Disclaimer: Burn Notice and all of its characters belong to Matt Nix, and the USA Network.

"Some have their crosses, and their Golden Gates,

Well, she is the grace I wear when I lose my faith.

We all need something to believe, the words we say before we sleep.

Close my eyes, and she's my dream.

She's the truth inside my world of lies, keeping all my hope alive.

Never gonna say goodbye.

'Cause I see stars in the freckles on her face,

And I'm seeing God every time she says my name.

So, Mother Mary, pray for me, without her, I am lost.

Her love it my religion."

-" Her Love is My Religion" The Cab

There was a point in time when a gold cross had hung around his neck. The cross had been with him through steamy, humid jungles, and it had been with him through dust and sand up to his ears in the desert. But the moment that Michael had lost his faith had happened in a rundown church in Ireland. He had stopped there to collect his thoughts after getting the hell outta Dodge and leaving Fiona high and dry. He had spent nearly an hour (time which he hadn't really had to begin with) on his knees in front of the pews, with his head bowed and his eyes closed.

Had someone, anyone, been listening to his prayers, he wouldn't have had to leave the woman that he was madly in love with laying in their bed completely unaware that he was leaving. He wouldn't have had to deal with an abusive father that had made his life a living hell. And yet, there he was. He was bruised, and battered, his mind in an even worse state than his physical one. That was why he'd yanked the cross from his neck and tossed it onto the floor angrily.

Being burned hadn't helped to repair the little bit of faith that he still had left in him. In fact, it was the brick that had cracked in the iron walls of his sanity. When he had crumpled, she had been the revival that kept his head above water.

He flipped the cross over in his palm, staring at it intently. When Fiona had given it back to him that morning, he'd been in shock. Not that she'd kept the necklace over the years, but that he had been so effected by the sight of the tiny, gold pendant. He hadn't thought that a reminder of his past would envoke such an emotional response, but when Fiona had handed it to him, it had put a tight knot in his chest and a deep, nagging ache at the base of his skull. It was a reminder of everything in his past that he had been so deadset on forgetting.

"Where did you find this?" He whispered, his eyes still fixed on the pendant. Fiona's hand was light on his back, but he could barely even feel her touch.

"It was on the floor in the church, Michael. You know that. It was there...when you left. I've been holding on to it until I thought that you were ready to see it again." She replied, her eyes on the floor in front of him and her chin settled on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Fi." He turned the pendant over again, looking at the scratches in the metal and mentally cataloguing where they had come from.

"It's not your fault." She placed a solid kiss to the side of his temple. "Besides, I don't blame you, I blame Michael McBride." He could feel the smile playing on her lips against his skin. Sam's voice echode in his head as he recalled a phone conversation they'd had once.

"You'll like this. I found out Vince is calling his Army buddies, trying to find out who you are." Sam stated. Michael gave a chuckle that was laced with a hint of sadness.

"Yeah, good luck with that." He sighed and ran his hand over the back of his head before continuing. "I don't even know."

"Fi, Michael McBride and I are the same man." He whispered, his voice barely loud enough to be heard.

"No. No you're not." She turned him to face her and wrapped her arms around his neck. He sighed softly as her musky perfume filled his nose. "Michael McBride left me in Ireland. He broke my heart. Michael Westen? He couldn't do that. He's too good of a man to leave me behind. You know why?" He shook his head, unable to form words around the lump in his throat. "Because you love me." She smirked.

Michael chuckled and pulled her into a deep kiss, his teeth grazing her bottom lip and his free hand roaming her back. When they finally pulled away, he brushed her hair off of her neck and hooked the necklace around her neck.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't need it. And, it looks pretty on you, Fi." He smiled softly. Fiona quirked an eyebrow at him curiously.

"Why's that?"

"Because the only thing that I have faith in anymore is right here." He tightened his arms around her waist and she grinned at him through a thin veil of tears. "You are my religion, Fiona. Your love. And there's nothing in the world that can shake my faith in us. I'm in this for the long hall." There was a long stretch of silence before their mouths met again in a blood-boiling rush of passion. They fell into their bed and made love until their muscles gave out and they could barely keep their eyes open any more.

As he watched Fiona floating into sleep, Michael looked down and caught the glint of the cross on her bare chest. He smiled to himself as he realized that the cross, which had once hung around a soldier's neck and had represented the death of his faith, finally held a new meaning for him. For them. It was a complete restoration of his faith, and he wouldn't have it any other way.