(There is only the very loosest resemblance in this story to the actual waterworks system of New York City. )

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She listened as her two children clattered down the stairs of the apartment building - a full seven minutes late for school - bickering in high voices, shoe laces undone, backpacks bulging with homework, lunch, and sweets. Mrs. Deepa Bhattacharjee decided another cup of tea was in order.

Every single time she turned on the tap she marveled at the wonderful, clean, wholly drinkable water that came free from who knows where - straight into her teapot. She and her husband had lived in the United States for six years now, yet not a day went by that she was not grateful for it. Certainly she missed India, but there were many things to appreciate in her new home, and water was right at the top of the list.

But enough daydreaming. She had a huge order of sweets to make up for The Golden Curry Palace, and they weren't going to make themselves.

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He gripped the steering wheel tightly and blinked several times to clear his vision, but Oscar Goldman was so tired the traffic light swam in front of his eyes. Only caffeine and intense anxiety kept him going at times like this. Doubtless he was a road hazard, but fortunately at three a.m. there wasn't a lot of traffic.

Russ's voice was still echoing around in his aching head, in that special tone the junior associate saved for moments of irrationality on Oscar's part. He'd been using it for the better part of an hour, pacing around the office, arguing, cajoling, urging - while Oscar glared at him from his large leather chair, arms folded, his mood confrontational. Oscar was behaving badly and he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself. Fear and anger had sucked all diplomacy from him.

"We are out of options, Oscar. I talked to Stu and he says there's no way his unmanned robot could do the job - too much varied terrain for one thing. That idea just doesn't cut it."

To Russ's immense frustration, Oscar refused to acknowledge any of his arguments, and instead continued stubbornly repeating the same demand over and over again.

"Admit it, Russ."

"You're underestimating her, Oscar. Remember the Doomsday device?" Russ was feeling increasingly desperate; he had never seen his boss so intractable, and somehow he was going to have to bring him around.

"I do remember Doomsday. I didn't like that either. Now admit it."

Russ paced away from Oscar and turned, his frustration finally getting the better of him. "For God's sake - you knew this was a possibility when you married her! We are talking about a national disaster here, not to mention a presidential order!"

Oscar glared, unmoved. "Admit it."

Russ sighed and slumped in resignation. "Okay, okay. Yes! I admit it. There's a good chance she could be killed."

"Thank you." Oscar replied, his voice edged in hostility. Oscar Goldman was not one to get pinned into corners - he was normally far too shrewd - but pinned he was, and in the worst possible way. "Now perhaps you can explain to me how it is that I, as a man, as a husband, am supposed to send my wife to her death?"

"She's all we've got, Oscar! And I have to believe she can do it - and if she can't nobody can. Look, we can't just sit back and do nothing. Countless lives are at stake. You know we have to do something -and if we don't - you're through."

"From the OSI standpoint, it's throwing good money after bad. It's a fool's errand."

"What about Steve?" It was Oscar's strong sense of moral responsibility for those in his service that elevated him above the typical Washington bureaucrat - a trait Russ hoped would now move him to reason."There's a chance he's still alive. Don't we owe it to him to try to pull him out of there?"

"I know exactly what I owe Steve!" Oscar bellowed, slamming his fist onto his desk.

Russ jumped and put his hand to his forehead. He looked at his boss, sitting bolt upright in his chair, his fist clenched, his eyes blazing - an exhausted, miserable, cornered man.

"Look," Russ said in a conciliatory tone, "maybe things will be a little clearer if we both get some sleep."

The light changed to green, but Oscar failed to notice. There was only one thing that was clear to him. He was being pulled apart inch by excruciating inch, and there was no way out. He rested his head on the steering wheel.

The 'whoop whoop' of a siren startled him back to reality. He looked up to see a police car beside his, and a policeman looking at him with wary interest. Oscar gestured that he was fine and mouthed an apology. The policeman nodded slowly, his eyes narrowed, and then to Oscar's immense relief, waved him on.

As always, Jaime woke when she heard the key in the latch. She rolled over and checked the clock - three thirty a.m. She heard him slip into the room, heard the rustle of fabric as he changed out of his clothes, felt the weight of him on the bed, heard his exhausted sigh. How much sleep had he had in the last two days - four, five hours at most? And tonight, he would gather another three at best. She knew it would be welcome if she were to make a greeting and curl up against him, but she pretended to be asleep. He slid over to her instead, wrapping himself against her back and slipping his arm around her waist. He sighed again, this time with pure relief, and Jaime couldn't help but respond.

"Mmm." she murmured in greeting, nestling into him.

His arrival signaled the end of a good sleep for her as he spent the rest of night tossing and mumbling - the usual indicator he was under a lot of stress. He finally did settle just before dawn and the next thing she remembered was the sound of the alarm, which she ignored, and sometime after that the sound of Oscar swearing and leaping out of bed.

Not surprisingly he had overslept. Jaime offered to make him breakfast, which he refused despite her protest that he needed it. She felt like the pit crew for a race car, except that this particular race car would not stop moving as she tried to change the tires. As he knotted his tie and made a phone call, she hovered around him, daubing blood away where he had cut himself shaving and wiping a small stain from his jacket. He was radiating stress, barely noticing her presence.

Is this what our lives have become? she wondered.

"Aren't you going in today?" he asked absently, opening his briefcase on the kitchen table,and rifling through the contents. He was in particularly rough shape this morning. Nobody else saw this side of Oscar - the headaches, the shortness of breath, the difficulty sleeping. To the world outside he seemed to handle his work beautifully, but Jaime was beginning to wonder if he was getting too old for the stress.

"Professional day. I'm off."

"Lucky you." He checked his watch and downed the last of his coffee.

"Will I see you for dinner tonight?" she asked, grasping his lapels to get his attention.

"I don't know."

"Who are you again?" Jaime asked hotly. "You sort of look like someone I used to know, except old - and tired."

"I'm sorry." He finally looked her in the eye, but only for a moment. "I'll ... uh ... I'll try to get away."

There was something in his tone she didn't like - as though she were a tiresome obligation. "Well, don't do me any favors." she snapped, turning away to take a mug from the cupboard.

"Jaime..." he sighed.

"Just go!" she dismissed. "The entire western world is going to collapse into ruin if you don't go! Go!" She pulled the pot from the coffee maker and poured, spilling it in the process.

She heard him exhale heavily through his nose and put his cup on the counter with a bang. She could feel his anger, his frustration, his guilt - but he didn't say anything. He never did and he probably never would.

"Bye." he said tersely, and then he was gone. Jaime was left in that awful silence that follows the departure of one angry person from another. She stared at the droplets as they fell from the top of the coffee maker onto the hotplate below, making little "fssssttt" noises as the stink of burned coffee filled the air. She put the pot back in place and slapped the palm of her hand to her forehead. Why did she feel compelled to do this to him? This was a man who - at one time - was the absolute center of her universe. How was it they could repeat the same scene over and over again with exactly the same results?

They had been married for eight years now, five of which had been wonderful, and two of which had been very good - it was during this last year that things had become difficult. Once she had been an equal partner - his successes were her successes, missions and events were discussed over dinner or while falling asleep, and the stress and demands on his time were something she understood and accepted. In fact it made their time together more precious and meaningful. But the longer she had been away from the OSI, the less communicative he had become about his work, and the less she was inclined to accept the strange and erratic nature of their life together. The biggest difficulty for Jaime was that it was impossible to truly object. Was she really going to demand he come home at five when, like last week, he was contending with a very real threat of a missile attack from a rogue element in China? How could anyone compete with that? So she just ended up feeling angry - and unreasonable for feeling angry.

It seemed there was some sort of hole in his soul, a sense that he could never do enough, that whatever he did was not quite good enough, so he worked constantly to stave off what he was sure was imminent failure. Jaime had often wondered if everyone was so complicated. Was she that complicated? Were there all sorts of unconscious needs and fears and desires that drove her? She didn't think so. Truly, all she wanted was love and companionship. Oscar was good with the love part, but increasingly bad on the companionship part.

She scooped some cocoa into her coffee and stirred pensively. Was her marriage in trouble? Surely not - her mind repelled the thought. But she had to admit that for the first time since she and Oscar had been together, she was entertaining attractions to other men. In fact, she had a crush on the new physiologist in Rudy's lab. She called him The Hotshot - great looking, bright, funny, a few years younger than Jaime. Worse yet, he was attracted to her too. She couldn't help but be flattered - it was nice to feel visible for a change. Embarrassingly, Rudy had picked up on the attraction, and the other day upon interrupting one of their flirtations, fixed her with such a look she still wilted when she remembered it. She could never - would never - ever - betray Oscar's trust - but even her restlessness upset her deeply. And he was so completely loyal to her that she almost felt unworthy of him.

She sipped her coffee and wandered into the living room to look out the window. It was a gorgeous fall day, a deep blue sky creating breathtaking contrast for the reds and golds of the trees. She'd been looking forward to this day off - her class this year was proving particularly challenging. In fact they were hellions, if she was going to be honest about it. She was confident she'd have them whipped into shape by Christmas, but it was going to be hard work, and she was grateful for the break - but now her pleasure in her day off had been dulled.

A familiar presence at her feet drew her attention downward, and she met the intent green gaze of their big black cat, Schlomo.

"Mrow." he said, asking to be let out. He was a stray that had appeared in their yard a few years ago, and before long they were putting offerings out for him every day and a month later he had moved in. He hadn't stopped purring since.

"Oh, Mo, don't you want to stay in and keep me company?"

"Mrow." he replied.

"You boys. You're all the same. Always off on your manly business."

She opened the french door and he slipped out and into the wilds of the back yard. She was going to have to shake off this bad temper, because otherwise the entire day would be wasted. Maybe she was just over thinking things. She would get dressed, take her homework and walk down to her favorite coffee shop for an hour of reading and people watching. She would get everything straightened out with Oscar, hopefully tonight. It wasn't as though she didn't love him - but wait - she probably wouldn't see him tonight - in fact, when was she next going to see him? Frustration blanketed her again and she turned back to the house.

Just as she stepped back inside, the telephone rang.