A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to my newest published story, which for once has nothing to do with zombies (that's sorta been my theme for like, six years or something.) This fanfiction has been in the works for a couple months, and I can't wait to share what I have for you all! I personally think that Markus gets little to no love in this fandom, so I decided to write a little something with the spotlight mostly on him. It's going to be a bit before we get to the storyline of the game, so just relax and enjoy the adventures I have in store for Markus and my OC, Iris. (By the way, I don't really know how to describe the relationship. I wouldn't consider this a slow-burn, but it's not quick, either. Maybe slow-burn would be fitting, I guess.)

Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human, or any of the characters that come from it. I only own Iris Manfred and the storylines that I have created for her.

Take a deep breath.

This is your childhood home.

Nothing to be afraid about.

Iris took a look at the mansion before her, the humongous brick building looming above her like a monster. Her chocolate brown eyes stared at the structure, frozen in her spot. She repeated the three sentences in her head like a mantra, but still, she couldn't move. Oh, she did not want to be back.

"Um, miss?" A gravelly voice sounded from behind her. The taxi driver. He pulled up next to her, huffing loudly with her luggage rolling on the pavement behind him. "This is the correct address, right?"

"Yup!" She chirped, and winced at how high her voice sounded.

"Then…" He gestured to the building. "Why aren't you moving inside?"

"Just give me a minute!" It came out as a screech, high pitched and wavering in tone. Iris looked up to the building, down to her pocket in her worn, paint and clay splattered jeans, up to the brick again, and immediately pulled out her cigarette pack. Yup. This one will be gone before night falls. Hopefully the convenience store down the street is still open. It's been years since she was in Detroit; she was keeping her fingers crossed that it hadn't changed much.

As she set a cigarette between her teeth, she mumbled out a quick, "The money for the fare has been transferred. You're all set," to the driver before lighting up the stick. The taxi driver, staring at her disheveled look, shrugged and waved to her.

"Have a good one, miss."

Iris bobbed her head in what was supposed to be a nodding fashion, but was executed as more of a shake. Damn it. Can't you act normal for one damn second?

Ignoring the sound of the taxi driving away, she puffed slowly on her cigarette, savoring the quick moment of peace while the sun beat down on her short frame. You're lucky I love you, dad. I'm putting my life on hold until we can figure this out.

As the last of the ashes fell off her stick, Iris let the butt of the cigarette fall to the pristine pavement and stomped on it with a quick twist of her old black sneakers. Okay, enough dilly-dallying. It's time to head inside.

Her fingers pocketed the butt into her back pocket with ease. No waste! Into the trash you go. Sighing, she set her heavy backpack on a shoulder and her two fat suitcases rolling on wheels behind her. The soft clunks of the wheels provided a white noise as she made it up the long, curving walkway to the mansion her father called a home.

"Alarm deactivated," a robotic voice from the security system chimed out. "Welcome home, Iris Wren Manfred."

The door slowly opened for her, and she mentally thanked whoever built this house for adding such a nice feature. Having to open it manually would not have been fun.

The echo of her footsteps rang throughout the opening of the house, and she took in the familiar structure. A warmth of nostalgia spread through her figure. Okay, maybe moving back home won't be too bad. She stopped in the middle of the room, letting her luggage rest behind her on the floor as she surveyed the empty grandeur of it. The room hadn't changed much. Her fathers' paintings, some of which she hadn't seen before, were strewn about messily. On the desk stand by the mirror, his home phone receiver and a picture of him, Iris, and Leo. Probably the only damn time the three of us smiled when we were together. Childhood was… difficult, to say the least.

"You're early." An old voice rang through the room proudly, pulling her out her nostalgia. Iris's head shot up to the stairs, quickly finding her father at the top, landing first on the beaming smile then to the new shiny wheelchair underneath him. The funky neon orange contraption on the wall of the staircase was new, too, but she couldn't be bothered to care.

She couldn't lie to herself. The joy and relief that flooded her system made the journey from LA back to Detroit worth it. "Since when have you known me to be late, or just on time?"

"Since never." He grinned to her. The soft patter of footsteps behind him echoed through the room, and a nurse in pale blue scrubs silently walked behind him, working to put his wheelchair on the wall contraption. "Meet Vida. She's been my nurse since the accident. Watch closely, you'll be learning all the ropes today before she leaves." His wheelchair clicked into place, and Carl descended the staircase in fashion. Vida trotted down the stairs with ease, keeping her eye on Carl to make sure he was alright.

Iris winced at his words. "About that… Dad, are you SURE you want me to take care of you? I just, y'know, I'm not exactly qualified for this kinda stuff. I don't want you getting hurt because of my fuck-ups."

"Iris," her dad said sweetly, pulling away from the machine with Vida's help and coasting towards her. "I asked for you to be here because I trust you with every fiber of my being. It'll be weird these next couple of days, even difficult, but we'll get a hang of it. Together." His hand grasped at hers, pulling her close. And for the first time that day, she let her worry fly away. She knelt on the ground and grasped tightly at her father's middle, giving the tightest hug his fragile body could handle. He felt like home to her.

"I missed you. So much, dad." Iris whispered to him.

"I missed you too, little flower." He answered sweetly. "I am so glad you're home." When she pulled away from his embrace, all she could do was beam at him.

"Okay," Iris started, pulling up from the ground. "Sounds like I have a lot of learning to do. Let's get started."

THREE WEEKS LATER

Cler-plunk!

"Son of a-!"

"What'd you do this time, dad?"

Their words ring through the empty corridor between them; Iris in the kitchen, Carl in the living room. She peeked her head out the door, searching for her father's figure in front of the tv where she left him. This time he was swerving his wheelchair around the base of the giraffe figure, fumbling around a new mess of books on the floor surrounding him. The shelf just above his reaching level newly emptied.

"Oh, dear." Iris whispered under her breath. Quickly she wiped the pancake batter from her hands onto her favorite apron and scurried to her father in quick strides. As she knelt on the ground to stack the books up, she asked, "What happened?"

"I just wanted one damn book." Carl muttered, jaw clenched. "Just over-calculated the reach and my wheels pushed the bottom."

"It's okay, dad." Iris reminded him. Nimble fingers set the hardcover and paperbacks into place again, smiling at him sweetly from her spot on the ground. "We're still working out the kinks, remember?"

Slowly he let his jaw unclench, and he gave her a tight-lipped smile. "You're right. Sorry. It's just frustrating sometimes." Her hands grasped at his resting on the chair. Iris gave it a tight squeeze in reassurance.

"I get it. Like you said when I came back, it's still an adjustment. We'll get there."

She sounded much more confident than she felt. These days, waking up in odd hours of the night to help her father to the bathroom, administering medicine, keeping the house neat, feeding the both of them, and carrying him around the house… It was too much for one person.

But she would never tell him that. Iris was his rock in his life-changing time.

"Okay," Iris stood up from her spot. "The food's just about done, why don't we get you to the table and I'll bring it over? Do you need any help getting there?"

"I can wheel myself over; I'm fine." With jerky yet practiced movements his old hands grasped at the wheels, tugging himself forward. "Hopefully I don't knock down the tv from here to there."

Iris let out a soft chuckle as he zoomed forward, not really pacing himself as he went. Iris internally winced as he whizzed just a bit too fast while spinning to the other side of the table.

"What's on the agenda for today?" Carl asked. Iris headed back into the kitchen, her small fingers grasping at the spatula to spoon some scrambled eggs and pancakes onto two plates.

"Let's see…" She thought aloud. Her hands worked together smoothly to pour out her tea and her father's milk (no coffee for him for a while. The caffeine would mess with his meds. Some mornings he would say that it was the worst outcome of the accident.) "I have a couple pieces I wanted to set in the kiln. You have that yellow and red painting that you wanted to finish, the cute small one."

"Ahh, I tossed it out." Carl replied off-handedly.

Iris's dark brown eyes blinked, then peered over to his frame in the open doorway. "I'm sorry, you did what now?"

"I wasn't liking how it came out, so instead of wasting more paint on the canvas I decided to scrap it. It's not the end of the world, little flower."

Just as Iris grabbed at her and her father's plate to serve, she quickly noticed the small blinking blue light on the answering machines small length. The little hologram just above the area read, "Kamski." She never heard of a Kamski before. She raised an eyebrow at it, but said nothing on the subject, seeing as how she was still yelling at her father for throwing out a decent piece of art.

"You were the one who told me that each piece we create is—" Iris started as she walked, popping into the dining room to set the plates down in front of her father and her empty spot.

Carl looked amused as he finished the phrase, "Unique and charismatic on its own. Yeah, yeah. Preaching to the choir here."

She strode back to kitchen and grabbed their glasses as he continued. "Honestly, I haven't created a decent piece since the accident. I just… can't bring myself to like anything I put on a canvas." He frowned down at the table, to himself, mentally berating his lack of artistry. It was one of the most important things in his life, and he's been in a two month stump. Damn accident.

"Another thing you always told me?" She smiled thoughtfully as she set his cup on the table and sat down across from him. Her lips pursed as she took a sip of her green tea, savoring the warmth that spread through her body. "You can't force art. The more you struggle with it, the harder it'll be. Don't discourage yourself. You'll see. Give it a bit and you'll be back at the canvas in no time." She took another sip of her tea before adding, "I'm grabbing that piece, by the way. You are not throwing a single one away. Not on my watch."

"Fine." Carl nodded, agreeing with her. How could he not? He's repeated that same dialogue time and time again to her. She was right.

"We have that small gala downtown, next week." Iris piped up. "Almost forgot. That could be neat. Maybe it'll get the creative juices flowin'."

"Maybe." Carl shrugged in his spot. At least he isn't saying no. She was very glad he was willing to go. It'd be his first public event since his car accident. They'd get emails and phone calls asking for his attendance, and each time the answer was the same. Hopefully one yes will be all it takes to flip his switch and get him back into the art world.

The rest of their breakfast was eaten in a comfortable silence, leaving the pair alone to their own thoughts. Hearing her father had thrown out a painting had thrown Iris for a loop. If he was willing to do that, his mental health might be worse than she thought. Maybe she'd get in touch with his doctor today, see what she can do with getting him out of the house more often. Fresh air and human contact would be good for him.

As the last bits of pancakes and eggs were eaten, Iris stood up and grabbed the empty dishes and dirty silverware, balancing them easily enough on each other to set them in the sink. The one good thing I learned while waitressing my way through college. Never again. As she set dishwashing soap on a new sponge, a small blue blink caught her eyes.

The voicemail. She had forgotten.

"Hey, dad?" Iris called to him. "Who's Kamski?"

Instead of immediately answering the question, she could hear the whoosh of his wheels against the hardwood floors. Carl appeared in the doorway, a calm demeanor held. At least, that's what he had hoped he'd looked. The worry in his eyes totally didn't give anything away.

"An old friend." He responded smoothly. "I used to give him painting lessons. He's left me messages every now and then since the accident. Why do you ask?"

Iris pointed to the small machine on the countertop with her sudsy sponge. "Looks like he left you another one."

"I'll get to it eventually. Don't bother clicking on it."

Damn it, he thought. A mistake.

Why would he say, "Don't," click on it?

And there it was. Her suspicions raised from about 15 percent to 35. "Why not?"

Carl straightened his back in his chair and folded his hands delicately on his lap. "Because, sweet daughter of mine, that is a personal message from my friend. You wouldn't want to intrude, would you?"

"Y'know what, dad?" Iris said, gently setting the sponge down onto the pile of dishes in the sink. "I think, I think I do, actually." Her tone was airy and teasing, but still. Carl knew what she would say the second she heard the message.

"Iris Wren…" Carl said warningly.

"Father dear." She copied his tone. "Oh no, my finger is over the button. I think it's gonna push it. And oops, The Button has been pushed." Carl sighed in defeat.

A female robotic voice rang through the air. "You have one unheard message. First unheard message."

A hologram appeared above the countertop, showing the Manfred's a young gentleman—he was older than her for sure, but not up there like her father—with long black hair swept in a loose ponytail behind his head. Striking blue eyes stared into nothingness as the fellow adjusted the black jacket he wore over a white button-up shirt. He was very pale, and his cheekbones sharp and defined. He had an extreme of air of sophistication about him. Iris was intrigued, to say the least.

"Carl, old friend." Kamski's hologram stated with a smirk. "It's been a while since I last left you a message. I'd like to hear back from you one of these days."

Iris glared lightly at her father. Not nice, dad.

Kamski's voice drawled on, and Iris couldn't help but be mesmerized by it. He sounded… mysterious, and detached, but there was something oddly soothing about his tone. She decided she could listen to it for hours and never get bored.

"My offer still stands, you know. Now, he's not an official model by CyberLife, but he is an advanced android by my… personal design. He's an RK200, never before seen model to the public. He could keep your house in order, cook, and make appointments for your appearances at those banquets and art museum openings you love to go to. Most importantly, he can take care of you. All your medicine, doctor's visits, daily bathroom visits; all of that is in his programming. No cost, no fees, nothing. Just some help for an old friend."

Iris looked back to her father's contorted face as Kamski's voice ended his voicemail with, "I truly do hope I hear from you soon, Carl. You don't have to be, shouldn't be, living this way."

Kamski's voicemail fizzled out of existence, and Carls' eyes stared, fixated, on the empty spot. "No."

"But dad-" Iris started.

"NO." He repeated hotly. "We do not need an android in this house. We get by fine on our own."

"Dad," Iris nearly whined. "I thought you liked androids?"

"I do." He answered matter-of-factly. "But we don't need one. Getting one would mean we need help, and we don't. We are getting by just fine."

You might be. I could use an extra couple hands.

Iris decided to test the waters with him. "What, do you think that, by taking Kamski's offer, it shows that we're… we're weak? We aren't. There's nothing wrong with needing an android. Having one isn't a testament to being fragile."

Carl said nothing in return. The statement was met with a glare in her direction. He would not, could not, take Kamski's offer. He was fine.

"The answer is no, and that's final." Carl emphasized, and wheeled himself out the room without a second thought. Iris stared at his back as he zoomed away from her. She let out a huff of air, and brought a hand to shakily push her brunette tresses away from her face. Her hand landed on her mouth, fingers curling around her lips and chin as she thought about the damn predicament she was in.

A free android. A never-before-seen android. The thing could be delivered here by next week and she could breathe easier. She could be released from her 24/7 duties.

But no. Carl Manfred was too stubborn to admit they could use the help. Damn my father.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Iris grabbed at her cigarette pack, went to the small breakfast nook that jutted out of the kitchen area, and sat on the window sill. With one window opened she lit a cigarette and puffed at it slowly, resting her leg on the other end of the nook, contemplating.

What the fuck was she going to do about this?

ONE WEEK LATER

"Ready, Iris?"

"Just about!" She answered with a chipper tone. Once she had her second silver teardrop-shaped earring in she stepped out of her bedroom, into the hallway where her father was waiting.

"Oh, wow." Carl said breathlessly. "You look stunning, Iris."

She smiled cheekily. "Thanks, dad. Not too much?" Her heels clinked against the wood floor as she moved in a circle, showing off her dress. It was a simple turquoise color, off the shoulder with a heart neckline. Very flowy and breathable; shorter in the front, starting at about mid-thigh, and ending at her ankles in the back. At the top were a couple silver studded accents, so she went with her favorite teardrop-shaped earrings, two sets of silver studs, and small silver heels to complete the look. Her brown hair, which stopped a few inches past her shoulders and was angled neatly to frame her face, was in little waves.

"It's perfect." Carl grinned to her. He wore a simple black tuxedo suit, a button-up white shirt underneath, and a turquoise-colored tie to match his stunning date for this evening. "You're going to be the main event tonight, forget about the paintings."

"Oh, you mush." She playfully rolled her eyes, but took the compliment sincerely. Her dad always had a way with words. With ease she got behind his wheelchair and began pushing him to the staircase. The gala would start in about an hour and a half, and the museum had asked for the famous Carl Manfred to be there before the doors opened.

"You call me that, but I'm serious. You look very much like your mother." He smiled to himself as he softly added. "Did you know that turquoise was her favorite color?"

Iris was almost stunned. He would never talk about her mom. Ever. Saying something so sweet was out of the blue and honestly, very welcoming.

"I didn't." She answered quietly. "You remember that?"

"It was one of the few things we talked about when I met her. One of my pieces back then showcased the color, and Anna commented on how it made her feel whole."

Iris set his wheelchair into the stairs lift, and she walked down slowly as her father moved down against the wall. "What else do you know about her?"

She knew most of the story, but still. She wanted to hear whatever she could.

Carl gazed thoughtfully up to Iris as she stood in front of him. "You know I don't know much about her. We only ever met once. But, let's see… She liked turquoise, she loved art. She told me that every time she went to an art banquet was like a vacation from the real world. Oh," his breath caught in his throat at the memory. "Her favorite holiday was Christmas. And she loved fall weather. The colors were striking to her. The way the leaves changed, and the kids gearing up for Halloween… It was special to her."

"Yeah?" Iris said softly. She hands grasped at the back of his wheelchair, pulling it through the doorway and down the driveway as he continued.

He hummed thoughtfully. "I wish I could have known her more." The edge of his mouth quirked up. "Then again, I was a bit of a player back in my youth."

"Ew." Iris scrunched her nose in disgust, but still she let out a soft giggle.

"It's true." Carl chuckled. "But still, that one night gave me the best surprise a man could ever ask for." His hand went to the top of his chair, searching for hers. She grasped at his wrinkled fingers tightly, stopping the wheelchair in place. "You."

Iris pressed a kiss to the top of his forehead. "This is why I call you a mush. The best mush ever."

"I better be." He responded, laughing softly. "Now, c'mon, time for a gala."

The first thing Iris did when they came back home was kick her shoes off. Heels sore, toes cramped, but finally released from their beautiful prison.

"Freedom!" She cheerfully exclaimed. "Finally, at last!"

Carl gave a low chuckle, though it was slow and drowsy. The clock on the stand by the door read 1:30am. Both Manfreds were ready to get upstairs and head to their individual rooms, sleeping the excitement away.

"What'd you think, dad?" Iris asked, making quiet conversation as she set his wheelchair against the staircase device.

"Actually," he started. "I loved it. The people were very lively today. Sometimes they can be so dull that I want to leave. Not often, but it does happen." With quick mechanical movements the device whirred him up the stairs, and Iris trailed behind him as she hopped up them barefoot.

"Well, I'm glad." She said. "I'll check our emails tomorrow, see if there's another one coming up we could attend. Getting you out of this house more often might do you some good."

"Maybe." He admittedly nodded. "Maybe we could go to one of yours together." He couldn't argue; he had fun tonight. Maybe getting out in the art world more often could help him adjust. "Now, I don't know about you, but I really want to pass out. I just need help getting dressed and in bed. If you want to change first, I don't mind waiting."

"Okay." Iris nodded. "I'll wheel you into your room real quick, clean myself up, and come back. Sound good?"

"Sure."

And that's exactly what she did. With ease she whirled him next to his dresser so he could pick out new pajamas while she was getting herself ready.

Nowadays, she could do her own chores quick. First she changed out of her dress into an old t-shirt and some shorts, wiped most of her make-up off (if some got on the pillow, then she would deal with it in the morning. She was too damn sleepy to care at this point.) Last thing was to replace her teardrop earrings with another set of studs.

"Shit-!" Iris heard her father curse loudly, and then the sound of something scratching. It rang throughout the house as her blood pressure spiked. What did he do now?

She raced down the hall to his room, where she found him barely hanging on to the edge of the bed, wheelchair sliding itself further away from him, his useless legs dangling underneath him. "Dad!" She could hear his quick huffs of air mirroring her own, except his wind was knocked out of his lungs.

She ran behind him and quickly grabbed at his waist, gently easing him onto the floor. She didn't have enough arm strength to set him on the bed, not in a way that wouldn't hurt. The floor was the next best thing. Her fear ran through her quickly, adrenaline pumping at the thought of her father getting hurt.

Once he was resting on the floor, his back against the edge of the bed and safe, Iris let out, "What the fuck happened?!" between quick breaths. She was on the floor across from him, staring at his slumped figure.

"I-" Carl sighed deeply, staring at the floor in shame. He was quiet, so quiet that Iris could barely hear him. "I was trying to get on the bed myself. I figured if I was already up there, you would have less work. But I forgot to lock my damn wheels in place before moving."

"Dad…" Iris pleaded to him. He didn't respond. But he had to see it now. He had to. "We need help."

In the silence, Carl finally agreed. He could repeat that they were doing just fine, but if they truly were he would know not to test his limits. He wouldn't be on the floor right now.

"We'll call Kamski in the morning."