32 Home

Home. They say it’s where the heart is. They say there’s nowhere like it. They say you always find your way back. They say it’s the warmest and happiest place. They say it’s where you make it. Home.

As I’m finding my way back, I reflect on how I’ve lived in my ‘home’ a shorter amount of time than I’ve stayed at Riel’s beach house. And even though I’ve only really ‘lived’ there a month, it’s still the only place I want to be right now. To be honest, I think that has more to do with the person inside rather than the place itself.

When I called my flat in the city ‘home’, I never felt the pull to go back there. Sure, I went back to sleep and eat and do all the necessities of continuing life, but I never really felt it was a home. I always felt more comfortable at Christopher’s place; or with Riel. But again, I’m sure that had more to do with the people than the actual surroundings.

Now, as I return to the flat in Mount Vernon that I live in with my husband, I understand the true meaning of home. Although it is more about the people you live with, it also does have a little to do with the surrounding. I can’t wait to lie in our bed or cook in our kitchen. I did those things when Toph came to visit in Los Angeles, but it’s nothing like coming home.

After 23 years, I finally figured it out.

“I’m home, love,” I announce as I shut our front door behind me.

Chris and I decided to meet at home instead of him coming to get me from the airport. There’s less hassle that way and it goes for a smoother transition.

When I look up, Christopher is suddenly standing in front of me with his pointer finger to his lips. I go to ask him what the hell he’s doing, but he puts his hand over my mouth. “Be quiet,” he whisper yells at me.

I don’t panic or freak out because he does this, but it is a little worrisome. The look in his eyes is what really makes me nervous. He looks scared. He looks like he’s about to panic.

I hitch an eyebrow silently asking what I could verbally. He just shakes his head and whispers, “Just leave. I’ll call you when it’s clear to come home. You can’t be here. I promise I’ll call.”

He slowly releases his hand, but puts his pointer finger back to his lips. When he goes to reach for the handle behind me, I grab his arm and pull his ear to my lips, “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“I can’t go,” he whispers quickly. “They know I’m here, but you can get out.”

“Who’s here?” I ask, but at this point I’m definitely not leaving. No way am I leaving him here with someone who he’s apparently scared of.

“Just-”

But before he can say anything else my entire world freezes along with the blood in my veins. The voice that interrupts my husbands is like nails on a chalkboard.

“I thought I heard voices,” my father walks out of our bedroom with an over-confident sway in his step with two men behind him.

Clark is wearing his ever-prevalent suit, but the men that accompany him are wearing jeans, with filled gun holsters around their right thigh and black polo shirts. Even more important is the bulletproof vest they wear over their shirts that say ‘ICE’ across the chest and a badge on their left shoulders.

I.C.E stands for Immigrations and Customs Enforcement. They are the people that collect illegal immigrants in America.

Seeing his face throws me back into reality. And without thinking, I grab Topher and shove him behind me as a human barricade. If this man so much as looks at my husband wrong, his day is going to go drastically downhill.

“What are you doing here?” I glare at him hoping to make his heart stop with my eyes.

I feel my best friend’s hand on my shoulder, “Babe, let go. They don’t want me. They’re here for you.”

A smile makes it to my father’s face, “It’s so good to see you, Damian.”

“Get out of my house,” I say sternly still holding my husband behind me. I don’t care who they want, I’m not letting him get hurt.

Clark puts a finger in the air, “Tsk, tsk, this isn’t your house. This house belongs to a Mister Christopher Ashton.”

“The likes of who is my husband. We share this home. Leave before I call the police.”

“Go ahead and call,” his smile turns wicked, “they’re already outside. We’re here to pick you up.”

“Me?” I ask a little more than stunned, “for what?”

“Didn’t you know? You’re a wanted criminal for illegal immigration,” he takes a menacing step forward.

I’m pulled backward and pushed behind Topher before I can protest.

“Get out of my house,” Christopher stands up straight. “You have no grounds to charge him with anything. He’s a legal citizen.”

“Aiding and Abetting I see,” Clark crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs, “Alright Damian, get me your visa.”

“You know I don’t have a visa,” I deadpan before shaking my head, “I have no need for one.”

“The law says that immigrants need a visa to stay in the United States,” the man I have to call my father smiles. “Now, if you would please turn around so that my officers can place cuffs on you.”

Shaking my head, I tell him, “Even if I did need a visa, which I don’t, I’m an American citizen because I married one.”

“Oh,” he chuckles lightly. The sound makes me want to hit him, “I guess I forgot the second charge: Marriage Fraud.”

“Have you lost your mind?” I look at him like he’s gone mad.

He shakes his head, smile still in place, “Nope, we have all the necessary evidence stating your marriage is fake. Now, please turn around so we can do this easily.”

“Listen here you prick!” I yell, but my husband stands in my line of sight.

Topher shakes his head and points toward the door, “You entered my house under false pretenses. Now leave or-”

“Or what, you little fag?” my father tilts his head to the side. “Are you going to call the cops? I am the cops. You going to shoot me? I don’t think you want a rep as a cop killer. You have two choices here. You let us take him nice and peacefully or we take him by force. And who knows what injuries he could give himself when he struggles in our hold. So shut your pretty little mouth and get out of the way.”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” my husband isn’t backing down. “I’ll have your job.”

“And who’s going to corroborate your story? A wanted felon?” He moves forward and grabs Chris’ arm.

Once again, there’s no thinking on my behalf when I launch forward and collide my fist with the side of my father’s jaw. The blow makes him release Chris, but only stumble backward a little bit. My left hand grabs onto his shirt before I get another solid hit into his face. I feel hands on my back, but I try to shrug them off as I throw another punch. I only just get the fourth in before I’m tackled to the ground.

That’s when the two men that came with Clark come into my view for a second before they flip me over. My face is pushed into the carpet and there’s a knee in my back. I know I’m yelling and I know it’s mostly profanities, but I can’t seem to help myself. I feel the handcuffs lock around my wrists and then one man on each arm pulling me to my feet.

“How do you like it, you sick bastard? Hitting on people that can’t defend themselves is just up your alley!  You’re a piece of work! You can hide behind your badge all you want, but you’ll get what’s coming!” I scream these things at the top of my lungs as I watch Clark get to his feet.

When he’s in front of me again, I spit at him. It hits him in the cheek, but he just wipes it away with the blood coming from his nose.

I don’t struggle against the men holding me because I don’t have any fault with them. It’s the piece of trash they call a boss that I’m worried about.

Slowly, my father takes his handkerchief out of his suit jacket to wipe the blood off his face. When he’s done, he stuffs it into his trouser pocket. When he’s situated again he walks up so close to me that we’re almost chest to chest.

He whispers, “I’ll just add Assaulting a Government Official to your rap sheet,” right before slamming his knee into my solar plexus. With the blow he steps back and I double over, as much as I can with the officers holding me up, losing all the air in my lungs. As I sputter and struggle to breath, Clark leans in again, “Or maybe we’ll call it even.”

When I get the ability to breath, I look up at him and tell him, “We’ll never be even. Death would be too kind for you.”

He just chuckles and walks passed me to the door. When I see Christopher just standing there in the middle of our living room my heart drops. He looks like there are tears in his eyes. He has one hand wrapped around his stomach and the other pressed to his mouth.

Shaking my head, I look him in the eye, “Don’t worry, love. We’ll get this figured out.” I look up to the officers on my left, “Can he take my phone from my pocket?”

He looks at his counterpart. The partner looks to the door to see that my father is gone before he nods in turn causing the one I asked to nod.

I stand up straight and offer my husband my right hip, “Come take my phone. Call Johnny and tell him to get my lawyer.” I look back up to the officer, “Where will I be going?”

“Buffalo Detention Center, the one is Orange county is full,” he says in an all-business tone.

“Just call Johnny and tell him that,” I say as I feel Chris’ hand in my pocket. I lean forward as much as I can and pucker my lips. He responds by putting his lips to my quickly. “I love you,” I tell him before letting the men lead me out of our apartment. “Don’t worry, love,” I call over my shoulder, “we’ll figure it all out.”

When we get into the lift, they let the doors close before letting go of my arms. The taller of the two, the one to my right, looks me over, “Are you alright, kid?”

I’m really lucky that these two are being so kind. My father didn’t give me that courtesy.

Nodding, I try to get my arms in a more comfortable position, “Yea, I should be used to it.”

“It seemed a little personal,” the other officer admits.

I let out a humorless laugh, “That’s because the jerk is my father.”

When I look up to their faces they seem a little shocked. The taller is the only one to comment, “I was wondering why he was coming with us for a routine pick-up.”

We didn’t say anything else until we got to the ground level. They each lightly grab an arm; it feels more like guiding than controlling. As we step out of the elevator, I could see paparazzi’s flashing camera and bodies crammed against the window to get a good view.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath with a sigh, “there goes my career.”

There’s even a doorman with his phone out pointing it at me.

“Is there another way out?” the shorter of the two ask.

“Yea,” I’ve never been so grateful for a gated garage. “If we go back in the lift,” I motion with my head behind me, “I can – or you can – put in a code to go to the garage. It’s down a floor and gated from everyone, but the guard will let a police car through.”

Instantly we’re back in the lift and I give the code to take us down. The taller one radios for his car to come around back and then thinks twice and tells them all to come back.

“I feel bad for you, kid,” he admits when he gets off his radio. “We didn’t know you were famous before we left the station. Usually anyone with status we try to give a little more courtesy. Clark’s really gone off the book for this one.”

I just shake my head, I wouldn’t expect anything different.

Soon enough a few police cars, along with a few unmarked, are parked in front of us.

“This is a little excessive, yea?” I look up to the shorter of the two.

He starts to nod, but my father gets out of one of the unmarked cars so he stops.

“You’ll be coming with me, Damian,” Clark says before reaching out.

When he gets close enough, the taller officer pulls me back almost against him, “With all due respect sir, I think Grady and I can take him in. You’re all by yourself and unarmed.”

“I’ll be fine; he’s in handcuffs,” my father rolls his eyes.

“But sir,” the officer nudges me a little, “he’s a little resistant. We don’t want you to get hurt.” The officer nudges me again as if he wants me to play the part.

And I do. I thrash in his arms trying to get at my father. I do a good enough job that Grady comes and grabs my other arm again. When they’re both holding me, I use the leverage I gain to use a little more strength.

And just to put the cherry of top, I yell, “No, let him take me. He wants me? Let’s go, bastard.”

Straightening his suit jacket, Clark nods at the officer, “Grady, Franklin, make sure he gets to the detention center in one piece.” He hitches his brow and gives me a threatening look, “Even if it takes a little extra force.”

“Prick,” I yell as they drag me to their car and throw me in the back.

As soon as they’re both in, Franklin turns to me from the driver seat, “Lay down across the seat and put your face down as well as you can so they can’t take a picture. They’re probably going to try and surround the car.”

I hear Grady chuckle, “The department will spend all the money to make the glass bulletproof and put in these fancy cup holders, but they won’t even put a little bit of tint on the glass.”

“I guess I don’t really need a career,” I sigh as I go into the foetal position and turn my head into the leather. “It was good while it lasted.”

“What do you do, Damian?” I hear one of the two asks as the car lurches forward. “I know your husband acts. He’s a big star.”

Talking into the seat, I speak loudly, “I’m an actor, too.”

“You didn’t know that?” the other asks. I’m pretty sure it’s Franklin that just responded. “He and his husband were in that new big movie that came out not too long ago. On Valentine’s day, right?”

“Yep,” I confirm, closing my eyes.

I’ve never been one for car sickness, but this definitely isn’t a pleasant sensation.

“What one’s that?” Grady continues the conversation.

“It’s called ‘Save the Day’,” Franklin tells him like I’m not even here. “It’s actually really good. Took my kids to see when it was in theatres. Wife told me I have to buy the DVD when it comes out too.”

“Thank you for your support,” I say because it’s always nice to hear something you’ve done is liked.

He chuckles lightly, “No problem, kid.”

“Are you in anything else?” Grady wonders out loud.

“I just got finished filming one a week ago. It should come out at the end of the year.”

“What’s that one?” Franklin seems genuinely interested.

“Are we passed the pap yet?”

‘You’re good, kid,” Franklin assures me.

“Thank you,” I put my feet to the floor and bring my body up so I’m sitting.

Good thing I’m in shape, doing that in handcuffs isn’t easy. Grady even turns to help me, but I get up in time that I don’t need his assistance.

Getting back to the conversation, I tell them, “It’s called ‘Half the Battle’ and it’s about a couple of soldiers who fall in love. Basically, the whole time they’re falling in love they’re also fighting a war.”

“That sounds pretty good,” Grady admits with a nod. He glances over to his partner with a worried look, “You think Jake would like that?”

“I think Jake likes you, so the movie won’t matter,” Franklin quickly gives him a look that says it isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation. Then he nods his head backward, “Ask Damian, he’s married too. He’ll tell you.” I arch and eyebrow in the rearview mirror, so he continues, “Grady’s dating his guy, Jake. He’s always worried about what Jake will and won’t like. I keep telling him it’s not all about what Jake likes. If Jake likes him – which he does from what I hear – than all that stuff doesn’t really matter.”

“It’s true, mate,” I nod as Grady look back at me. “It’s not about material stuff. It’s about how you feel for each other.”

‘”Really?” the blonde officer looks a bit nervous.

“I’m in no position to lie to you,” I chuckle bringing my arms to the side to show him my cuffs.

“I tried to tell you that,” Franklin shakes his head before glancing at me in the mirror again. “Just because I’m married to a woman I can’t know, right?”

I laugh with them, “If I’m honest, the best part about being with my husband isn’t even about his gender. It’s about how I am with him. I can be myself and he loves me for it.”

“Same with me,” Franklin nods. “Alright, kid,” he looks at me one last time, “might as well settle in, we have quite a drive ahead of us.”

“Is there any way you can take these off?” I look over at Grady with a bit of a pout.

He chuckles and shakes his head, “I can’t take them off completely, but I can move them so your hands are in front of you.”

“That’s better than this,” I turn so he can get to the cuffs.

After I’m readjusted, I sit back and try to relax. This is all shit. I can’t believe he’s doing this to me. The worst part is that I know it’s not over. It’s not going to be easy.

~A/N~

I get all these messages on Sunday that say how excited you guys are and how Sunday is your favorite day. And I have to say, it makes me smile every time. I LOVE that you guys like this story so much.

And for all those saying I made your day, You made my day! It's seriously the best thing ever.

and FINALLY Clark on the side!