Jade Pataki AO3 user

I step inside.

She’s propped up in the bed, her right arm wrapped in a bulky splint and sling. Her hair is loose, slightly flattened from the pillow. She looks… soft. I immediately forget why I came in the first place.

Her eyes land on me and they brighten instantly.

“Na endlich!”

She beams at me. Like I’m a puppy who just brought her a tennis ball back. My heart skips a few beats. She then squints and very seriously says something else in German.

“Wer bist du?”

I blink at her.

“…uh, sorry…? I don't speak German.”

She tilts her head, examining me like a puzzle. Then realization dawns.

“Oh!” she says again, switching languages mid-thought. “You speak English too, like that Chinese nurse. But you’re American!”

Good deduction, Stratt.

“The nurse told me,” she continues cheerfully. “that I had a surgery.”

“A procedure, yes.” I say automatically. “They just reset the bone in your arm.”

She nods solemnly.

“Yes. But I do not remember.”

I nod, but her gaze narrows. Then she gasps.

“Oh!”

Here we go again.

“You must be my husband.”

I feel my soul leave my body.

“I… what…?!”

“I saw videos!” she explains enthusiastically. “Those viral ones. Where people wake up from surgery and they... do not recognize their spouses.”

She points at me with her good hand like she’s solved a murder mystery.

“I think you must be my husband.”

I feel like I’m no longer connected to reality. What is going on here? Is there a hidden camera somewhere, and are the others playing a prank on me? No, I’ll rule that out right away. Stratt definitely wouldn’t be involved in something like that.

“Eva…”

“I’m sure of it, I know because you are exactly my type.”

My mouth falls open, but she keeps going. I can feel heat rushing to my face.

“Kind eyes.” she says, gesturing vaguely toward my face, and my heart is pounding as if it were trying to break through my chest.

“Smart-lookin’.” she continues.

I wheeze quietly.

“Very dorky. In a silly science pun T-shirt.”

She tugs lightly at the hem of my shirt, which says 'Ah! The Element Of Surprise'.

“I… this was a gift…” (It was not).

“And those slutty glasses.”

“…my glasses are not…”

“Amazing hair.” she beams as she reaches up and runs her fingers through my hair. I swear I am going to pass away. Good thing we're in the infirmary.

“I am soooo lucky.” she says, sounding genuinely delighted. “Wow.”

What. My brain attempts to process that sentence. My brain fails quite badly.

“I don’t even care that you are American.” she adds generously.

“Eva…”

“You have the whole nerdy professor look.” she continues dreamily. “It is very appealing.”

I am actively dying. I don't know whether to call for a priest or a doctor.

“Eva…” I try again.

“I always imagined someone like y…”

“Eva!” I cry out and that finally makes her pause. I take a deep breath.

We stare at each other.

She still looks extremely pleased with me. My heart is beating so rapidly that if I were the one hooked up to that heart monitor, they’d surely call a code blue. 

“Okay.” I say carefully. “First of all… I’m not your husband.”

Her eyebrows knit together.

“Oh.”

“And… uh, we’re not married.”

“Oh.” her face falls a little.

“But,” I rush to add. “we do know each other.”

She looks hopeful again.

“Yes?”

“We’re… coworkers.”

She tilts her head.

“That is acceptable.”

“And technically,” I continue weakly, wincing a little. “you’re also my boss.”

She slowly processes this and then her eyes widen. Her shoulders slump.

“…oh.”

I have just emotionally devastated Eva Stratt. Excellent work, Grace.

But then her expression brightens again.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Then I will ask you out.”

“You… what?”

She nods, looking completely satisfied with this solution.

“Yes. Obviously.”

Obviously.

“You are my dream man.” she informs me. “I will ask you out.”

My ears are ringing. Forget code blue, let’s call the bomb squad instead, because I might actually combust.

“And I like your hair.”

She pokes at it again.

I suddenly cannot breathe. My entire existence is spiraling into a black hole of hope and terror. Because the stupid, romantic, deeply repressed part of my brain whispers: I'm her... dream man? Like… really?

Before I can respond, the PLAN Gansu’s doctor walks briskly into the room.

“Ah, hello Dr. Grace.” she says, spotting me. “I can see Stratt is already up and talking. That's good.”

Eva waves enthusiastically.

“Hello! I was just asking out my coworker.”

The doctor doesn’t even blink.

“That’s nice.” she says, checking the monitor and jots down a few things on the tablet she’s holding.

Eva leans toward me conspiratorially.

“I still think you might secretly be my husband.”

“I am definitely not.”

“We will see.”

The doctor starts adjusting the IV.

“Okay, Director Stratt, the operation was successful. Now it’s time to rest.”

Eva sighs dramatically, then looks back at me with sleepy affection.

“You should stay.” she murmurs.

My brain melts, but the doctor is already ushering me toward the door.

“Let her sleep.” she says.

I stagger out into the hallway as if I’ve just survived re-entry into the atmosphere. My heart is still pounding, and my mind keeps replaying every word she just said.

I lean against the wall of the corridor. The doctor steps out a moment later, pulling the door mostly closed behind her.

I swallow.

“Um… can I ask something?”

She looks up from her tablet.

“Sure.”

I gesture weakly toward the room.

“Will she… remember any of that?”

The doctor smiles with that sympathetic smile doctors tend to give when they know the answer is going to ruin your day. It seems to be the same everywhere in the world.

“Probably not.”

Something in my chest drops.

“The sedative we used,” she continues. “can cause temporary memory loss. Patients may talk more, but… later they usually do not remember the conversation.”

I nod slowly.

“Right.”

“By the time she wakes she’ll likely not remember.”

The hallway suddenly feels colder.

“Okay.” I say quietly with resignation.

The doctor gives my shoulder a brief pat and heads down the corridor.

For Eva Stratt, this conversation will fade away just like the anesthesia. Just a blank spot in the day. But I will remember every word. 

For about five minutes in that room, the universe took on an incredibly hopeful form. And now it’s gone.

Tomorrow she’ll wake up feeling refreshed and calm, and Director Eva Stratt will be back at work with full energy. She’ll ask for reports. She’ll argue with a few engineers. She’ll eat a couple of world leaders for breakfast. Usual stuff.

And she’ll look at me just the way she always does: professional.

Completely unaware that, for a brief ridiculous moment, she told me I was everything she ever imagined.

How am I supposed to act like that never happened?

Because it did. It happened to me!!

And now it’s permanently etched in my mind like the world’s most devastating souvenir.

I push myself away from the wall and start walking down the hallway.

---

It was weirdly cozy.

“Impressive.” I said.

Eva glanced around with mild interest. “Yes.”

People were already settling in. Dimitri had claimed an entire inflatable lounger like a conquering emperor. Olesya waved enthusiastically when she saw us enter, her grin widening just a little when she noticed that Eva and I had arrived together.

I could practically hear the gossip spreading through the room at the speed of light.

“Hey Grace!” Dimitri called. “You brought the boss!”

“I did.” I muttered.

Eva, who was entirely immune to embarrassment, simply nodded at him like she was arriving at a summit meeting. We found two empty chairs near the middle. Well, one chair and one beanbag.

Eva stared at the beanbag.

“Would you like the beanbag…?” I asked.

“No!” she said immediately.

So three minutes later I was sitting in the beanbag, Eva sat beside me, posture straight even in a folding chair that squeaked every time she shifted. I tried to sit like a dignified adult but instead sank further into the beanbag as if it was quicksand.

“This is a mistake.” I whispered.

“You look comfortable.” she almost smiled.

The projector flickered fully to life and after the title card appeared the opening credits started.

PRETTY WOMAN

I blinked. I had heard of it. A film about shopping and a fancy hotel, starring Julia Roberts. That was about the extent of my knowledge. Eva leaned back in her chair.

The movie started.

It had been running for maybe twenty minutes when my brain began doing that thing it does: putting two and two together. It started as a vague itch in the back of my mind and gradually grew into something deeply inconvenient: the slow, creeping recognition.

I watched with mild curiosity, legs half-submerged in the beanbag that had by now molded itself around me.

Then the dialogue about the rule happened.

No kissing.

And my brain paused. Julia Roberts’ character was explaining the rule matter-of-factly. Something about kissing being too personal, about how certain lines mattered, even in arrangements that were otherwise purely logistical.

My eyebrows pulled together slightly. The sudden, sinking awareness hit my brain. So that’s who Vivian Ward is. 

My hand came up to cover my mouth.

Oh my God.

I was Vivian Ward.

Okay not literally, obviously. The details were extremely different. But emotionally? In terms of the metaphor Eva had clearly understood months before I did? I was totally Vivian Ward.

I could feel heat creeping up the back of my neck now, spreading across my face in the unmistakable way that meant I was about to turn a color normally associated with warning signs.

My gaze drifted sideways. Eva was already looking at me. Her posture was relaxed in the folding chair, one ankle crossed neatly over the other, hands folded loosely in her lap, like always. To anyone else in the room she probably looked like she was simply watching the movie with moderate interest.

But her eyes were bright. And the corner of her mouth was curved upward in the smallest, most controlled smile I had ever seen.

Smug.

The expression of someone who had understood a joke months ago and was now watching the punchline land exactly on schedule.

Our eyes met, and my face grew even hotter.

Eva’s smile widened just a fraction but there was affection in it, too, that melted my heart. Like she was thinking: yes, that’s right. You’ve finally caught up. I looked away immediately and rubbed a hand over my face.

Fantastic. I had successfully discovered that I was the rom-com protagonist. 

I risked another glance at Eva. She was watching the screening now, her expression composed again, though the faintest trace of that smile lingered at the corner of her mouth.

Her hand shifted slightly between our seats and her fingers brushed mine. She didn’t look at me again when she laced her fingers with mine. But I felt her gentle squeeze. 

Eva Stratt was holding my hand. In public. Suddenly, the embarrassment didn’t feel quite so catastrophic.

God, I loved her.

“You are being extremely smug about this.” I whispered to her.

She squeezed my hand again.