Enora Shepherd is surgical royalty.
Derek Shepherd, neurosurgeon, and Addison Montgomery, neonatal surgeon, OBGYN and everything else she is, are her parents.
Meredith Grey is her stepmother.
Mark Sloan her godfather.
She's absolutely royal blood i...
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"One more lap, let's to." Teddy claps to hurry Nor along.
Enora cusses under her breath as she keeps moving - slow, but she's definitely moving. She pulls the IV pole along with herself and uses the other hand to guide herself along the wall for extra support.
"You look like you've shit yourself." A voice sniggers.
Enora looks over with a quirked eyebrow. Hang on... "Is that how you thank someone who saved your life?"
He quirks an eyebrow. "Sorry?" He leans in the doorway of his room.
"I saved you a couple weeks ago. You ODed in the basement and I saved your ass." She sasses. "You're welcome by the way."
"Well thanks, miss sassy pants. Still looks like you shit yourself." He smirks.
Enora glares. "My chest was ripped apart a few weeks ago - sorry if it hurts to walk straight." She snaps.
"I'll let it slide this time." He shrugs, walking closer; he's in joggers and a tee, the sexy compression socks on his feet like hers. "Cmon, keep moving. Altman is a right pain in the ass when you don't listen."
Enora begins taking slow steps again beyond thankful she brushed her hair and put clothes on today; only leggings and a loose top, but still. Thr dude walks along side. "Do I get to know your name or what?" She asks.
He shakes his head. "I like the mystery - hey!" He tuts as she takes his wrist and looks at his tag.
"Lovely to meet you, Jackson Andrews, born in 1992 making you 28 years old. In for a valve replacements, nice. The drugs do that?"
He snatches her wrist. "Well, Enora Shepherd, born in 1995 making yoi almost 26, in for - wow, a triple A repair. Drugs do that to you, too?"
Enora huffs. "Maybe. Maybe made it worse, but didn't cause it."
Jackson seems surprised. "Oh shit, you really- but you're a doctor." He says, confused.
Enora laughs. "So? We have problems too." She shrugs. "With the shit we see, it's very common to self medicate." She states. "Mine started way before this shitty job, anyways."
"I'd like to know more, pray tell."
Enora stops walking trying to hide her smirk. "Pardon?" She tilts her head.
He smirks. "I've lapped past your room a couple times. You watch a looooot of historical dramas and all they say is 'pray tell' or 'mind your Ps and Qs'." He puts on his best British accent for it.
Enora laughs and covers her mouth. "Oh that's so bad!"
He smirks, his hands in his pockets as he shrugs. "Didn't say I was an actor now did I."
"Good coz you can't act for shit."
"Ouch." He smirks. "Why don't we go for coffee?"
"Urm no." She rolls her eyes. "Don't think my heart is ready for caffeine yet."
