(Spoilers for Outside the Box)

I am back writing again. This journal has been by my bedside gathering dust for weeks. Spring is coming at last. Yesterday outside the building there was a clump of bright blue and yellow crocuses peeking through the snow. I crouched on the path and brushed the icy crystals away from the delicate, virgin petals. I plucked one and tucked it into my lapel. I've never quite appreciated crocuses before but I went off to work feeling , if not cheerful, then at least more willing to face a new day.

I do feel determined to live in the moment. I will take each thing Section hands me as it comes.

I just got back the results of a physical medical exam I had a six weeks ago. I am a perfect specimen of female health. All of my parts are in good working order and I didn't get the clap or cooties from Karl Creepers. They did a psych work up, too. I had to look at a lot of stupid pictures and answer even stupider questions. They do that for all operatives after the more mentally gruelling missions to make sure we're not about to go postal or something. I guess I fooled them because I came through that with mostly flying colours. All except the part about cooperation and being able to take orders from authority figures. It seems that I'm still not quite there yet. I doubt I ever will be. I'm glad they didn't quiz me too much on my dreams. I'm still having the nightmares about Michael.

I'm trying to forget what happened on the last mission. I still see Michael's face when I close my eyes at night, but I am trying to deal with it. I sit far away from him in briefings and try to avoid him if I can. I think he is doing the same. Last week I went with him on a mission to Germany. I felt like he was staring at me in the plane. It was probably my imagination.

Yesterday as I was going back to my desk after getting some tea , I passed him in the hall. He barely nodded at me. I made the tactical error of looking back over my shoulder at him. He was talking to this new field op called Rachel or something. Short, cute and dark haired. He was smiling at her and I could see that dimple near his mouth. And of course that bugs me. It's what I supposedly want, that he will just leave me alone, but it irks me that he can be so cool, acting like nothing has ever happened between us. He doesn't notice that I am alive but he sure noticed Rachel.

I went out yesterday on a mission that started out simply enough. In the days since, things about the mission have bothered me deeply, brought many memories of my own abduction to the surface.

We were sent to a seedy bar to bring in a young man who has total recall. His name is Benjamin Kruger. Section needs him to memorise a sensitive document that would be lost if downloaded directly into Section computers. He is about my age, maybe a little younger. Dobbs, a neanderthal agent I don't know well and I were to stage a " horny creep hits on barfly" scene. Ben was quick to defend my honour even though he was a good eight inches shorter than Dobbs. Ben has a good sense of humour, too. I loved the line said to Dobbs about piling two hundred pounds of crap on a bar stool. I felt rotten about bringing him in, an innocent, who just happened to be blessed, or in this case cursed with an ability that Section wants. I am afraid of what will happen to him. Section says that once he has been debriefed on the documents they want him to memorise, he can go free. I wonder about that. Section never really lets anyone go free.

I liked him on sight. He reminds me of me. Longing to be the life of the party but scared inside. Like me, Ben knows that he's different from everyone else in his world. A square peg. From what I understand our backgrounds are very similar. He is Canadian from a not so hot family in a middle class town. He dropped out of school and ran away from home a lot as a kid, fell in with some bad people, left home young. Then he started bumming around Europe, just drifting from place to place, doing odd jobs to support himself until he moved on again. I suspect that he's a borderline alcoholic. He looks weird, but he has a kind and honest face. I have to get the scoop from him on that hair and the fifties teddy boy clothes. He's a pale imitation of James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause. If Section plans to keep him on I hope they don't send him to the ever, suave and de-boner Michael for deportment lessons.

I like him the way he is. I am trying to imagine him cool and calculating in the latest fashion, tugging his black gloves up his wrists. I don't think he could nail the "carefully holding a roll of quarters with your butt cheeks" walk. And that's a quote from Ben, not me. Not to say I didn't laugh a bit when I heard it. Just a bit.

I learned today that Dobbs was murdered in cold blood as part of Ben's set-up. I am furious at Section's never ceasing brutality. Michael was unconcerned as usual when I challenged him on it. He said that Dobbs had been in abeyance. So now Benjamin has been framed for the murder. If he doesn't cooperate with Section, he will be sent into the world to stand trial for a crime he did not commit. Hearing that made my blood run cold. Benjy and I have more in common than I thought. This information had me up all night thinking.

I asked Michael again today why they brought me into Section. Why they framed me. As usual he gave me that cold mask of indifference, denied my need to know why I am here. His eyes darted away from mine, refusing to look at me. I told him that I see why Section wants Ben. He has a service to offer. What service did I offer them? Except being a pain in the ass.

Michael just told me, in not so many words, to mind my own business and walked away. I watched him walk down the hall, wanting desperately to hate him. I think my hate has been used up, depleted.

Benjamin is my material now and I intend to look after him. And I intend to use him to help me, with his knowledge, if not his consent. Despite my problems, the torment I've been feeling, I slept last night like a log. I can recall no dreams. I know what I have to do and feel that I am on the verge of finally knowing just what I am to Section, just why they went to all the trouble of bringing in a no use to anyone street kid.

Today I walked through that alley where I was taken with shaking legs and my stomach churning. I look nothing like the scruffy girl who once ate old pizza out of dumpsters in my fine clothes and my hundred dollar sunglasses. Inside I will always be her. I was thinking about my kitten, how I lost her that night when the man came out with the knife and the cops took me away. My little Ginger, with her cold nose and her tiny, sharp claws, a warm squirmy lump inside my jacket. I'd been so happy when that man offered me the money to take the bags to the dumpster. It meant milk and a can of tuna for the kitten and maybe something for me. I recall sobbing in the back of the police cruiser, not because I was in one hell of a lot of trouble, but because Ginger was lost in the cold and she'd die without me. I still think about her and get a lump in my throat. She depended on me and I blew it. I still cry when I think about her.

It is amazing that Madeline didn't see through my lie about the sim I am taking Benjamin on in Belgrade. She seemed pleased at my resourcefulness. I don't know if I like being in her good graces. It is the only way I can find and speak to the operative who helped set me up that night. Taking Ben on the imaginary sim to find him was the only way I could logically get there. I hope that I can find him and that he'll agree to cooperate with me. With all my luck he'll be another Section lackey like Michael.

I talked to Walter today. He is pissed off at me. He wants me to stop this stupid quest. He says it is too dangerous and I am already on thin ice with Section. I just glared at him when he said that Michael could only protect me so many times. I know that he's right about Michael's having protected me in the past. It is no longer true. I just told Walter that I didn't care anymore what happens to me. The need to know is more important. He said that he cared. His eyes were so sad I had a hard time to keep from crying. In way of apology I baked him low-fat muffins. It was my first attempt at baking. I think I overdid it with the salt and I may have left a few egg shells in there.

Things are progressing well and I am almost hopeful. Benjamin is a good egg. He didn't even mind being locked in the trunk for an hour in Belgrade. On the way back to Section we talked like we'd been friends for life. I have no physical attraction to him and I don't think he has one to me.

He's too scrawny. I'd feel like his mother. Speaking of mothers, my mother was usually drunk but sometimes she'd get to a point in her drinking where she'd think she was a modern day philosopher, Plato or something. She'd call me over to dispense some worldly advise. I remember she was sitting at the Formica table with a beer in front of her. She blew a puff of cigarette smoke in my face and said: " Nikita, don't ever fall for a guy with a butt smaller than yours. You see, everyone gets older. Your ass will just get bigger. His'll just get smaller." Thanks, mom. Very wise.

That came not after this lovely childhood memory: I had been bugging her for a real Halloween costume. She told me to stick a herring in my pants and go as a mermaid. It was not funny then, though I giggle about it now. My mother thought she was a real card. Maybe she was. Maybe I'm too much like her.

Okay, I know it's bizarre, but I think the butt size thing was the only advise she ever took the time to give me. Benjamin's got no physical substance, all potatoes and no meat. I found that out when I whacked him on the behind after he tried to go Jackie Chan on me at Section. I had this vision of us in bed together. Like a Great Dane and a Chiuaua. I know it's crude to say that, but that's how I feel. Sort of like seeing that well-endowed Kate Winslet and that skinny Leo guy in Titanic. I thought that was really weird. I was squirming with discomfort. Maybe I'm shallow. Anyway, I'd kind of like a man who'd make me feel surrounded, engulfed, protected. I want his arms to keep out the world. And I don't want him resting his head on my breasts while we dance. Okay. I know that sounds like I'm a picky bitch, but I'm not. I'd like to feel feminine. Ben makes me feel too protective. It's just not sexy. And no, I am not thinking about Michael. I am way over Michael.

Anyway, I like talking to Ben. He told me in the car that he drinks to nullify the things that go on in his head. It has to be awfully hard to have a photographic memory. You'd lay in bed and recall the exact words of the movie you saw that evening, every perverse and ugly thing on the news, the dwindling numbers in your bank account. And worst of all, every gross fat gram on the Hagen Das carton.

He would make good boyfriend material though. He'd remember your birthday. He'd remember where the restaurant was, not having to drive around for hours while you begged him to ask for directions. I wonder if he remembers the rules about putting the toilet seat down.

Ben and I laughed all the way back from Belgrade. I know what you're thinking. I'm the boss, right. I shouldn't be buddy- buddy with my charge. It's not good management. I think that's crap. So where did Michael's being Mr. Bossy Boots get with me. Nowhere.

Ben has a great sense of humour, something Michael has not showed me recently. Maybe on the odd mission where he's acting a part, Michael can be charming. Michael can be devastating. Otherwise it is rare to see him smile. I was a little miffed when he gave me that smug, inkling of a smile after he grilled me about going into restricted files and I told him that I had been around long enough to have my own connections in Section. God, he can be such a pill. Looks, brains and the personality of a cold, lifeless mackerel. At least when it comes to his dealings with me.

Well, the wrapping might be odd, but in Ben's box there's a lot more fun. Ben can recall the lyrics to every popular song. We both have a love of pop music. Like me, he loves everything British or Australian, especially eighties stuff from when we were kids like Crowded House and Elvis Costello. We were walking down the hall at Section laughing our heads off because I once thought that " Every day I Write The Book" was "Every day I ride the bus". The halls were echoing. No one laughs at Section. And when Ben started toward the debriefing room doing his driving the bus dance and singing the lyrics I was howling. Then Michael came down that hall and looked at us like we were insane. That made me laugh more. He told me to see him in his office after we debriefed.

Ben said: " He's worse than the torture broad. I wouldn't want to meet that dude in a dark alley."

" No. You wouldn't."

" Is he always so creepy? That look he gave you makes me want to check my underwear. Maybe I should check your underwear since he was looking at you."

I frowned. How could anyone look at that angel's face and see creepy? "You try touching my underwear and you'll be minus a hand. Michael's okay. He's not like that all the time." Why do I feel compelled to defend you, Michael? Big fancy package stinky mackerel that you are.

He was still talking about Michael as we walked back to his cell from the briefing room. "I thought he and you were. . .you know, dating. I think he's jealous of me. Jeez, that's a frightening thought. He usually kind of looks at you like you're his property. He's always staring at you. He was doing that in the briefing. " I blushed "I doubt that. You've got a good memory, Ben, but you'd suck at " Let's Spot who's a Couple". We do some missions together. He's my trainer, like I'm your trainer. You're not in love with me, are you?" I hope I sounded flippant.

He grinned. " Oh, give it some time. I like being slapped around and locked in a car trunk by tall chicks with guns." Then he sobered up. " I'm scared about this mission, Nikita. What if I screw up? "

" You'll be okay, Ben." I smiled at him. He was so cute I wanted to ruffle that crazy pompadour. " That's what I'm there for. You're my material. I see to your safety. That's my job. You just do what I tell you." I put a hand on his thin, narrow shoulder and he relaxed. " It's time you went back to your cell. The dragon lady won't like you being out for this long."

He grinned, trusting me. Maybe, I thought, I should have been more like Ben, behaving this way with Michael. Ben was a whole lot easier that I am when it comes to accepting the way things are at Section.

I stopped in the bathroom before I went to Michael's office. I put some lipstick on and checked my mascara. I felt a little nervous but I looked good in my black suit. Very powerful. Rather Michaelesque. But the skirt slit was a very nice touch. I hoped he'd notice. I made sure to check the sole of my shoe for toilet paper before I left.

I was still thinking about how much I'd accomplished and wondering what could possibly go wrong when I got to Michael's office. I was trying very hard to be cool but knew that I was failing miserably. He was formidable and suspicious. He wanted to know why I hadn't videoed the sim and why Ben's answers seemed memorised. I just straightened my shoulders, stuck out my chin and lied. I felt like telling him that me and Ben had been at a seedy motel all afternoon playing hide the bologna. I didn't think he'd get the joke.

And then he had to do it. He looked me straight in the eyes and appeared almost to care when he asked what was up with me.

I could feel the sudden and shameful sting of tears in my eyes and my throat was thick. Of course I had to go and beg for his help. I hated that but the words came tumbling out. He couldn't help me. I knew that, but he promised me that he wouldn't interfere. I believed him. I wanted so badly to believe him.

I know better than to trust him. He lies to me as I lie to him. But when those pale, misty green-gray eyes of his softened and seemed to caress me and he was asking me with a catch in his voice, " Kita? What if you don't like what you find?" I wanted to lose it right there. There's just something about his voice when he says that nickname he has for me. I just melt, clear down to my bones. I am a comet on a collision course with the sun. I don't know how I had the strength to leave without throwing myself into his arms. I wanted his reassurance. I wanted him to hold me tight and tell me that I was at Section only because he wanted me there. With him. That I was still there because he couldn't bear to let me go.

Okay, I know what you're thinking. I should get a job writing for True confessions magazine. I'm just like that girl who is so in love with Billy Ray the creep at the trailer park who abuses her, that she runs back with open arms when he says; " I'm sorry, Shelly, baby. It'll never happen again." Yea, okay, I'm a little bit pathetic. But let this be said. If Billy Ray ever tried to abuse me I'd shoot his balls off. I'm not that romantic.

I hate that I can't just keep my distance from him, mentally or physically. That he still matters to me when I don't want him to matter. It is so stupid that I'd accept something so simple as " I needed you, Kita. I couldn't let you go." as an answer. As I walked away I kept saying these words over and over: " Don't betray me this time, Michael. Don't betray me."

The giddiness of having finally found someone who'd get me the codes to my file and being with Ben that day was forgotten and I left work that day feeling disconcerted.

It is one week since I wrote the lines above. My prickles of apprehension were correct. I could not break into the file. The story of my life. Failure. I tell myself that maybe it wouldn't have made any difference if I knew why I was here. I'd still be stuck here. Things would still be the same. Section knows all, sees all, tells f*ck all.

I don't know if Michael betrayed me. I don't really think so. Actually I believed him when he said he'd stay out of it. Maybe I was too eager and ham handed in what I tried to do and betrayed myself. That was Walter's guess, too. He told me to try to be cool with it. One day Michael would tell me, if indeed he knows. In the meantime I have to behave myself. I hate it when Walter is candid with me. God, is that the root of my problems? I hate when people lie and I hate as much when they are brutally honest. I think Walter is still a little mad about the muffins I made with the prunes. I think I left some of the pits in and he said that he was doing the 'green apple two-step' all night.

Ben's staying at section. He still has the hair. That's a good thing. I want to shake up the halls of Section with a little laughter once in a while. Last weekend we had downtime and went to a movie. Ben said that he could have sworn he saw Michael following us. I told him I didn't really care.

You didn't believe that, did you?

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