OK so Kyle XY has officially taken over as the fandom my muse is obsessing over. I started this right after finishing 'A Leap of Faith' because I read an interview with one of the Kyle XY writers and her thoughts on where the characters would end up. Well her thoughts got me thinking and my muse started cracking her knuckles. What would our favorite characters be like years down the road? Where would they be and who would they have become? It's a great question and here is my humble attempt at answering them. I have a few goals in mind; I want to write a plausible 'M' rated fic, I want to have lots of angst, and I want the characters to stay as true to the ones we knew left behind in S3. Whew. That's a tall order and I hope the people reading this will let me know what are hits and what are misses. I am counting on your thoughts and encouragements to keep my muse happy and hopefully the end product will something you all enjoy and are proud of.

Everything up to and including the Series Finale will be addressed in this fic so if you don't want spoilers than don't go any further. Seven years have passed since the end of S3 and yes there will be Mature related themes in this fic so consider yourself warned. This not going to be some kind of crazy raunchy fic but the gang is older and living in the world and they have grown up and their thoughts and troubles will be that of grown ups.

Most importantly this is a Kessi fic. Again this is for all the Kessi lovers out there. As much as I love Kyle Trager (and that is a whole lot ;) ) Jessi holds a very, very special place in my heart so this is as much for her as much as it is for him. It's funny than that this will be, for now, completely from Kyle's POV. I love writing him I can't help it.

This is also the longest A/N I have ever written but I have a feeling this fic is going to be epic-ish and so deserves a longer A/N. SO please, please, please review!!! I own nothing and mean no harm and as always enjoy....

Dresden 1900 PST

The key fits in the lock, the lock turns, the door opens, and "finally."

Not an exclamation of home, no, this apartment, while his in law and name, had never been home. And yet he was disgustingly grateful for its dark presence. Dropping his luggage right where he stood he threw his keys on the non-descript table by the empty closet and flicked the light switch to on.

His eyes scanned quickly down the hall and into the living room. Everything was as he had left it; the cleaning service Declan had employed had done a nice job. The hardwood floors shined nicely up at him and there was the not unpleasant hint of lemons in the air.

Germany had been his choice, Foss had imparted on Declan that they would need stops, places scattered throughout the globe that would serve as homes or hideouts or hospitals; and one never knew when they would one or more of those services.

On one of his first trips through Europe Germany had been an unexpected surprise, he supposed it was because of the language. Languages were easy for him, he had picked most of the ones he had encountered and many were stored in his head that he had yet to use, but there was a special place in his heart for the guttural tones.

When they had set up stops on all the major continents, he had insisted on Germany, it didn't matter what city or town, Declan had merely blinked at him; unused to any type of preference to any of their situations, but had immediately found this loft and Kyle had been pleased.

Easily pleased, that was him; moving into the living room he shrugged out of his leather jacket, the night air was cooler here than it had been just last night. Last night he had been in another country perhaps on another continent, it was hard to keep it straight anymore.

Sighing he headed into the kitchen there had been a passable meal on the plane, but he wanted something rich and thick and maybe naughty.

Opening the obnoxiously big refrigerator, again Declan saw to his every need and had installed state of the art everything in every location; but then Foss had taught him well. Reaching into the fully stocked appliance he pulled out a beer, very dark and brewed locally, the untouched cheesecake, and jar of hot fudge.

It was nice at times like this to be predictable. He liked sweets, always had, and it was nice to know that every at ungodly hour of the morning he could indulge. Grabbing a spoon, a bag of sun chips and God only knows where those had come from he hopped onto one of the stools tucked under the granite island that had never held a home cooked meal.

Eyes glancing around as he popped the top of his beer with the spoon, he had no idea where the bottle opener might be; he sipped at his beer. It was strange that even at twenty-five he felt nervous about drinking; or swearing or the occasional second glance at a nicely put together woman; it was hard living down expectations that had been instilled when you were sixteen and trying to save the world.

He was still trying to save the world, still trying to live up the expectations that people had of him and those he had for himself.

And usually it was fine, great, and wonderful; except when it wasn't, on nights like tonight, when all he wanted was sweets and alcohol and maybe a familiar face.

'Stop whining,' talking to himself was annoying habit, he talked to himself all the time in his head. Working out problems and the like, but actually speaking out loud to no one but himself was an annoying and growing habit.

'I need,' the spoon froze on its way to his mouth, the bite forgotten. What did he need? What had his impulsive mouth been about to say? He had everything he could want, had a job, a life works that was rewarding and fulfilling. He had a best friend that had trained and studied and become the shadow and scout that he needed to make the world better. His family was safe and prospering back home, so there was nothing more he could want.

Except there was, there was because he was about to say it out loud, and had stopped himself.

'Great now I'm arguing with myself,' finishing his bite, he indulged in a few more, rising for another beer he nibbled on chips while he considered his options.

Declan was working out a few things. People needed help and education and a saving grace everywhere, all the time, so the options were limitless; but it was the practicalities that narrowed the options. Lots of people wanted help in theory but when offered rejected it. Then there were those that simply wanted money, those he left to his accountant; Adam's estate had been vast and while the economy was still recovering from the decadence of the first decade of the second millennium he had made smart investments and had quadrupled the Baylin estate.

Some countries were hard to get into, harder still to work in and a bitch to get out of once in there; those he dreaded, not because of the risks, no those he accepted, but the devastation the people, especially the children, faced was heart breaking.

Those tasks were taken only after careful consideration, Declan knew he would need time to prepare and time to recover from one of those- missions; he hated the term, but Declan's habit had rubbed off on him. Recovery time was why he was here. That was his option, lazy days and long nights, which was what Declan had ordered before heading off to do who knows what where and for whatever reason.

Rest and relaxation was what he needed, yes, he turned and dropped the dirty spoon into the sink and put what was left of the cheesecake back in the fridge. Taking his beer with him he wondered into the living room, there was a nice TV that Josh would have no doubt envied, but he bypassed that for the stereo.

Harsh beats filled the air, it was just what he needed, spinning the dial to mind numbing levels he stepped back and settled onto the overstuffed leather couch, his favorite kind. The cool brown leather was worn and welcoming. Kicking off his sneakers he propped his feet on the coffee table and wiggled his toes.

Being an adult was hard work, but there were moments, like drinking beer with your feet on the furniture that made it worthwhile; not to mention he got a thrill at playing the music so loud.

The Trager household had always been so very quiet. Quiet in the sense that there was rarely music blasting, Nicole had insisted on ear buds, or TV left on, Stephen had wanted the world left outside their doors. And while he liked the atmosphere, there was something soothing about the noise around him; and there was no worry about neighbors, his loft was on the top floor and there were no neighbors on the floor below. Yes, if he could call one place home out of Seattle it would be here.

Before he knew it his eyes were slipping shut, the jetlag catching up to him, and he was out.

Dresden 0030 PST

Light was evil, evil and everywhere.

Stumbling off the sofa he made his way to the ceiling high windows and reached blindly for the switch on the wall that would give him blessed darkness.

"Damn," his foot hit something, hard and unmoving, and one eye peeked open enough to find the panel and hit the magic button. Darkness; he wasn't sure if it was curtains or shades or some kind of nano technology and he didn't care because the sunshine was gone.

He had slept hard, unmoving, given the stiffness in his limbs, and dreamlessly. It was exactly what he needed. The music had ended, there was the whir of the machine waiting idly for more commands, but he ignored it; than felt guilty for wasting resources until he remembered the solar panels he had insisted be retrofitted to the roof. Let the sun pay for the electronics since it was the reason he was awake prematurely.

Bathroom was what he needed now, lots and lots of hot water and soap and than the cleanest freshest clothes he could get his hands on. A plan was forming and in his sleep addled state a plan was good. Than he would find coffee, strong and hot and a never ending cup; the café down the street would have that and they would have pastries, sweets, and even though his stomach was heavy with his indulgence last night, he didn't care.

He would do extra sets in the gym later. And there was another bullet point; he would go to the gym today.

Having made it to the bathroom, step one of 'the plan' complete, he turned on nozzles and grabbed towels and sweats while adding more to the plan. R&R was hard for him. He was not one to sit idly by as much as Declan would like him too, but he would find ways to recuperate his way.

Some paper might be nice, clean and bright white, there were images bouncing around in his head that he wanted to share. They were with him forever, he could recall every image in his memory warehouse at any time, but sometimes the images were worth sharing with others, and sometimes he just wanted to do something with his hands.

Cleaner than he had been in weeks, he headed for the bedroom and the closet that he knew would be full. Some were things he had purchased and left, most of the stuff was there by catalogue. His size and color preferences were pretty obvious and he was not a finicky dresser. Although he sometimes wished he had adopted more of the Trager fashion traits. Lori and her daring use of colors, he tended to stick to neutrals and blues, and most especially Josh and his nose for fun and quirky clothes. Andy had been a tremendous help in many of Josh's most successful finds, but than quirky was her thing and she did it well.

'You do find the most random things to think about,' he pulled on dark blue jeans and pulled a gray sweater over his white tee shirt. And this time he was in full agreement with the words spilling out of his mouth.

Before his thoughts to turn towards the last time words had spilled from his mouth he stepped into surprising comfortable black shoes that weren't boots but weren't shoes either and went in search of his phone.

There were no missed calls, a text from Declan letting him know that he was no longer in Germany, but nothing else. Slipping it into his back pocket he slipped his leather coat back on, stepped over his forgotten luggage and went in search of coffee and sweets.

Winter was coming to Dresden, flipping up his collar, his steps moved quicker down the sidewalk, the wind colder as it blew across the Elbe. Winter would be coming to Seattle soon, the rain would be colder and the sun would be shining less and less. The sudden pang of heart ache shook him and his steps faltered.

Thinking about home was not uncommon, of course he reached back into his memories for good times when things were rough; but this was different. His mind had been wandering back home more and more lately and he couldn't put his finger on why. Something was tugging his thoughts in that direction.

He put the introspection on hold as he reached the café and headed inside.

Settled at a table with the largest cup of coffee he could get and several pastries within reach he turned his eyes back onto the river and his thoughts back on.

Intuition, the gut feeling you get when you just know something, Foss had told him once never to ignore his. That his intuition, given his special skills, might be tapping into something more, something they had no real understanding of and he should never ignore it. And when he was a young Kyle he had listened to Foss then and as an older Kyle now, he still listened to his advice.

Something was brewing back home, something that was pulling his thoughts and attentions back there. He didn't know what, the feeling was never specific like that, no, he just knew it was something and it had to do back home.

By the time he had eaten more calories than should be allowed and drunk enough that even he had to use the restroom, because of course his tolerance was higher than everyone else's, almost everyone else's, his fingers were taping against his thigh. Energy was coursing through him, fueled by sugar and caffeine there was also the onslaught of questions and fears and curiosity of what was coming.

He knew he had to be patient, patience was a virtue, and usually he was the calm and level headed one; he had to be. But when it came to the people he loved and cared about all of the carefully constructed safe guards and barriers were stripped away.

After turning eighteen he had begun training in earnest, traveling with Foss and testing the limits of his control and abilities. He had found that the more distance he put between himself and those he loved the easier it became to fulfill his potential. At least that was what Foss had called it.

Foss had been convinced that Kyle was there to serve a purpose and that purpose was to help the world, change the world to be a better place. Lofty ideals, yes, but soon enough he had been helping people, and the impact he made on lives began to have ripple effects.

It was Andy who first noticed; early on a town had been combating devastation when the local crops had begun to wither and die and people's livelihoods had come undone. After Kyle had slipped in, identified the problem, and begun to educate the locals how to fight back he had left and not looked back. It was hard to look back when there were so many more people ahead.

So it was Andy who had checked back in on the town, found that they had been successful, so successful, they had shared their knowledge in the neighboring towns that had fallen on similar hardships and then in turn used the extra revenue from the surplus resources to build better libraries and start much needed after school programs.

Separating had been easier than he had thought it would be, less scary too, and so he had been caught up in the challenging and changing situations and the power came more naturally to him, came stronger and more skilled.

He had begun writing then, journal after journal was kept of every challenge, every random thought or idea; that had again been Foss' idea. There were important things in his head, things that might not be ready for the world yet, were too important to be forgotten. It had been weird at first, taking time every day to write down his activities and random thoughts.

But it had evolved, turned more to notes whipped out on his blackberry and sent to an anonymous email account. Foss, and now Declan, would keep them safe and organized and should they ever need to reference something access something.

And his life had grown and been shaped by his eagerness to help and thirst to uncover what was locked away inside of him, and the miles separtating him from Seattle had made that possible. The thought of there being trouble at home startled him. He had been many things over the years, but startled was not one of them.

Declan had often wondered about that, how he could deal with the danger and horrors of the situations he walked into and not bat an eye.

Fear and uncertainty those were the things he had left behind when he had left Washington. As funny as it sounded living in a war torn country cowering in a cellar full of children while mortars exploded over head was nothing compared to those frantic months when Matacorp and Latnok had encroached on the safety and security of those he loved.

Washing his hands thoroughly in the bathroom he caught a glimpse of his reflection. What had been a shadow of a beard was far more distinctive now, he couldn't remember when he had last shaved, and there was still sleep in his eyes. He looked every bit of his twenty-fives years at the moment. Appraising his profile, right side than left, he noticed lines at the corners of his eyes that had never been there before.

The changes to his face didn't bother him; the changes to his body were usually not that much of an issue either. Vanity was not something he wrestled with. His physique was well maintained he had topped out at around six foot and there were no extra bits of fat anywhere. That had as much to do with his living conditions as his physical conditioning; sometimes a hearty meal was the last thing on anyone's minds.

There were muscles in all the right places, those weren't a concern; the scars were. There wasn't one major body part or limb that didn't bear some permanent mark of the work he had done. For every person that was grateful there was someone who was angry about it.

Violence had become an unfortunate skill he had become expert at. Killing had not been a line he had had to cross, yet, but there had been times; times when he pushed he would have done so. Those times when faced with the choice he had known that had he ended the life of the person in front of him he would have been able to sleep well the next night.

It was a testament to how far he had come from the Kyle who had first stumbled into the Trager household and the reflection before him that could think something like that and mean it and be OK with it.

Those thoughts were hard to write down, hard to admit too, but he had. They were parts of his reality and he had to accept them and those who might read those words would have too to. It was hard to remember that while he was extraordinary to so many people, he was also a man.

'A man,' the last time he had been seen in such a light had been too long ago.

Shaking the excess water from his hand he reached for a paper towel. More sleep would be good, more sleep and a shave. And maybe the thoughts would settle back to the recesses of his mind where they wouldn't cause any more trouble.

Leaving a bigger tip than was necessary he felt for certain that his darkening mood was spilling out over the other customers and any thoughts of going anywhere or doing anything else but going home dissipated.

Outside the wind was even more bitter and he buried his hands into the pockets of his coat walking quickly he retraced his steps.

No sooner had he stepped off the elevator than he felt his pocket begin to vibrate, he dug out his keys and his phone, "Nicole" flashed on the little screen and he missed the keyhole jamming the key into the wood of the door.

He did some quick math it was ten-ish here so in would be after two am in Washington.

"Hello," he couldn't keep the worry out of his voice, wished that the voice on the other end would laugh and apologize for 'drunk dialing' at such an hour. But this was Nicole, not Josh and she wasn't one to drunk dial.

"Kyle, hi," it was a stone sober Nicole and his heart dropped, she was worried; he fit the key into the lock finally and went inside.

"What's wrong," her laugh was short, clipped, and he didn't like it, not one bit. Heading into the bedroom he pulled the leather bag from the bottom of the closet and began throwing in clothes at random. It hardly mattered what she said, he was already preparing the fastest way out of Dresden and back to the States.

"Kyle I-" her words left her and he froze, whatever it was she was having trouble telling him. Nicole always had the words, she always knew what to say and the thought of her not knowing what to say scared him. sinking onto the bed next to his half packed bag he tried to send out his thoughts. He tried to connect to everyone but his fears had taken over, broken his concentration and he reached nothing but a wall.

Cursing under his breath he startled Nicole and instantly apologized.

"No Kyle I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I know I'm calling out of the blue and not making any sense," there was panic now and he needed to take control; take control of himself and the conversation if he wanted to know what was going on before going crazy.

"Nicole calm down," he summoned up all the patience and understanding he could, pouring all of it into his words, "it's OK, whatever it is you can tell me."

He didn't want to know, not really, no one wanted to know what bad news was coming at them, but it didn't matter, his words had done the trick and she was speaking. He heard his name and another apology, he heard the need in her voice, she wanted him there, wanted him to be there, but didn't want to ask; and then she said the words that stilled his breath.

"Kyle its Jessi."