A Ghrá mo Chroí (My Heart's Beloved, My Darling)

There is some language in this one. I have been toying with this idea since Card's admission that Michael wanted to stay with Fiona in Ireland.

Michael began to see the operation fall apart on the 16th. He knew that the possibility was real when he couldn't reach his contact. It was the worst possible moment. He had broken off his engagement with Samantha with the full intention of staying with Fiona. He was completely unsure where she would fit into his life. But, he knew that on many levels, he would never be able to leave her.

He couldn't put his finger on it. One minute they were working like a well-oiled machine. The next they were having a knock down drag out followed by mind-blowing sex. He had never been so exhausted and yet so alive. His ability to completely detach from a situation was destroyed by this woman. He thought about the future. He never thought about the future. He realized how being lonely really sucked. He began to hate being alone. He needed her opinion on operations. And he cared about what happened to her. No, cared is too light of a word. He was afraid what he would turn into if something, anything happened to her. He was afraid of what he would become without her.

He hadn't told her that Michael McBride was nothing more than a cover. She would be pissed. Another woman would be pissed. He had lied from the beginning of their relationship, used her as an asset, and slept with her even though he was engaged. Yeah, pissed would be the least of it. There was no instrument known to man that would measure how furious she would be. Yet, he would chance it. He wanted this. He earned this. Hell, he deserved this.

On the 17th, Card had contacted Michael and told him to get out. Word was out and Michael was going to be a hunted man. It was then that Michael told Card his plans. "You're an idiot. You fell in love with your asset. DO you have any idea of her background? Of course you do. You did the goddamn work up. You ran this op. For Christ sake Michael, did I teach you anything?" Michael took a deep breath to control his anger. This was the same guy who had set him up with Larry Sizemore, the biggest sociopath in the agency. "I'm staying with her. I'll make my own way. By the way, fuck off. Before we end this glorious relationship, is there anything I need to know about who is coming after me?"

Card laughed at his mentee. "You can be such a short sight asshole, Michael. If I have to come over to Ireland to get you out of this mess, so help me…." Michael hung up on him. That night, he considered whether Card was lying. He played through every scenario to keep her.

On the 18th, he went to the market and got her favorite foods. He planned to ply her with food and drink before lowering the boom and his plans. He had planned to hide the knives and any other sharp instruments, weapons and C4 before she got home. He thought about nailing down furniture and putting away glass objects to make sure he would at least make it out alive. As Michael turned the corner, Card stepped out of the shadows. "Son of bitch. I thought I made it clear. I'm staying," Michael emphatically whispered to Card.

"You and I need to talk, now."

Michael followed Card into the pub next to their apartment. "So, you have my attention for 15 seconds. Make it quick."

Card ordered a Jameson. "You aren't the only one. Glennane and her family will be under significant scrutiny. If you care about her like you say, you need to leave her. You have a half hour, Michael. Go ahead and stay and see what happens."

"How long do I have?"

"You are seriously kidding, right? Ok, how about 5 minutes ago."

"I'm not leaving yet. How long do I have?"

"Tonight, by 2 am. You need to be on a plane on the outskirts of Dublin. I can't promise that either one of you will be alive tomorrow."

Michael closed his eyes. "Fine. I'll be there. Card, this better be accurate because if I find you are blowing smoke up my ass, I will kill you."

Michael walked into their apartment. It was the place where he was happiest he had ever been. There were parts of them all over. Yes, Michael Westen was present in the apartment, not Michael McBride. But, he honestly had to admit that they were one in the same. He was the comfortable speaking in the broth. He loved the weather. It was so different than Miami or the Middle East or Eastern Europe. And he loved her. He sat down in his chair and let it sink in. He would leave her. There was no other choice. Everything else was a pipe dream, a fantasy.

He made dinner. He didn't hide the weapons or knives. He packed a bag. In it was Michael McBride. He took the pictures of them together. And he took a drawing she had done of valley in Galway they had gone to on one job. He hid the bag carefully and waited.

When Fiona arrived home, she smiled at the sight of the romantic table. He greeted her with a glass of wine laced with sleeping pill. She told him about her day. The gun deal had gone well. A tighty little sum. She was looking to branch out a little. No more of this IRA bunny stuff. How much fun would it be for them to go into business together? They could take over the world. Michael smiled, not indulging in her dreams. Then she sat on his lap. "You know, McBride, you are tough one to read. One day, you are the one making the plans and then you get silent on me. "

He was so tempted to come clean. To tell her that he was an American spy. That he loved her. That he wanted to quit for her. That he couldn't live without her. Instead, he kissed her to keep from talking. He kissed her to keep her safe. He kissed her to keep a memory of who he could have been.

He made love to her. She fell sound asleep. And he left without a note, without an identity.

On the plane, he took out the emergency card; he changed it from his mom to Fiona Glennane.