A/N: Thanks go to all for reviews (and even those who didn't ;), I'm glad we're already all enjoying this FanFic, even in its relatively early stage :) I'm having a blast writing this one. Exams are over, I've graduated – uni's on the horizon... life is good.
With regard to what we should refer the whole Rory/Logan pairing... I'm at a loss for that one. I'm not good at naming things. When you guys have got one you all agree on, I'll follow through :) Okay, I think that's all... here's the next instalment ladies and gents! Enjoy.
--Pride and True--
Chapter IV: It's all in Proportion
"That's not the point Rory," he shouted, "if I can't make it, that doesn't mean you can ditch me like I'm- like I'm just some guy".
"You're blowing this out of proportion," she protested.
"Out of proportion? You call this out of proportion. Let me tell you what's out of proportion – I lost my wife, I'm holding down half-a-dozen jobs and you can't even slightly adjust so that I can spend some time with you," he blasted.
She remained quiet.
"God, Rory, can't you throw me a bone?" he pleaded, cooling slightly and breathing deeply at the conclusion of his sentence.
Still she stood silently, taking in his wishes and analysing them thoroughly. She wanted to help, oh how she wanted to help. Dean's marriage break up had made her the talk of Stars Hollow and not for the right reasons. It had scarred her. She felt solely responsible for the break-down of Dean's marriage, even though she had been told otherwise.
"Just," he stammered, searching for the words, "just do whatever the hell you want," he finished, turning and storming from the lounge.
She ran out the door and called, "Dean! I'm sorry! I didn't- I wasn't thinking!"
He stopped and turned to face her, "I'll be back home if you can fit me into your busy schedule... 'til then, goodbye Rory".
Tears streamed down her face. That couldn't be it. That wasn't going to be it at all.
"Dean!" she shouted to no avail, as he rounded the corner to the car park.
"Will you SHUT UP down there? Some people are trying to get some sleep!" a rather disgruntled student screamed out the door of his room, from the dormitory adjacent her own.
"YEAH! And some of us are trying to STUDY!" another chimed in, calling from a window Rory could not exactly trace the source of.
The tears continued to fall, streaming down her face gently. A single trail gliding down from the corner of her eye, leaving a glimmering, clear stream upon her skin. She stood, crying helplessly, without a clear thought in her mind.
It wasn't as if everything in her world was crumbling, quite the contrary, things were indeed building up – but whenever she had an encounter with Dean, her world seemed horribly twisted. She loved him, she was sure. Positive. Absolutely, no doubt.
"Rory," Paris whispered from within their room, "come inside, people are giving you odd stares".
Rory turned to face Paris' voice and noticed her perched at the window.
"Come on!" she hurried.
Paris wasn't the most astute of people, when it came to dealing with emotion (or even perhaps, displaying it) but Rory felt her predicament was obvious.
She withdrew a tissue from within the pocket of her jeans and raised it to her face, dabbing her eyes and cheeks.
"This isn't Gone with the Wind Rory," Paris taunted, "get inside, come on!"
Reluctantly, Rory turned silently around, and headed back inside their room.
Paris closed the door and faced her friend.
"I suppose you heard all that," Rory spoke up, rubbing at her eyes.
"I-" Paris paused, "I heard it... but it's going to be okay, right?"
Rory shot Paris a look, which recoiled Paris, who was more than startled by Rory's reddened eyes.
"It's not going to be okay," Rory mumbled, reclining on a lounge chair, "you heard how he spoke".
"He didn't necessarily say anything," Paris pointed out, "you guys just had an argument-"
"We're always arguing!" Rory interrupted, "I can't go to his home anymore because his parents don't want me to have anything to do with me. He works all the time; I live at College... we don't- we don't click like we used to".
The room fell deathly silent.
"Do you love him?" Paris asked.
"What?" Rory questioned, shocked by Paris' confrontational approach to the subject. She wasn't one to 'cut to the chase'.
"Well- do you?" she repeated.
Rory looked up at her friend, staring very seriously and spoke, "I- do... but then again, I don't know".
Paris thought for a moment, attempting to understand the confliction, "right... so you love him, but you aren't sure of it".
"That's the only thing I am sure of," Rory added.
"Gilmore," Paris began, "does he know?"
"Yes, Geller," Rory teased, "he told me he loved me after we... you know..."
Rory's answer struck a cord with Paris like a happy piano repair-man, "Rory... didn't that seem odd?"
"What do you mean?" Rory asked timidly.
"I mean, didn't it seem odd that he chose then when you were - you know - to tell you he loved you?" Paris asked logically, attempting, however, to ease her friend into the realisation.
Rory sat back for a moment, considering her perception of the man she thought she loved, "why would he do that?"
Paris' expression drooped, "don't let it get around, but I heard guys will do anything for- you know".
"Dean's not like that," Rory protested, "he's caring and sensitive and- he wouldn't do that to me!"
"I'm not saying he did... maybe he really does love you," Paris returned, "but if you can't safely sit here and tell me that you're in love with him... then you need to sort something out... with him".
Rory's mouth closed, just as she had prepared a solid, fool-proof argument. Paris had presented things in a new light and what was worse, she was right.
Paris knelt down and patted Rory's leg and smiled, "it's going to turn out great," before rising again and walking toward her own room.
Absentmindedly, Rory detected the missing presence of the printing press, "Paris," she called, "where's Asher's gift?"
Paris stopped and faced her room-mate once more, "after having really thought about it, I figured it wasn't going to fit here that well... and then I realised, maybe it was time to kinda let things go. I know he's up there in the wild- whatever, watching... I don't need some rickety old thing to remind me".
'...time to kinda let things go...'
The words echoed in Rory's mind as Paris said her goodnight and went to bed.
"Time to kinda let things go," she repeated aloud, convincing herself of what she had to do next.
The answer still did not come to her and even as she sat, delving deeper into memories and questions floating within her mind, into the early hours of the morning all she could think of was...
"Friday- Night- Dinner-" she whispered aloud, "Logan".