Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character's recognized with the show but any you don't recognize are my own.

Author's note: Please Review it lets me know if I should still continue with writing.

Summary: Short fic about Something Bosco has to do. Rating: PG for violence E-Mail : daily_juice@hotmail.com

Was he doing the right thing? Realistically it's not like he had much of a choice. If he completed his task then people would look at him differently and if he failed then people and quite possibly a lot of people would die and people would look at him for blame.

Shifting ever so slightly he lifted his foot and slid it through the air silently testing the ground before positioning it and following up with the foot left behind. All that Kung Fu bullshit was true. If he was to cut through the night unseen he must be the night. Dressed in black from head to toe, black grease paint covering his face he was certainly doing a good imitation.

Later the outfit and the movements from today would dredge up some old nightmares. Nightmares he never quite knew how to keep at bay. He came to a stop as a spot light shone over the area.

Truthfully he had only agreed to try and pull this off because the ESU captain had asked. No that wasn't right. The ESU captain had insinuated that he wasn't up to it and his damn ego got in the way. God forbid anyone try to show him up. That and one day he would very much like to be a part of the ESU team and showing them how good he was early, wasn't a bad start.

So that's how he,the great Bosco came to be creeping through a patch of wasteland towards a small trailer. Inside the trailer sat a man who blamed New York for the death of his teenage daughter. At the exact anniversary of her death in a few hours he was going to set off the explosives he had strapped to his body. The blast would level the surrounding area for about a mile. Killing thousands.

The 55th Precinct had gotten the call out but the situation had been quickly taken over by ESU. The unit's snipers all with a clear shot, a shot could be taken with ease but for one problem. The bomber had been planning this day for a long time and was wearing a helmet strapped with explosives that would set off the main charge if hit by a bullet. In fact the man's whole body was booby-trapped the only clear space not filled with explosives was his neck but the Sniper's couldn't risk the shot.

Four hours before the deadline the men in charge had come up with a plan. Why not just have someone sneak up behind the bomber and slit his throat. The plan was flawless but for a lack of men to execute it. ESU weren't trained to be assassins and the nearest person who was, was an hours drive away. An old marine who had suggested that for someone to make it across the wasteland undetected it would take a couple of hours of very stealthy work.

Then his own Lieutenant had piped up, I have a man who used to be a Ranger in the army. The situation had been laid out in front of him, and the plan explained. And then the question, do you think you can really do this? And the cocky answer.

On target he pulled the black painted blade from a holder strapped to his thigh, the blade unlike those found in the movies. You only needed a couple of inches to kill a man. The incessant babbling of a man out of his mind traveled to his ears. Now it was a waiting game. He was not usually a patient man but he knew he could wait out the full deadline if needed. Silent and still he was a hunter watching his prey waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Eyes fixed scanning the area he thought of what his friends and colleagues would say. Many of them never even knew that he had served eight years in the United States Army. That he had been on two combat tours, that he had been awarded medals for his actions on those tours.

The bomber crossed in front of his hiding place and he stepped out silently. Taking a quick step forwards he wrapped one hand instinctively around the bomber's face pulling his head back exposing the neck and covering the mouth. With his other hand he plunged the knife home and tried not to gag too much as the thick warm blood pooled over his hand. Once the man was dead he stepped back and clicked on his radio.

" Lieu you there? " There was no need to whisper but his voice was still quiet.

" There are problem officer?" The ESU captain barked and a small smile played across his lips.

" Subject is down, call the bomb squad in."

" Repeat" Arrogant ESU fucker.

" Subject is down, I repeat the subject is down"

The cavalry swept across the wasteland and within minutes the bomb squad had disabled the bomb and a paramedic had pronounced the bomber dead.

Wiping his bloodied hand on the pant leg of his trousers the ESU captain approached him.

" Sorry about before, but we thought you were still crossing the waste land when you called." He indicated the no man's land between the bomber's hideout and the line of lights that indicated the parked police cars.

"We didn't even see you cross"

The idea is generally to be invisible but today he'll keep that thought to myself.

" Good job Officer, damned good job. "

He wiped at his hand again but the blood wouldn't budge. It coated his finger's and palm and was restricting his hand's movement as it dried.

" You hurt yourself?" One of the paramedics, a friend of his asked and he looked away

" It's not my blood Doc." Doc nodded and stared at his face, the grease paint still in place. Doc looked at the body on the ground, the pool of blood.

" You did this?" he followed Doc's gaze to the body and nodded.

" How?" Doc went on ignoring the frown on Bosco's face.

" It's what I used to do."

He needed water to wash his hand clean and he needed to wipe his face clear of the black. He needed people to stop staring at him. So he walked off, making his way back across the waste ground towards his patrol car.

He should feel something. He'd just saved thousands of lives. But all he could feel was the blood on his hand, the weight of the knife back in its holster. He was a hero but at what price? Tonight when he slept the nightmares would come and tomorrow when he went to work the looks would start. The muttering under peoples breath.

He had done what needed to be done. He had been the only person capable of doing it. He had done the right thing. He was a hero.

Funny, it didn't feel as good as he had imagined.

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