This part contains another original character. He belongs to me. Sara, obviously, does not.

Part Six: North Dakota – Feeling

North Dakota is flat as a pancake, and less exciting. She drives away from the heat of the early evening sun, heading east. She had spent most of the morning hung over after her evening in Billings with Fly and Donna, and so she doesn't make it as far as she'd planned. She'd wanted to make it through North Dakota in one day, but now she decides she'll have to stop in Bismarck for the night, if she can make it that far. The car is running on fumes, and she has twenty miles to go.

She knew she wouldn't make it, deep down she knew. But she still curses a blue streak when the car starts to sputter on the freeway. She coasts into the slow lane, turning on her hazard lights and swearing up and down about idiot gas tanks. The car finally comes to a halt on the shoulder, 19.5 miles outside of Bismarck, North Dakota.

"This is a God-forsaken state," she mutters. She climbs out of the car. She's wearing comfortable shoes, and she is glad. She grabs her bag and starts out along the lonely stretch of highway, walking in long strides, racing her shadow to Bismarck.

She has gone a few miles when a car pulls along side her. She is about to shoot the driver a glare, or perhaps give him the finger, when she sees it is a Highway Patrol car.

She feels it's best to avoid offending law enforcement personnel; being as she is one herself.

The officer rolls down his window. "Is that your car back there, three miles or so?"

Sara nods. "Ran out of gas," she says.

"Nearest fill station is about fifteen miles," he tells her. "Would you like a lift there and back to your car?"

Sara weighs her options. She asks herself if she should trust him. Her Vegas voice inside her head thinks about crimes involving hitchhikers. And really, she doesn't mind the walk. But it will be dark sooner than later, and that, she thinks, will suck. Maybe once in a while she should accept people at face value. If he says he's a Highway Patrol officer, than he probably is. And this is North Dakota, after all. It's quiet and flat, and even the air feels slow. On the other hand, she doesn't want to take up his time.

"I wouldn't want to impose," she tells the officer. "There are probably a lot of ne'er do wells on the North Dakota highways," she says, and she smiles.

He grins at her comment. "Nah," he shakes his head. "Believe it or not," he tells her. "It's no trouble. Besides, it will be getting dark soon, and I don't want you to have to walk all the way back to your car in the dark."

It's reasonable, she thinks, so she gets in the car. It is a speedy ride to the filling station. He asks her about her travels. He's been to Vegas, he tells her.

"You and just about everyone else," she says, flatly, and his eyes flash a hurt look.

She is hungry, and crabby about her car. She feels bad for sounding bitter. She explains this to him in apology.

He just smiles an easy-going sort of smile at her. "It's okay. Had you ever been to North Dakota before today?"

Sara shakes her head, no.

"You and just about everyone else," he says, and she laughs in spite of herself. He is handsome; tall, powerfully built, with dark hair and eyes. She likes him.

"What is it like, working in such a small city," she asks.

He looks thoughtful. "I guess you could say it's alright," he says. "Safe. And a little boring," he tells her. He pulls along side a gas pump. They've arrived at the filling station. "Tell me," he says as they climb out of the vehicle, "what is it like to work in Las Vegas?"

Sara grins at him as he pumps gas into a red gas can. She thinks he's very chivalrous. "Crazy," she says. "Never boring."

He pays for her gas and they get back in the car. They head back, both quiet, and he stands by and watches while she fills her tank.

"Thanks again for paying for the gas," she tells him. "And for the ride," she says. "You shouldn't have."

He reassures her that it's no trouble. He kicks a pebble with his boot and tells her he's getting off shift in ten minutes. He shyly asks her if she'd like to grab dinner with him.

She beams at him. "That'd be nice," she says.

He blushes a little. "All right," he says, and proceeds to give her directions to a restaurant. "I'll be there soon," he tells her.

Later, the restaurant staff is putting chairs up on tables to sweep underneath them. The surly teenagers are scowling when they think no one's looking, worried that the officer and his new friend will make their closing take longer.

The officer, Cory Johnson, gazes at his new friend, the criminalist from Las Vegas, in admiration. He thinks she is beautiful and smart and interesting, and he is all aflutter inside.

The criminalist from Las Vegas is impressed with the officer from Bismarck, more so than she would like to admit. She thinks he is funny and smart and very handsome, with an honest, wholesome quality that she finds attractive. She wishes North Dakota wasn't so very far away from Nevada; and while she feels giddy in his presence, she feels sad.

She felt sad last night, when she finally bid adieu to Fly and Donna, but this is a much different sort of sad.

He walks her to her car, and they hug. She listens to the sounds of this city in the dark and to his breathing just above her ear, and she commits it to memory, along with his smell and the way his jacket feels in her hands.

She stands on her tiptoes and places a kiss on his lips, softly, and he gasps a little, and returns the kiss ardently, if but for a moment.

"Don't," he finally whispers, "because - " He doesn't finish, and she doesn't need him to. His breathing is ragged and he looks at her with eyes that are at once lustful and hopeful and sad, and that is all the explanation she needs. "I wish you could stay," he says.

She gives him a wistful smile. "I need to leave tomorrow morning," she says.

"I know," he says. "Sara," he says, and he holds her again, close to him, and a tear sneaks down her cheek. "I would, you know," he says, and she thinks she does know. "But we've just met, and I don't do that sort of thing," he says. "You know, on the first date." She thinks she sees him blush in the dark.

Life is so unfair, she decides. A great guy like Cory is a rare find, indeed. So of course he needs to live thousands of miles away.

"I know," she says, not bothering to tell him that she probably would do that sort of thing, at least today. "This sucks," she says, and sniffles, and this takes the edge off and makes both of them laugh.

They take down each other's emails, phone numbers, addresses, and other pertinent information. He tells her he goes to Vegas at least once a year, with his buddies, for a gambling weekend. He promises to call, to email, to write, and visit.

She can't say she has plans to visit North Dakota again, but the way he looks at her makes her wish that she could. She tells him she'd love to get together when he comes to Vegas, and it's true.

He wishes her a safe trip. He tells her he'll call in a week and make sure she's gotten home. He strokes her cheek with his left hand. He thanks her for running out of gas, and she smiles.

"My pleasure," she says.