Declan's shoes fell heavy on the wooden floor of the HQ he now called home, staring at the walls, reminding him of a time when he was younger. He could hear the empty halls echo with his footsteps, recalling voices that had once filled a similar one. The haughty voice of his leader, Jack McLeod, giving orders to some delivery boy before returning to his paperwork at his desk, the murmurs of the many men and women employed by jack who discussed plans for jobs, and even the sound of the windows exploding in a hail of gunfire as Jack and the crew fell. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking the memory off as best as he could, trying to forget that day only. His shoulders slumped in a mixture of defeat and pain, wondering why he was back in the business now, so far from where he'd started. 

He'd started out fresh faced and new, a farm boy ready to make a mark on his world. He'd been fifteen when he'd run off away from his family, his sisters and brothers, and every comfort of home. Home was busy and chaotic with twelve other siblings running around, always begging for attention, fighting over chores, and making his life a seeming hell. He'd been so young and headstrong back then, wanting to escape it all and find his place in the big city to make his mark on the world. Deirdre had told him not to go, she'd threatened to tell ma, but he'd gone anyway and found himself in over his head deeper than he could ever fathom. He'd spent nearly a year picking pockets traveling across the world in a desperate attempt to find a place where he could fit in, and living off of scraps as he told himself that he'd make it, not wanting to go back to the farm destitute and empty handed like the prodigal son in the bible stories. That boy running off and squandering his money for a life of fame only to drag himself back lower than a pig, might have been well and good for a story, but not for Declan. He'd ended up far removed from his comfort zone, scrambling for scraps in Israel, ducking the scorching heat as he perfected his pick pocketing technique.

Still he'd been thinking more and more about going back and begging for forgiveness, ready to face the truth that an idiot seventeen year old child who spent his whole life milking cows and mucking out the horse barn was no match for the vile dirty cities he'd been living in. All he needed was the money to get back home and he knew just the mark to hit. A well off looking man who always looked as though he hadn't a care in the world and beside him stood his daughter. Declan's one mistake was reaching into her purse for the money clip and necklace and not her fathers wallet like he'd originally planned and Jack's response was swift and forceful. Declan's wrist snapped like a twig before Jack released him, turning around to smile once again on his daughter. Jack's body guards caught up with him within minutes and gave him the beatdown of his life. He could still remember the stark difference between the warm friendly face he'd seen only minutes before and the cold icy ones that stared him down. They'd laughed at his futile cries of pain, delighting in inflicting as much bodily harm as possible before Jack stepped in and told them to leave. Jack was quite fatherly, offering to fix Declan up and train his skills further after his near successful heist on his daughter's belongings. Jack was nothing but benevolent after that, denying any traces of the cold ruthlessness that had caused Declan's wrist to shatter in one swift moment. Declan became trusted member of Jack's inner circle, a warm friendship forming between them as he learned the trade but he'd never had the chance to earn his button. War broke out, one of the most violent the city had ever seen and Jack had gone down defending his family and his honor. 

Declan had awoken a week later in a delirious fever, mumbling nonsense about Jack and his family, grasping futilely for the gun that wasn't there, finding his sister's hand instead. Deirdre had come for a visit to the city after a strange premonition had warned her that it would be too late for her brother if she didn't. She told him she'd found him among the ruins of a large building, his crew's HQ, that had collapsed after a violent explosion. Bloody and unconscious, she'd dragged him from the wreckage before anyone else arrived and after cleaning his wounds she'd taken him back home. After waking up and dealing with the grief and fallout from Jack's death, Declan had become much more subdued, enjoying as much as he could of his siblings, staying up long hours talking with Dee about his adventures, and planning to settle down and never return to the life of crime. It hadn't worked out that way though, a family friend had gotten herself into trouble and he'd gone off to clean up her mess while Deirdre had left to take care of Lillian's affairs in New York. 

Now he was back again, a new city, a new leader, an old life which he found fit like a well worn leather glove. It wasn't ideal, but he could make it work. He gave one more look around the new HQ before turning to head out the front doors, pulling out a black umbrella and opening it up as he stepped out into the torrential downpour.