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Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

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The sun has bleached Brody's hair so that it looks more blond than brown and she leans back in her seat and watches as he takes a swallow from his bottle of cider.

"What?" he asks, when he notices that she's watching him. "Have I got something on my face?"

"Nope, just lookin'," she tells him and walks over to him. He puts his cider down and draws her down into his lap, his arm about her, cradling her against him.

They've spent many hours like this on the roof top of her apartment building since her 'choice'. Mackie has asked her if she regrets her decision, choosing Brody over Danny and Abby has told her that she doesn't. She doesn't try to explain and Mackie doesn't ask.

Brody's fingers tangle into her thick blonde hair as he rests his lips against her forehead before seeking out her mouth with his.

It's a rare weekend when they're both not on duty. They have dinner at her parents' house tonight and she'll spend the night at his apartment or he'll stay at hers. It's almost frightening how easy they have settled into a routine together … into a relationship.

"Brody …"

"Abby."

"When I joined IA – how come you didn't give me shit like everyone else did?" she asks him unexpectedly.

She had told Richie first in confidence and he had been disapproving but had kept her secret. Donnie, Steve and her father had been appalled. Her mother had been upset that she had not told her earlier. Only Brody had congratulated her and acted like the IA position was just like any other job. Not once had he denigrated her role, disparaged her or acted like she was a Judas.

Brody shrugs. "It's a job …"

"You didn't treat me like a traitor like everyone else," she points out.

"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?" he quotes mischievously and her eyebrows raise sharply.

"You're full of surprises, Brody."

"Some of us did study Latin in school, Kowalski," he points out. His face turns serious. "Most of the population hates police in the way that the police hate IA … but the whole system falls apart if we don't have checks and balances. Who polices the police to keep us honest?" he questions her and she touches his cheek lightly.

"Do you trust me?" she asks him and he nods slowly.

"With my life," he tells her with great certainty.

"Good answer, officer," she tells him as her hands drop down to unbuckle his belt and his mouth curves into an expectant smile.

There is no doubt in Abby's mind that she has made the right choice.