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Poppy wakes up.
It's not a graceful awakening from a slumber, so much as it is Poppy blearily opening her eyes, looking at the drool stain on the pillow, and then immediately wincing as the sun comes glaring through the window.
She tries to roll over and falls out of bed because A: she has all the coordination right now of a baby giraffe and B: this is not her bed.
“Fuck,” she says, looking around the room. She doesn't even have the blissful few seconds where you think oh, I just got a hotel room after way too many shots. Or maybe I've been kidnapped by some obsessed stalker who wants me to dress up in bikini armor.
No, she knows exactly where she is.
“Ian, where the fuck are you?” she yells as she stumbles out of the room. She's still wearing the clothes from last night and her pockets are wadded with paper that she can only assume are the many napkins she went through, sketching and jotting down notes in a creative (and very drunk) frenzy.
“Ian!”
“Outside,” she hears a voice call. “Just doing my morning routine.”
She makes her way through Ian's stupidly large house, opening the glass doors to his backyard and--
“Oh, for fuck's sake, Ian,” she says. “Isn't it a bit early for that?”
Ian looks up from his phone and shrugs. “Not really,” he says. “I don't think there's an actual time limit on it.” The hot tub's jets burble in agreement.
Poppy sighs, crouching down next to it. “So how did I get here?” she asks. “Don't tell me you drove home.” There's a fuzzy hole in her memory, like a line of missing code. She can remember the drinking, the drawing, the arguing with Ian over something stupid and then--
“Took an Uber,” Ian says. “Which reminds me, I have to go back to get my car.” He fiddles with his phone some more.
“You're going to drop that,” Poppy says, matter of factly. “Either get out of the water or stop texting.”
But Ian does neither. “Just checking in,” he says. “Looks like someone leaked that we left so we made a few of the websites.”
Poppy squawks. “Shit,” she says, standing up. “Is it--”
“All of them,” Ian says. “I think Kotaku broke it, but everyone else is running with it.”
She hadn't even really put any thought into this mess. She pats her pockets. “Where the hell is my phone?”
“I put it in the drawer by the bed,” Ian says. “Listen, Pop,” he says, and he's in serious mode. “You might want to keep it off for a while.”
Poppy can only imagine the litany of messages on her phone. Her voice mail's probably full with people asking for interviews. “Yeah, I might,” she says. “But you've got yours on.”
Ian moves closer, sets the phone on the ground. “Just blue balling everyone,” he says. “Especially Montreal.”
“Oh, fuck.” Poppy closes her eyes. “Did they--”
“Not happy,” he says. “They're making some noises about contracts.” Ian waves his hand dismissively. “Whatever.”
“And you didn't think--”
“It's all right, Pop,” Ian says. “They'll get over it.”
Poppy eyes him doubtfully, but rather than press him on the matter, she decides to go back inside.
In the bedroom where she woke up, she groans and empties her pockets on the bed. The napkins are crumpled, but mostly legible. There's drawings of some very squashed creatures and some scribbled notes that she manages to decipher as “shard” and “persistent synchronous server.”
That, or “peppermint syrupy serum,” but the former seems more likely.
And then, at the bottom of a napkin that has a horned monster and a seal of some sort, she sees the word “Dating?”
“I better have fucking meant a companion system,” Poppy says and goes to open the drawer of the nightstand by the bed.
Ian's face on the cover of PC Gamer beams up at her from underneath her phone.
“Oh, fuck no,” Poppy says and shuts the drawer.
“Pete?”
“Salary demands too high for his experience.”
“Laurie?”
“Already told me that she was signed to a different studio.”
“Mike?”
Poppy frowns. “He was already getting teary-eyed and we hadn't even yelled at him yet.”
Ian flops back in his chair. Their offices are still pretty stark, the walls bare and white. There's a few boxes in the corner and a couple of desks set up, but it still looks like they just moved in. “We gotta hire someone,” he says. “You can't code the game by yourself.”
“I know that,” Poppy snaps. “Can I help it that the majority of people that are applying--”
“Suck,” Ian agrees, clicking on the laptop in front of him. “No, no, fuck no.”
Poppy looks at his face as he seemingly clicks through and dismisses countless people. She groans, mentally steeling herself. “What about Trevor?”
There's a pause as Ian stops clicking. “Trevor?”
“He's got a degree from MIT, several years in the field, and he's won a few competitions.” Poppy thinks she's managed to say it all pretty neutrally, which she chalks up as a win. “He wouldn't be the--”
“You hate Trevor,” Ian says. “I think if you could have lasers installed in your eyes to murder him, you'd do it.”
“Of course I hate Trevor,” Poppy says. “He spent his entire interview talking to you about how much he loved you and Mythic Quest and could he just move into your house or stalk you from outside it.”
Ian looks thoughtful. “He wouldn't be the first.”
Poppy rolls her eyes. “So yeah, he's annoying as shit and the last thing you need is more fuel for your ego.”
“But...” Ian prompts when she slumps in her chair.
“But we can't keep rejecting everyone and if it means I have to put up with yet another one of your fanboys just to get a decent developer, then I'll do it.”
There's silence. Poppy doesn't look at Ian.
“Nah,” Ian says. “You're right. He was really annoying and if I wanted someone to lick my boots, I'd get us an office dog.” He perks up. “Hey, that's not actually a bad idea. I know at least one studio--”
“We're not getting a dog,” Poppy says. “The last thing we need is another slobbering idiot who wants to lick their own balls.”
“Sexist,” Ian says in mock indignation. “Why do you assume the dog would be male?”
“Oh?” Poppy counters. “You really want to go the same route as those ex-Blizzard guys? Because that went so well for them.”
They keep mock bickering back and forth for a few minutes after that and by the end of the day, Poppy doesn't even think about Trevor anymore.
There's a sudden thud and Poppy whips her head up.
Well, not so much whips as raises it reluctantly, ready to snap at Steve or Trina or whoever decided that making noise was better than making code.
“Oh,” she says. “It's just you.”
Ian picks up the chair and perches on top of it backwards, holding a cup in his hands. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Just me.”
Poppy yawns and cracks her neck. “Well, stop making so much noise. You're going to disturb--”
She breaks off, looks around. “Where are they?”
“It's two in the morning,” Ian says, quieter than his usual no fucks given voice. “They left a while ago.”
“Two?” Poppy blinks. “But--”
“Around eleven, I sent them all home.”
“What?” Poppy looks around, noticing the emptiness for the first time. The blinds are drawn, the computers dimmed, and the only light on is the one from the monitor on the computer she's been working on. “But we were in the middle of--”
“You were, Pop,” Ian says. “They had all checked out and were practically dead on their feet when I told them to leave.”
“Fuck,” Poppy says, and she rests her head on the keyboard. “I hadn't even noticed.”
“Been there.” Ian takes a sip of his coffee. “You remember when we were working on The Forest of Aettania?'
“That nightmare.” Poppy snorts. “That was a buggy mess.”
“Exactly,” Ian says. “I think I spent half my time just trying to keep players from clipping through the trees.”
It's easy to forget sometimes that Ian didn't start as the egomaniacal “alpha” that she knows and doesn't love (no matter what weird dreams she keeps having, damn her brain). Just like Poppy – and Steve and Trina and the rest – he started in the trenches with the rest of them, coding and crunching and working his fingers to the bone to get his game out there.
It would make her life so much easier if she could forget it completely.
“Right,” Poppy says, shaking the stray thoughts away. “I don't think we ever really fixed that entirely.”
“Nope.” Ian sets his cup down. “But we at least got it to one zone.”
“Well, even if they're done with work, I'm not,” Poppy says, turning back to her computer. “I just got to get this model right before I leave.”
“Pop--”
“Are you here to work?”
Ian yawns. “Nah,” he says. “Too tired.”
“Then leave me to it,” Poppy says and turns her attention back to her screen. “I'll be out in a little bit.”
There's a pause.
“Yes, Ian?”
She can hear a muffled curse, then he says, “Don't forget to lock up before you leave.”
“Me?” Poppy laughs. “I'm not the one that forgot the alarm code and got the police asking them if they had a reason to be there.”
“You do it one time--”
“Twice.”
“Fine, fine,” Ian says.
She hears his footsteps echo away, the door closing behind him.
Back to work, she thinks.
'
A few hours later, when she wakes up, she has to catch the jacket from slipping off her shoulders.
Ian's, Poppy thinks, and clutches it tight around her as she locks her computer. I'll have to return it to him. She makes her way to the door--
And almost stumbles over Ian, as she exits. He's leaning up against the wall, snoring lightly.
“Ian?” she says quietly, and he wakes with a jerk, almost banging his head against the wall. “You were here all this time?”
“Of course,” he says. “You didn't think I'd leave you alone.”
Yeah, I kind of did, Poppy thinks, but instead, she helps him to his feet and they walk out together.
It's a beautiful morning.
Eventually, Ian persuades her (by shoving her out of the office and deactivating her key card) to take a few days off. Poppy tries throwing a trash can through the window, but concedes when it pathetically bounces off and sticks in the hedge.
“Fine,” Poppy yells. “But you know I can just reprogram it at my house and be back in the morning.”
“And you know I can just constantly get in your way and bug you until you either go home or murder me. Either way, you're not working.” Ian is at his smuggest as he waves to her through the glass.
Damn it, he's right. When Ian wants to irritate, he's a master at it.
So Poppy spends the next few days stir crazy, constantly texting Ian who responds once by sending her a video of the Australian prime minister getting crawled on by a Huntsman spider, adding “Seriously, Pop, what the fuck is with Australia?”
Then he blocked her.
So it's Monday morning and Poppy is refreshed. She's got a million ideas, some of which might actually be good, and someone got the trash can out of the hedge.
She goes to the office to check her e-mail.
It's surprisingly empty, considering. There's a few random questions from some of the programmers and the company-wide invitation to the non-denominational, all-inclusive, “it just happens to be that time when we maybe want to do something in December” party.
That has Janice from HR written all over it.
Fine, she thinks. Maybe it was slow while she was gone.
Then she goes to check the office voicemail.
Also empty.
Okay, Ian could have been productive while she was gone and--
Poppy narrows her eyes and opens up her computer, then the browser.
“Ted,” she says a few minutes later to the palpably nervous receptionist. “What the fuck did Ian do?”
“I don't know what you mean,” Ted says, his hands trembling. “It's been perfectly normal here.”
She grins like a shark, leans in. “Ted, you think I'm stupid? Someone's intercepting my e-mail, deleting messages, and filtering certain sites. So that means shit went down while I was gone. Save me the time and tell me now.”
“But Ms. Li--”
“Ted.”
He gulps audibly. “Well, you see...”
An hour later, Poppy spins around in her chair. “Death threats, Ian?”
Ian sighs, sits on top of his desk. “Ted cracked.”
“Of course he did,” Poppy says. “He told me everything and I'm about ready to kick your teeth in. You should have told me.”
“Look, I'm handling it,” Ian says. “It's only a couple. You don't need to worry--”
“I think I do,” Poppy interjects. “Especially as they concern me.” She pauses. “Wait, is that why you redid all the key cards and the windows?”
“Just being safe,” Ian says. “Really, it's just some mouthbreathers online. They'll move on to their next target once someone announces something else that pisses them off.”
Poppy stands up. “Fucking Trevor,” she says. “So what did he say on 4chan or reddit or wherever else he spewed on?”
“I think his exact words were 'girl gamer turning another man into a beta cuck,' or something else like that.” Ian shrugs. “It was hard to tell over all the frothing.”
“And here I thought you two crazy kids could make it work,” Poppy says dryly. “So show me what else he and his friends have been throwing out there.”
“Pop.”
“I can handle it,” Poppy says. “If this is our game, if it's our kid, then let's be partners. Don't send me away because you think the only thing I can handle is the game.”
Ian stares at her. He's assessing her and Poppy meets it back. After a moment, Ian nods. “Fine,” he says. “But it's mostly stupid shit. I'm really just saving your brain cells.”
He sits down in his chair and Poppy pulls up her chair next to him. He clicks open a window.
“Ew,” Poppy says. “I don't think that's biologically possible.”
Ian tilts his head. “Didn't someone try it in beta?” He clicks to the next one.
“Now that's just not creative at all,” Poppy says. “Ted could even come up with better stuff than that.”
Ian grunts, on to the next.
“Oh, hey, that's one pretty gruesome,” Poppy says, leaning in. “Drinking our tears until we shrivel into dust and then using the dust for--”
“Sorry, I think that one got filtered into the wrong folder,” Ian says, peering closely. “That's just Jo. I think she's bored.”
“David,” Poppy says.
“Poppy.” They're away from the noise of the crowd into a more isolated area. David looks pretty much the same, maybe a little more tired. “Doing well?”
“Fine, David.” She smiles. “Congratulations on the award.”
David clutches the award tight to his chest. “It wasn't easy,” he says. “After you and Ian left--”
“David!” Ian walks up, putting a companionable arm on his shoulder. “Congrats! Heard you already hired someone to replace us.”
“Aw,” Poppy says. “He's already forgotten us.”
“As if I could,” David mutters, then louder. “It doesn't matter. We've already moved on and are planning ahead for some big things. I can't tell you any details, but--”
“NFTS,” Ian says, dropping his hand away. He sounds gleeful. “They're doing NFTs.”
Poppy's jaw drops. “Really, David?”
“How the hell did you--”
“Seriously, David, you think people don't still talk to me,” Ian says. “I am still a god to a fair number of people.”
Poppy shudders. “I don't know what makes me want to throw up more,” she says. “That statement or the fact that you basically sold our baby for quick cash.”
“Yeah, it's like you tramp stamped our kid,” Ian adds.
“You know what,” David says, “you don't even know. I've been under a lot of pressure since you two left, Montreal is breathing down my neck, and if there's anything I can do to give us an edge, I'll do it. And besides, I would have thought someone like you would be into crypto.”
Poppy leans over. “He means someone who thinks he's a genius, but is really fucking stupid.”
“Thanks, Pop,” Ian says.
“Always.”
“But seriously, if I wanted to blow my money on something, I'd just buy a football team or something.”
“Spain? Brazil?” Poppy asks. “Or are you talking about your weird American version?”
“Nah,” Ian says. “I got a guy who keeps wanting to go halfsies on some English team, but eh.” He shrugs. “He'll probably forget about it in like a month.” He turns to David. “I mean, I've done some really stupid shit but this...”
Poppy just nods her head in agreement to all parts of that last sentence.
David, who has already been backing away, looks at them. “Well, I think it's a good idea. I ran it by this financial expert--”
“Brad.” Poppy and Ian turn to look at each other and high five.
“Wow, we are really in sync,” Ian says excitedly.
“Right?” Poppy almost jumps up in delight. “Because I was thinking who would be evil enough to tell David to go ahead and do this--”
“And he just got out of prison!”
“I know! I saw those pictures of him with that pharmaceutical guy.”
“The ones where he's flipping off the camera?”
“We should really get in touch with him,” Poppy says. “Just so we know what he's up to and if it involves revenge.”
“See, this is why I stopped missing you guys,” David says. He's already backing up, clearly going to make a break for it. “Together, you're just--Jo was right.”
“Also often disturbingly homicidal,” Poppy says. “Really, David, it's been great to see you.” She smiles brightly.
“If you're trying to avoid other happy couples, I wouldn't go out that door,” Ian adds. “I think Geoff and Hideo are making out over there.”
David flees.
“Happy couple?” Poppy turns to Ian. “Is that what you're calling us?”
“Oh, look, gotta go,” Ian says. “I think Sean wants to talk about something.”
“He's not even here,” Poppy calls out, but Ian's already left a trail of dust in his wake.
One of these days, they're really going to have to talk about it.
Poppy wanders into the office.
There's little lights hung on the ceiling and a truly pathetic little tree in the corner that Ian both mercilessly insults and refuses to replace. Other than that, the majority of the holiday cheer is downstairs with their drunken staff.
“Hiding in here all alone?” Poppy asks. “I think Ted was looking to hug and cry on your shoulder.”
“Not alone,” Ian says. “You just missed C.W. regaling me with some sort of story involving him and a pair of twins. Pretty sure he made it all up.”
Poppy looks back. “He left already?”
“Had other plans with a friend.”
“He has friends?”
“I guess,” Ian says, swinging his legs back. “So why did you come up here? Don't tell me it's to get more coding in.”
“Nah.” Poppy joins him on the desk. “Just wanted to get away from the noise.”
“We didn't give them the good booze, did we?” Ian frowns.
“Relax,” Poppy says. “I hid anything expensive. No, I think Janice brought it in.”
“Wasn't she the one with all the stupid rules about appropriate workplace function behavior?”
“And the messy divorce one week ago where she ended up throwing her phone out the window?”
“Right,” Ian says. “That was a fun day.”
They stare down through the window at the party below. Next to her, Ian's humming something under his breath, but other than that, it's surprisingly peaceful.
“So are we going to talk about it?” Poppy asks when Ian falls silent. “Or are we just going to keep getting drunk and pretending that neither one of us is thinking about it?”
“Well, I don't know, Pop,” Ian says. “I really hate to think about C.W. and--”
Poppy leans over and kisses him lightly on the lips. When she pulls away, she says, “This is me thinking about it.”
Ian looks at her blankly for a moment, then smiles a little ruefully. “You really have to be the lion, don't you,” he says.
“Ian!”
He's still smiling as he puts his head to hers. “I didn't say it minded it now.”
Below them, there's a shout and the sound of something breaking, then a bunch of yelling. Poppy sighs. “And here I thought we were only going to have one child together.”
“You mean David?” Ian is blithely ignoring the chaos below. “Because I think he got a new daddy.”
Poppy wrinkles her nose. “Please never say that again, especially not when we're about to make out on top of your desk.”
“Right,” Ian says. “Wait, why my desk?”
“A, because you can't pretend that it doesn't turn you on, and B: because my desk actually has work on it.”
“I'm hurt, Pop,” but Ian's already moving stuff off the surface to the floor as Poppy gets up to lock the door and close all the curtains.
At some point, there will probably be knocking at the door or a phone call or the fire alarm going off and they'll have to deal with the inevitable chaos that is their life, but for now in their office, Poppy is going to do some exploratory testing of making out with Ian.
And hey, it's early stage. There's always room for new features.