.” “Have you tried using those feelings to your advantage? Could you redirect your thoughts when those triggers occur?” For a moment, Rally felt the urge to scoff. “You mean like breathing exercises and visualization? I’m a warrior. I’m trained to confront threats, not practice mindfulness.” Yet, beneath her hardened exterior, seeds of doubt began to sprout. What if the techniques were useful? Perhaps her therapist had a point; perhaps she could conquer this. Rally had always prided herself on her strength—the discipline she exhibited on the battlefield. “I know it’s hard to accept vulnerability,” Dr. Halcyon continued carefully. “But healing often requires revisiting that vulnerability. This is your chance to stand up against your trauma—not alone, but alongside those who understand.” A brief silence hung in the room until Rally broke it with a heavy sigh. “It’s just… sometimes, I feel like I can’t shake this. Everyone thinks I’m fine when I’m just—putting on a show. I miss the thrill of reckless freedom, the roar of engines, the quiet sense of belonging.” “What does belonging look like for you?” Dr. Halcyon asked, leaning forward ever so slightly. Her heart lingered on the memories—her friends in the Corps, racing modified cars, the camaraderie shared over late-night engine tuning, the laughter that burst from within her like a firework: explosive, bright, fleeting. “The races… They’re exhilarating. It’s like a symphony of horsepower and precision—everyone working together toward one goal. For a moment, everything else fades away.” “Is it possible that within those races, you found solace?” he asked gently. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice almost a whisper. “But it’s been hard to get back into it since I came home. I see my friends, but every time I hear a loud sound, I shut down. It isolates me.” "Rally, sometimes healing starts with allowing yourself to experience joy again. What if you took that community feel, that rush from racing, and let it help you reclaim your sense of self?" A flicker of hope ignited within her. “So you want me to find my old self through cars?” “Not just cars,” he clarified. “Utilize the loud engines, the speeds, the exhilaration—to confront your fears and reclaim what brings you joy. Engage it on your terms.” “I’ll give it a shot. But if I freak out at a backfire…” Dr. Halcyon held up his hand, his smile reassuring. “Then we’ll deal with that together.” As she left the office, Rally’s heart felt lighter, the shadows of her mind slightly less foreboding. Maybe confronting her trauma didn’t mean she had to put aside everything she loved; maybe she could reclaim her joy by bumping it up against the pain, transforming the echoes of her past into engines roaring along the asphalt. Weeks passed in a blur of therapy sessions and self-exploration. Rally returned to her car, an orange Mazda RX-7, and with it, she found her confidence budding anew. During one race night, surrounded by friends and the smell of nitrous and rubber, the adrenaline coursed through her veins. As the start lights blinked green, a roar erupted from the cars, the undeniable sound of engines cranked high. The thrill surged like sweet nectar, clearing the fog of her past. A car backfired nearby, and rather than cower, she let herself revel in the moment, embracing the noise instead of running from it. As she raced down the track, the metallic growl of her RX-7 delivering power, Rally realized she’d started to shift the narrative in her mind. Therapy was just one step; the journey of embracing her life was another. And in every pedal she pushed, in every race she ran, she felt herself—maybe not completely whole yet, but undeniably on her way to becoming again. The backfires and explosions were merely background noise now, far behind her as she reclaimed the roar of life.