Marvel FDNY: Clem & Declan
Firefighting, the new frontier. Over the years, Declan had worked the gamut of professions that could be taken on with fabricated experience and a complete lack of college degree. From the lumber yards in Washington to oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico. He'd done construction and carpentry, he'd driven the big rigs up to Alaska and steered fishing boats off the coast of Thailand. He'd never fought fires, but some entity had enough faith in him to secure the job with Engine 26. As disconcerting as it was to have conscious decision ripped out by the root, Declan took to challenges like a god of war. He only knew conquer. This dominion of red bricks and bonding would soon be gold from his Midas touch, Declan was comfortable with nothing less than the driver's seat. His control freak mentality promised that it wouldn't be an easy road, but failure had never been an option. Besides, he looked good in blue, and that was like a cogent argument for his belonging spit out by his own DNA.
Speaking of DNA, Declan had the feeling that he wasn't the only member of the Murphy clan making a home at Engine 26. It was day one, and the first thing the fire captain had said to him after reviewing the transfer paperwork was, "Murphy, huh? Any relation to Clementine Murphy?"
That had been two hours ago, and by the time Declan walked away from the vehicle maintenance bay and into the day room full of couches and video games that regaled men away from boredom, he didn't look the least bit surprised to see her. Then again, he'd never been an easy read. His eyes were cobalt and ash, a blue that felt more at home on gray days. A mordant smile was there and then gone, vanished behind the plastic lip of the water bottle curled in his fist. He approached from the side, where she perched on the couch's arm. Condensation rolled between his knuckles in tiny beads, and he seemed plenty refreshed when he drank the cold down in a thick swallow before saying her name with all the formality of a square dance.