cliff o'malley. peacekeeper {fin}

Cliff had barely taken off his white Peacekeeper uniform before entering District Eleven's watering hole. It had been weeks since he'd last been there, before the events of the Reaping went down, but goddamnit after today he needed a drink. Frankly, he was tired of having to rummage through his eighteen year old son's alcohol stash that he was certain Cain didn't know that Cliff knew about. Goddamnit, he was sure he raised his kids to have a better taste in alcohol, but the poor kid was drinking straight vodka.

He made a mental note to obtain some brown liquor and let Cain have a taste at some point as he sat down at the bar. Maybe he'll finally grow some hair on his balls, he thought as he avoided the stares of the patrons at the bar and ordered a double whiskey sour. 

The bartender passed Cliff his drink. Based off of the look on his face, the bartender was definitely contemplating whether or not to address the elephant in the room.

"Back on the whiskey sours, huh?" The awkward silence was finally broke by one of the bars other regular patrons, an old fart of a farmer named Hank who spent just as much time in there as Cliff did. The only difference between them was that Cliff actually had the money to drop on the bar.

"It's been a long week," he muttered back as the smooth taste of whiskey ran down his throat. It was strong enough to grow a few chest hairs on a man.

"He's doing alright though," Hank shot back, brave enough to break the awkwardness and address what everyone was thinking. Being the father of a kid in the Games was weird, he thought. No one paid that much attention to Cliff on a good day, but now suddenly all eyes seemed to be on him. Some were brave enough to ask, offer their sympathies, others avoided the topic of conversation all together. He wondered if this was how Marcellus felt last year when his little guy was in the Games.

He made a mental note to go spend an afternoon with his little brother and ask.

"Killed that bitch from Nine," Cliff retorted, as he rubbed his face and signalled for another drink. Sure enough, the bartender already had one lined up. It was almost as if he could've predicted the kind of evening Cliff was about to have. "Put a javelin through her eye almost as soon as the fight started."

"Must be a proud 'pa," Hank offered a half smile. He seemed almost scared of Cliff's reaction. He grunted in response and finished his drink. He didn't even have to ask for the next one - it already was sitting in front of him.

If he were to describe how he felt about Abel at all, he would not say pride. Of all of his sons to volunteer, he did not expect Abel to be the one to do it. He could've seen Noah or Cain do it, perhaps as their way of saying fuck you to Cliff, but certainly not for the likes of his dear nephew Prop O'Malley. 

His wife was taking Abel's absence a lot harder than the rest of the family. It was a topic of conversation they all avoided - instead they solemnly gathered by the TV and watched, not a word or sound uttered by anyone. He had noticed Cain avoided the TV altogether - in fact, he noticed his eldest son was hardly around these days.

Volunteering was becoming less and less rare as the years went on - back when him and Marcellus were eligible, you could pretty much count on going into the arena if your name was pulled at the reaping. Now, there was a good chance that some fool like his middle son would chase glory and take your spot. Cliff wasn't sure whether kids were getting smarter or whether life was getting shittier - so shitty that the slim chance of making it out of the arena and earning money and fame was worth the risk of dying.

He didn't go see Abel at the Justice Building, so he never found out the reason why.

He figured it was better off that way.

"How's the wife?" Hank asked, genuinety laced in his words.

"She's holding up well," he lied, avoiding Hank's gaze as he swallowed back his drink. His buzz was beginning to turn into intoxication, the familiar fuzzy feeling masking all of the emotions he hid deep inside.

His wife cried almost everyday. Her muffled sobs would echo through their shared bedroom, and Cliff would stare at the ceiling as her tears would quietly fade as they put her to sleep. 

It reminded him of how she sobbed the day she pulled him aside after church and told him she was expecting. He was barely nineteen - just weeks away from leaving for District Two for Peacekeeper training. They were young and dumb and stupid and God, he was becoming a Peacekeeper because he knew he wasn't a family man, he wasn't like Marcellus and his big dumb dream of raising a herd of kids on a farm, and now here he was stuck, he was going to have to drop out of Peacekeeper training and god he wished he knew how to pull out-

Cliff knew what he had to do that day in order to avoid tarnishing him and his wife's reputation (them church types can be real judgey, what with the whole don't have premarital sex type thing). They married just a week later - claiming that they were just so in love that they couldn't bare to live without each other, even from Districts away. She announced her pregnancy a month later - claiming that they just must have gotten lucky upon our "consummation". 

He didn't even meet the damned kid until his training was over a year later and he was sent home for Ratmas. But staring into the baby blue eyes of his eldest child for the first time made him feel all sorts of emotions - pride, love, and he thought that maybe the whole parenting thing wouldn't be that bad.

hey always told him that you would be lucky to get stationed in your home District, but luckily enough District Eleven was never much of desired place to be stationed and so when he volunteered to go, they figured why the hell not. That of course, didn't stop Cliff from being sent to wherever needed temporary reinforced security, meaning for months at a time he would take a break from his whole "family man" persona and get a work vacation which he would do copious amounts of cocaine and screw a whole lotta hookers.

Cliff knew God hated him, and despite his family's firm belief in Him, he had no desire to change his mind. 

If his father cared to know anything beyond his pristine reputation of being one of his only two sons to become a Peacekeeper, he knew he'd probably be rolling in his grave right now.

And as he stumbled out of his seat, intoxication fully set in, he slapped a 100 dollar bill on the counter and gave a friendly wink to the bartender. "Keep tha' change," he slurred with a smile, "and if my son o' a bitch son Abel wins, I'm buying this whole damned bar, ya' hear?"

And he head home to his shitty life with his shitty family, and wondered how the hell he screwed up so badly.