Staring anywhere that wasn't the pretty psychologist, Chase tossed a tennis ball at the spot of light that was reflected from Emma's watch. "Everyone thinks Dean is a fucking saint."
"And."
It was one of those probing "ands" the ones where he was supposed to pour his heart out; and then feel better. Even worse, he usually did. Therapy sucked. Chase slammed the ball against the spot again.
"And he isn't. He's just a normal bloke."
"Mmm…"
After several sessions with Emma, Chase knew the drill: He was supposed to tell her what was really bothering him. "Dean got his picture in the paper, again. Big save on a building. Pops cut it out and put it out on the refrigerator. Like he was… Like he was a… a bloody boy scout earning a fucking merit badge."
This was interesting. Was it a need for recognition? Fraternal competition? The three brothers were pretty incredible: With two in Rescue, and one in the Army. "Have you had your picture on the fridge?"
"Couple times." Chase shrugged. "Footie, and a car wreck last year. Dean's had his on the fridge more." Chase stumbled out, clenching his fists. "Dean is the oldest. Everyone thinks he's a fucking saint. And Lachie's SAS; so he's a fucking hero."
Emma nodded, understanding the view that if Lachie was in the SAS he was a hero. But, this was something that was really bothering Chase. "Tell me more."
There was this time." Chase leaned back in his chair chucking the ball one more time. "It was just before Dean started at Rescue. Mom was still home."
"Hmn…" Emma thought, this was some progress. "And?"
"Dean got a tattoo, on his shoulder area. A little symbol. He says he did it on a dare from a mate. It isn't even a large tattoo. Maybe a couple centimeters."
There was a pause. It kept on moving, making Chase squirm and toss the ball a little harder at the spot on the wall.
"Anyway, mom flipped her shit about her darling son desecrating his body."
"Oh." Emma wasn't sure how this related to Dean's picture in the paper; but, therapy was never a straight line.
"Yeah, she smacked him pretty good, and stormed off. It was a pretty epic fight. One of many. Mom didn't like him going out with his friends and partying. She didn't like Dean working with dad. She wanted him to go to Uni and become a chartered accountant, not do paramedicine."
"Okay." This was new, and progress. It filled in pieces of the greater Gallagher puzzle. Emma really wanted to have both Lachie and Dean in her office for a couple of sessions. The three of them were very intriguing, they had all suffered great trauma; both as children and as adults. And they were mostly normal; well, as normal as most people. It seemed that all three of them shared the same complex: The need to save others. In the grander sense, it was a need to help, to serve the greater good. Chuckling to herself, they were all Gryffindors.
"Yep, it was interesting. Dean was tending bar, most nights; finishing his schooling. And prepping for his National Paramedicine Boards. It wasn't easy. Anyway he and a couple of his school mates went out and they all got tattoos. Matching or something." Chase shrugged and tossed the ball again. He'd been nine or ten. It wasn't something that he'd remembered all the details about. He did remember that it sucked!
"Matching tattoos?" Emma queried, this was an interesting piece of information. Much more than Chase had ever let out about his childhood. "I take it your family was not accepting of tattooing."
"Meh; dad had a few." Chase tossed the ball again; he could see the beginning of a mark. It would be interesting to see if it was there next week. He tossed it again. "I guess Mom wanted him to be sure…"
"Well, that seems to make sense." Emma tried to nod encouragingly, kids weren't something she had too much experience with – other than her childhood. She specialized in adults, and trauma response.
"Dean and Pop left. They came back a while later. No one said anything about the tattoo after that." Chase paused, trying to remember what happened for the next few days after that. Dean had been kind of quiet, spent a couple of nights a week on a mate's couch. "He was pretty much gone for a bit. Mom was pissed!"
"How did you and Lachie deal with that?"
Chase shrugged. "Mom and dad were fighting a lot. It was right before mom left. So, things were all kinds of sideways. Lachie played a lot of footie." Thinking to himself, yeah there had been a lot of random football practices for about six months. And that was the avoidance that Emma had been talking about last week. He'd pretty much been stuck, so he'd read a lot of comic books; and taken a bunch of Dean's magazines – not that he'd ever tell him that. They were all pretty good at avoiding things.
"Yep, Dean is no more a saint; than I am a bushranger."
Emma raised an eyebrow.
"The tattoo is probably the shortest story. Dean had a lot of the normal school stuff; cutting class, partying where and when he shouldn't. Nothing too exciting. They just tended to involve girls and sailboats. I used to be dragged to Dean's skiff races as crew."
"Crew?"
"Yeah, dad got Dean into racing skiffs while he was in school. So, most weekends were involved with towing the skiff around to different marinas. They were two person sailboats, so I was the second person. Honestly, Lachie would have been better at it – he was taller and heavier."
"So why didn't he?"
"He was big into footie. And was old enough to figure out his own way to matches."
"Huh." Emma tapped her pen on the notebook. Dean and Chase really hadn't ever been apart. Interesting. It made sense why Chase followed Dean into Rescue; what else would he have done? His identity was defined in large part by his brother. By his family. Chase had mentioned briefly that his father had been in the Army. Service to country, it defined them all. Even working in construction, the father was in service to country – broad terms; but, it fit.
"Yeah. It was…" Chase shrugged, interesting wasn't the word. Shitty, well that was a term for it. Sucked giant donkey balls; was another word for it. He tossed the ball against the spot, harder this time.
Emma watched; this was really the most emotion he'd shown in session. Abandonment, she could see it from five kilometers away. She looked over at the clock, they were past their time. If she rushed, she could start the next session time only a few minutes late. "Chase, I really want to talk about this more. But, our time is up for today. Can we talk later this week; or next week?"
"Yeah, I'm benched for the week. Dean benched me."
"So, Tuesday at ten."
"Tuesday." Chase sighed, and agreed. It was a day. One of those days, he paused at the door. "Sounds good. Thanks."