Author: Beautiful Nightmare
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.
Rating: R for sporadicly foul language.

Wild Eyed Beauty

Chapter One: Angel in Disguise

"Brody!" Dylan called up the stairs. "What the hell is taking so long?" She glanced down at the phone in her hand. If her little brother didn't get his ass in the car in the next minute they were going to be late for his appointment. Again.

At five years old, he was as devilish as Dennis the Menace, but as cute as the dimple in his left cheek. She loved him more than anyone or anything. But, boy, could he drive her crazy without even trying. She knew from the high pitched giggles floating down the stairs that he was either hiding under her bed or climbing up the linen closet attempting to hide on the top shelf. Whatever his choice for the day, she couldn't afford to get him to yet another appointment late.

Dylan climbed the stairs quickly and followed the stifled giggles to her room, past the linen closet. As she stepped into the room she heard a sharp intake of breath and the sound of a hand clamping over lips. Not very stealthy, but what did she expect? Brody was only five after all, and hadn't developed the necessary skills of sneaking. He'd been sheltered more than was necessary because their mother thought it was best for his health. He was a classic example of a "bubble wrapped" child. One who'd never been allowed to play in the dirt, drink from the hose, or fall off a bike.

"Shoot. Where are you Brody?" she asked, her voice high for his benefit.

She made her way around the bed, knowing full well his feet would be at the right side of the mattress so he could face the door. Bending quickly at the waist, she grasped his sock clad feet and tugged him out from under the bed. His shrill squeal dissolved into hysteric giggles and Dylan grinned despite herself. She often tried to feign the responsible adult but at the sound of his laughter, she'd melt. He was a cherub of a child, shiny green eyes, the color of grass kissed by rain, dark auburn hair that tumbled unsteadily over his forehead, and that resist me not dimple in his left cheek.

"You, my dear, are not getting a sucker after your neb today," she teased, as she hauled him off the floor and over one shoulder.

Clasping an arm around his dangling legs she descended the stairs of her townhouse slowly and grabbed her purse off the kitchen table. If she could manage to avoid traffic they'd only be five minutes late, ten at the most. But avoiding traffic in Chicago rush hour was like Florida moving out of a hurricane's destructive path. It just didn't happen.

She opened the back door of her car and carefully placed Brody into the booster seat she couldn't remember being confined to at his age. He squirmed in his seat until he was comfortable and then buckled himself in. "When can I sit up in the front?" he asked softly.

He knew the answer but asked every time he was in the car, just to make sure the Illinois state laws hadn't changed without his knowledge. Dylan shut the back door and slid into the front seat, "Not until you gain a few more pounds. I'll take you to McDonalds after your appointment. Just don't tell Mom."

Brody grinned at her in the rearview mirror before staring out the window. She cranked the radio and let the smooth sounds of Zac Brown Band carry them towards rush hour traffic. When their mother, Rachel, took Brody to his appointments he arrived with time to spare. In fact, they were usually anally early. And, although, when Dylan took Brody they were late, they also made the weekly appointments fun. Instead of feeling like he was destined to be held captive by his health for life, he was set free and allowed to be as childish as he wanted. Yes, they were late, but Brody was happy, and she'd put up with the snarky bitchy nurses just to see his sweet smile.

"Dylan?"

"Mhmm?" she murmured, as she pulled into the downtown core and halted behind a long line of frustrated afternoon drivers.

"When am I gonna be better?"

Dylan frowned stiffly. It was a question he asked before every appointment. Besides the debilitating asthma he suffered from he could be considered relatively healthy in all other aspects. But because of the asthma, he'd been in and out of ICU for most of his life. His pediatrician now saw him once a week to check his lungs and provide him with a more effective dosage nebulizer. If it was her decision, she'd go to monthly visits only until an attack. However, their mother was adamant that regular appointments were a necessity.

Shaking her head sadly she glanced into the back seat. He was still gazing forlornly out the window when she said, "Anytime now, big guy. I promise."

A promise like that could never be kept. She was vastly uneducated and unqualified in the medical field, but she hoped a little positive vibes would do the trick. She wanted to take him to the park in the summer and roll down hills, build snowmen then destroy them in the winter. She'd grown up doing those things but he'd never been allowed because everything set in motion another severe attack. The simplest pleasures a child can experience were only a fragment of his imagination.

He accepted her promise with a simple "Okay" and continued to stare out the window. The roads were slick with fall time rain and the puddles pooling on the streets called playfully. She'd give her left lung to him if it would allow a moments relief.

They each finished the long drive in their own minds. She was contemplating whether to begin a holistic method of treatment despite what their mother thought. "Hippie shit didn't solve anything" was her usual reply whenever Dylan broached the subject. Because Brody was only her brother and not her son she couldn't go against her mother's wishes. But, oh, how she wished to.

The parking lot was full, as usual, so she parked her car in the only free space at the back of the lot and held the door open for Brody to jump down to the pavement. He was small for his age, just shy of thirty one pounds and standing at thirty four inches. He tilted his head all the way back and smiled at her, "Can I play soccer this winter?"

"We'll see, closer to the season," Dylan answered, crouching in front of him so he could climb up onto her back. Not only would he not be able to play soccer that indoor season, but he also wouldn't be able to run. Just a walk across the long parking lot could wind him, a run would likely land him in ICU again for a week or more. She knew all of this, but didn't say because it would crush him to know he was stuck inside again all winter.

"I want to be like Pele."

"What do you know about Pele?" she laughed, meandering her way slowly towards the main entrance.

"I know he was the world's greatest player," Brody shouted, bouncing against her back.

"How'd you know that?"

He clicked his tongue like she'd asked the most ridiculous question, "Google."

Dylan snickered at his response. She still found it odd that children of his age were so technologically knowledgeable. At twenty six, she was still struggling with the basics of Microsoft word. She could vaguely deal with Internet and email, but anything above that was too complicated. In fact, she was still learning to text, though a recently purchased iPhone was making it a little easier. Her generation was obsessed with technology, but as a child she'd been playing outside from dawn until dusk. When she hit junior high and high school she learned to juggle soccer, tennis, and school work with whatever winter sport was available. Any spare time she found was used to rest instead of spending hours in some awkward chat room with a bunch of old perverts.

"You're never gonna get a girlfriend talking like that," she joked, pausing as the entrance swooshed open letting out a warm rush of filtered air.

"Dylan," he groaned, dragging the "la" of her name out in a way only a child could.

Once they crossed the threshold she crouched again and let him clamber off her back. Right away he rounded the security desk and bumped fists with the man behind it. They were in the hospital so often that they'd developed a friendly relationship with many of the lower level staff. Brody adored Sam, the old guard who was always ready with a smile and a sucker. As if on cue, he pulled a red sucker from his shirt pocket and handed it to Brody.

"How you guys doing today?" Sam asked.

Brody slid the sucker into a spare pocket on her purse and smiled. "Not to bad. How late are we?" she wondered.

"Not so bad this time," he answered, before adding a smile and a warning for Brody, "You best stop hiding right before your appointment."

Brody's eyes flashed with pleasure, before leading her towards the bank of elevators to the left of the main doors. He shoved his tiny finger against the up button and stepped back to watch the numbers count down until the doors clanged open and expelled a heavily pregnant woman and her exhausted looking husband. Braxton Hicks had obviously played mayhem on his nerves as he blinked in the brightness of the afternoon sun streaming through the large windows. Dylan laid a hand on Brody's shoulder to allow the couple space to move before they both stepped into the elevator. He punched the fifth floor button and giggled as he pulled his finger along the four buttons leading down.

His bright eyes turned to her and sparkled in mischief. She snorted in amusement; glad they were getting off on the fifth floor instead of the ninth. Her hand slid off her purse and waited in the air palm up. He knew she'd never correct the behavior, because quite frankly, it was exactly what she'd have done when younger. He slapped her hand loudly as the doors began sliding shut.

"Hey! Hold the elevator!"

Grabbing hold of a door she held them open while a dark haired man jumped in. He was taller than she, much wider, and he nodded at her. "Thanks," he said, as he leaned against the wall of the elevator. Normally Dylan wouldn't have wasted an extra moment looking at a random man, but in this situation she couldn't help but focus on him. His chest was broad and well defined; a fact that couldn't go unnoticed when his grey shirt stretched so desperately over his muscles. That, paired with a beautifully angular face covered in day old fuzz and the softest shade of seafoam green eyes, called for a double take. Just now his face was clouded with anxiety and his lips turned down at the edges, but still he took her breath away. She'd seen attractive men before, but this one was almost unbearable to look at. And he seemed not to notice how devastatingly handsome he was.

Dylan swallowed the froth that had formed in her throat and croaked, "No worries."

She felt like she'd been staring at him for years, but when she faced the doors again they were just clanging shut. The car shuddered softly as it lifted upwards towards their destination. Brody stood beside her, forgotten, until he wound his arm around her leg and faced the man beside her with obvious interest. "You have gray hair," he stated bluntly.

The man beside her barked out a laugh and turned to look at her little brother. A wide smile pulled his lips apart and she noticed the smallest of spaces between his front teeth. An uncomfortable extra beat slammed her heart and her eyes widened in shock. "Filter," she said, turning away from the man as quickly as possible. The extra punch to her chest unnerved her.

"It's alright," he replied, the laughed still evident in his voice. "Yeah, I do have gray hair."

"Why?" her brother asked.

"Brody!"

"Cause I'm old," the man answered.

"How old?"

"Oh my God," Dylan breathed out, reaching a hand around her brother and covering his mouth while pulling him against her thigh. Brody fought against her muzzle while the man laughed at the absurdly endearing child that couldn't keep his mouth shut. She could feel the blush creep up her neck, "I'm sorry," she finished, turning to look at him again.

He was smiling at her now, like any normal person would when a precocious child made himself known. "Don't worry about it," he answered, stealing his smoldering gaze and placing it on her brother again. She let her breath out as quietly as possible as he said, "I'm thirty two," to her brother.

The stranger seemed to have no problem talking with her brother so she let her hand off his mouth, settling it on his shoulder just in case. Brody blinked at the man, "You're almost as old as my Mom. I'm Brody."

"Well Brody, your mom doesn't look as old as you say she is," he answered, looking back up at her.

Dylan could feel her eyes bulge out of her head and her heart stop in sync. He clearly thought she was Brody's mother, and she found herself correcting him, "I'm his sister actually." Why it mattered was uncertain, she just felt like she had to clarify.

"I thought you looked too young to be a mom."

Normally she might have been offended by that comment, but instead found herself glad he knew she didn't have a child. Her mother had been young when she'd been born, just thirteen days past seventeen, and she'd made a wonderful life for Dylan. "Okay," she said, mentally slapping herself at her awkward response.

The man's eyes had already returned to Brody due in part to her lack of smart reply. She felt the loss deep in her gut but remained as still as possible. Collapsing in despair because someone's eyes weren't on you wasn't considered socially acceptable. "I'm Kelly," he told her brother, enfolding the hand her brother offered and pumping it twice.

The fact that her brother felt the need to shake hands proved how sheltered he really was. A high five was more appropriate but she'd never tell him different. The sight only solidified her determination to get him out of the house that winter and learn some common street sense.

Kelly released her brother's hand just as the doors slid open to the fifth floor. Dylan ushered him to the door and allowed her brother a wave and a quickly uttered "Bye". They were late for his appointment and though she'd rather stay put in the elevator and gaze at Kelly she had responsibilities. And those responsibilities didn't include taking off her panties and jumping a perfect stranger.

"See you later," Kelly said, catching her eyes before the doors slid completely shut.

I'm not sure where this is going. I also don't know a thing about Chicago except for Oprah is there, or much about severe asthma except the dosage I can give on the ambulance. Bear with me, I'm winging this. The title might change as well. Go figure.