A/N: This is completely out of the blue. It's something I wrote completely on a whim, mind you it was quite early when I did so and I had alcohol in my system. Anyway, Maroon 5's (God, I melt for Adam Lavine) Sunday Morning from their Grammy® award-winning album Songs About Jane is currently my favorite song, and I was listening to it as I wrote. Obviously, it took on a personality of its own and became a song fic, which I don't normally do. Blame it on the Smirnoff. I know the idea has already been done, but I happen to think mine has a creative twist, despite its fluffiness, which I apologize for in advance. It is, in fact, post-Last Week Tights, This Week Fights. Yeah, yeah, sue me. As I was saying, on Saturday, Rory finished her finals, went on the date from hell, and ended up sharing an appetizer platter with her ex-boyfriend. Then, a bomb was dropped and an offer was made, and on a leap of faith, she had said yes. This is my version of her Sunday morning. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls nor do I own Maroon 5, no matter how much I pray to God that he send me Milo Ventimiglia and Adam Lavine. Therefore, no copyright infringement necessary.

Without further ado . . .

Sunday morning rain is falling

Steal some covers share some skin

Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable

You twist to fit the mold that I am in

The rain had been falling all night, pelting every inch of the empty campus like a knife to warm flesh. The fresh scent of the summer shower drifted in the open window, leaving an airy mist on everything that crossed its path, including their tangled limbs. A draft came through causing her to twist in her sleep, pulling the sheet up to her chin and sliding a hand up his bare chest. Both of their eyelids fluttered simultaneously; Honey brown then met ocean blue.

His eyes, dark and overcome with desire, bore into hers. He had a way of looking at her that was unlike any other. Others looked at her as if she were a china doll, porcelain and fragile. He, on the other hand, looked at her — flaws and all — like she could be broken, and he was just the one to do it. And she looked back at him with love and thankfulness, baring the entire contents of his soul. Then, without a single thought, he captured her lips with his own. She was flustered at first by the spontaneity of the kiss, but soon kissed back. When he pulled away, a smirk played on her lips, swollen from their passionate morning greeting.

"Buy a toothbrush, Mariano."

He matched her smirk. "Hi, Mr. Pot. I'm Mr. Kettle, and I'm black too!"

"How long have you been up?" Her voice was groggy, masked with sleep and sex.

He just shrugged.

"I know you. You're not this articulate in the morning."

"Well, apparently, I don't know you." He challenged, conjuring memories of the night before.

Her expression grew serious, and despite herself, she blushed, embarrassed and lost for words. It was amazing how quickly he could surface her flaws, making her eat her words. This was one of the reasons why she loved him; He knew she had imperfections.

"I'm sorry. I was angry. Shocked. All of the above."

"Which brings me to my next question,"

She looked up at him, her doe eyes sparkling, as if to say continue.

"What was Dean doing here?"

She sighed, realizing that this was not a taboo subject, and he was going to ask. Maybe not this soon, but he was definitely going to ask.

"My Grandmother set me up with this frat-boy moron. He helped me tape up my boxes, so I agreed to go out with him. He got wasted. It was the date from hell. I didn't know who else to call."

True to form, all he said was, "Huh."

"Well, John Belushi helped me tape up my boxes, and you get to help me move them." She smiled, dying for a subject change.

"Already done." He stated simply.

Her face changed from satisfied to perplexed. "What?"

"You asked me how long I had been up? Quite a while. You're stuff is already in the car."

Her eyes dilated. "You did all that, came back to bed, and I didn't even know it?"

With his index finger, he gently moved up on her jaw, closing her widely-opened mouth. "You sleep like a rock." He replied matter-of-factly.

"Color me shocked."

"I figured we needed to get out of here as quickly as possible."

There was a pregnant pause. The aftertaste of her words was finally settling in, and it was bittersweet. Was she really going to drop everything? Yale? Stars Hollow? Familiarity? This left a bitter taste in her mouth yet the sweet side was like chocolate melting on the tip of her tongue. It was delicious ambiguity.

But things just get so crazy living life gets hard to do

And I would gladly hit the road get up and go if I knew

That someday it would lead me back to do

That someday it would lead me back to you

"Columbia." She said suddenly.

He raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Juan Valdez, what are you talking about?"

She chuckled. "The University not the coffee. It's in New York."

"I know."

"Well?"

"Well what?" He was sure what she was trying to pry out of him.

"What do you think about me applying to Columbia or even NYU?"

He let out a heavy sigh. He knew what she was doing and was grateful, but now, after sleeping on it, he realized how ludicrous his offer for Rory really was. Nevertheless, she was trying, and he smiled.

"That's wonderful, Rory. It really is, but is this what you want? Don't worry about what I want or what Lorelai wants or what your grandparents want. Worry about what you want! If this is really what you want, then I'm thrilled."

She rolled over onto his chest, putting the weight of her body on his, and looked into his eyes. "I wanna be with you. Columbia is an Ivy too. It has one of the best Journalism departments in the country, and if I'm going to be the next Christiane Amanpour, I'm going to have to have fabulous credentials. And New York is a great place to be! There's more opportunities, a great deal more than here in Connecticut, especially New Haven. So, this isn't holding me back. It's a step forward, and it's even better that you get to take this step with me."

She then leaned in and kissed him. She took in everything in that moment. What she was gaining. What she was leaving behind. Her hopes and aspirations for the future. No, her mother and grandparent's were not going to approve. She could almost hear the judgmental yammers of Emily Gilmore in her ear. Rory, how could you be so irresponsible? I can't believe you would drop Yale at the drop of a hat, something you've worked so hard for, just for a boy! And not just any boy, but that rude hooligan with the black eye who showed up half an hour late just to insult me and the raisins in the salad! Then, she would go on to her mother, insulting Lorelai because she had let her own daughter do such a thing. Rory wanted to prove them wrong. That she could go to Columbia, be successful, and be with Jess at the same time. She also wanted to prove once and for all that Jess was not always the bad guy and that he loved her, and she him.

That maybe all I need

In darkness she is all I see

Come and rest your bones with me

Driving slow on Sunday morning

And I never want to leave

"Wow." He replied breathlessly, his eyes, once more, glazed over with an emotion she couldn't quite detect.

"Yeah. So, does that answer your question?"

"My offer still stands though." He vaguely answered.

She furrowed her brow. "I thought I just cleared that up for you. We're going to New . . ."

"No, not that offer."

"Then, what?'

"That I can run up to your car while you're driving, screaming in a foreign language."

She burst into laughter, skimming his chest with her nose. "I can't believe you still remember that!" She exclaimed, still in a giggling fit.

"But I do. I remember everything." His voice gruff, and in that one phrase, she melted into him and his lips.

She smiled, pulling away, and ran a carefree hand through his hair. "If you keep saying things like that, we're gonna be in bed all day."

He gave a satisfied smirk. "I could live with that."

She then playfully smacked his shoulder. "I'm serious. If we're ever gonna start the next day of the rest of our lives, we have to rise and shine, despite the rain."

He smiled at this. A natural smile, which was rare for him. Yet, he was happy; he had his soulmate back.

Fingers trace your every outline

Paint a picture with my hands

Back and forth we sway like branches in a storm

Change the weather still together when it ends

That may be all I need

In darkness she is all I see

Come and rest your bones with me

Driving slow on Sunday morning

And I never want to leave

And the rain kept falling and falling, making streaks on the windows as the drops dusted the glass. Earlier, a random radio deejay had mentioned something about thunderstorm warnings, telling the masses to stay clear the roads and watch for lightning. However, the only electricity the old car's inhabitants worried about was their own. The drive had been extremely pleasant. They talked about everything and nothing — good books they had read, movies worth renting, her school and recent reality television obsession, his freelance work and time spent in California. She could barely take it in when he had told her about Jimmy and Venice Beach. It was quite ironic considering she had only given him a copy of The Holy Barbarians days earlier. They talked of the night of Kyle's party and their happenstance meeting on the bus and what he had said to her after Liz and TJ's wedding rehearsal, only the latter did he not regret. Yes, he talked of the past and she the future.

But things just get so crazy living life gets hard to do

Sunday morning rain is falling and I'm calling out to you

Singing someday it will bring me back to you

Find a way to bring myself back home to you

"So," He replied, taking his eyes off the interstate and resting his gaze toward her, "What would we be doing in this tiny little apartment in Soho with books scattered everywhere and an empty fridge except for cold Thai food and beer?"

A warm glow radiated from her face as she continued. "Well, naturally, I'll be at Columbia, but I'll have an internship on the side. You'll have your freelance work and a job on the side. I'll come home from either a stimulating class discussing the later works of Tolstoy or a late afternoon writing brilliant pieces for an independent newspaper, before moving up to Time or Newsweek, of course."

"Of course." He reiterated her statement smiling then placed a light hand on her knee, reassuring her that she could continue her musings.

"As I was saying, I'll come home to dinner that has already been cooked, by you,"

He raised an eyebrow, carefully choosing not to make the smart-ass comment he has just spun in his head. Instead, he let her finish. She smiles knowingly, understanding finally that he is slowly learning and wanting to be the epitome of love that she has always wanted, pure and undaunting.

"You'll be crouched on our couch in your sock-feet intently reading Kerouac, Bukowski, or Hunter Thomas, naturally, and I'll kick off my shoes at the door, completely forgetting the piece I'm to write at the mere sight of you,"

At this, he gives her another one of his rare, genuine smiles. No, this was a grin. He was actually grinning. Love does, in fact, make you do crazy things.

Smiling back, she finishes her monologue, "I'll snuggle up to you on the couch, and you'll read to me until we fall asleep, forgetting work, the food, and the world."

Suddenly, she realizes that this is what she has done already. Looking out the water-streaked window, the infamous outlines of the New York City skyline are in plain view. A startling tingle sped down her entire body, and she is unsure if it's Jess' presence or his promise of their tomorrow. She shudders at the word. Tomorrow, Monday, she would call her mother, her grandparents, informing them of her decision. Tomorrow she would call the Yale Acceptance office, informing them she was transferring. Tomorrow she would venture into the City, Columbia University specifically, requesting information and an application. But that was tomorrow. Today, she was going to relax and enjoy the excitement of him and the rest of their Sunday morning drive.

And you may not know

That maybe all I need

In darkness she is all I see

Come and rest your bones with me

Driving slow on Sunday morning

And I never want to leave . . .

Well, I hoped you liked it. It was a one-shot if you hadn't figured that out by now. For those of you who are looking for Chapter 8 of Opposites Still Attract, it is coming. Scout's Honor. I just wrote this quickly, without a Beta might I add. Anyway, I still would love to hear what you think. That was basically a subtle plea for reviews. God, I'm pathetic. Still, R/R. Peace and love — moi.

PS: If you don't own Songs About Jane, I highly suggest you get up off your ass and go to your nearest local Tower Records. If you don't, you're totally missing out! They didn't beat out Kanye West for Best New Artist for nothing! (Nothing against Kanye fans)