Disclaimer: Glee is owned by Ryan Murphy, Ian Brennan, Brad Falchuk, 20th Century Fox Television and any production companies associated with said persons. This is written purely for entertainment and to alleviate my own immense boredom. I am gaining nothing financially from this; besides, as I've learned the difficult way that despite a college degree for it, writing is not an easy way to pay the bills.

A/N: As this is my first foray into Glee fic here are a few things you should know/expect. I decided to tackle this after spending far too much of my (lately unlimited) free time reading Glee fanfic. The plot bunnies attacked en masse and I had no choice but to surrender to their demands. I am an unapologetic Puckleberry fan and have been practically from the pilot (though I do try to avoid deviating from canon so it might take a while to get there with a natural build). I also think Finn's a tool and strongly believe that canon supports this theory if not looked at through Finchel colored glasses. I've also spent an embarrassing amount of time analyzing Rachel and what might be going on underneath her "mask" (keep in mind, we never really see into Rachel's head on the show. We just see a lot of Divatude). Once I took all of that into account, and added in those damn bunnies, the result was this fic.

Spoilers: Anything already aired (ie: 2x16 "Original Song") as this begins two weeks after Regionals and will deviate from canon from that point forward (don't really care what the writers throw at us starting in April for this story).

I could say that I'm alright
I think that's what you want to hear
But every-time I step out of this door
I just want to reappear
Somewhere else
A place I made up in my head
Before this world
Started taking pieces away
Taking pieces away

Just one breath that I can breathe
Just one honest untouched scene
Just one taste of rust to show the bars that cage are bending
Just one melody that I can really sing
After all you've taken, can you give me this
One true thing.
- "One True Thing", Midwest Kings

The golden tint of the late afternoon light bouncing around the room, and turning her perfectly yellow bedroom a shade of near orange, was nothing that Rachel had never dealt with before; having the only west facing bedroom in the house had forced her to adjust to the glare almost three years earlier when her family had moved in. Which was why she was currently stomping down the urge to rip the crystal sun-catcher out of the ceiling every time it sent a flash of light her way.

She couldn't blame her frustration on the sun anymore then she could blame it on the sky being blue or the grass being green. Though lately those had started to annoy her as well. She'd like to blame the itch under her skin on something mundane; but, Rachel had given up on lying (to herself) the moment she wrote "Get It Right" and she knew on exactly who this constant urge to scream to could blamed.

Quinn Fabray.

The blonde haired, blue eyed, outwardly perfect (former) cheerleader who was everything Rachel was not (both the good and the bad). The one girl, if Rachel was sticking with this internal honesty, that she wanted to beat at everything had forced the brunette to hear some hard facts two weeks earlier in front of a piano.

Rachel let out a hiss of exasperation, as the sun-catcher spun and she was forced to squint again, but didn't move from the sprawled position on her bed. Her eyes continued their examination of her bedroom; walls covered in posters from various Broadway shows, a guitar (she was pretty sure no one knew she could play) propped against the wall, piles of CDs, an entire book case just for sheet music, another one for real books, and, scattered throughout the minimal clutter, was Finn.

She snorted softly at the thought (since, of course, Finn himself was not there - neither in whole nor in pieces) as her eyes trailed over the pictures and trinkets she had accumulated since she (really and truly) met Finn at the beginning of sophomore year.

"Groundhog Day," she mumbled to herself as Quinn's words played back through her head once more. "I really wish she wasn't right," she added in a slightly clearer voice.

Rachel had spent the last week examining the other girl's words, Regional's had of course been too important to even remotely think about a boy (at least not beyond allowing the situation to be the focus of a song), and didn't like the conclusions she had drawn from them.

Mainly because they made her realize just how ugly she had become over the past three years; how ugly they had all become. Because if beauty was only skin deep, then she and her, sort of, friends had become some severely unattractive people. Between the lying, the cheating and the words whose intentions were solely to cause pain, the Glee club were no better then their detractors; maybe even worse because they were supposed to be protecting each other from those very things.

In the last week Rachel had realized that since she had started at McKinley she had turned into a caricature of herself and as much as she wanted to blame it solely on her surroundings - bullies, the pressure of classes, slightly absentee (and yet, entirely too involved) parents - she knew she couldn't. Somehow in her yearning to fit in (and maybe stand out just a little bit - that honesty thing again) with classmates who had known each other since they were children she had turned herself into someone to be ostracized and mocked.

And she knew she really had done it to herself because before moving to Lima Rachel had friends. Real friends, one of whom still called her at least once a month to talk and catch up.

"Santana would die of shock," Rachel pointed out to her empty bedroom. "The Midget Freak has people who actually like her. Or maybe it's liked?"

The petite brunette frowned as she contemplated the changes that had overcome her personality and what the people she had once called friends on Long Island would think of her since moving to Ohio. In three years she had gone from a fairly relaxed thirteen year old (whose life did not only revolve around the stage) to a sixteen year old so terrified that she'd fade into the woodwork that she became unhealthily, and unfairly, focused on being the sole owner of the literal (and proverbial) spotlight.

Her eyes trailed the room again and her frown deepened, only lightening a bit when she allowed herself the concession of a bit of culture shock playing a small role in the transformation.

"After all, I can't be blamed on feeling the need to enlighten my mid-west companions on the importance of the theatre. Kids on Long Island just...get it," she muttered before giving into the honesty bug that had been digging at her. "Fuck, nevermind. I should have shut up about it. It's not like they actually cow tip for fun around here," she added, remembering some of the horror stories her friends from back east had put in her head when she announced a move to Ohio of all places.

It was this finally acknowledgment (and the fact that her frustration had forced her into using profanity) that forced Rachel to finally do what she had been contemplating for the last week. Reaching to her night table the brunette grabbed her cell phone and scrolled through her contacts quickly before hitting send and subconsciously praying that her target didn't send her call to voice mail.

"Yea?"

Rachel rolled her eyes at the greeting and answered, "Are you busy Finn?"

"Why?"

Frowning at the annoyance in her ex's tone Rachel took a deep breath and plunged head first into the reason for her phone call, "I think we need to talk."

"I'm with Quinn Rachel. We aren't getting back together."

"I know that," she replied, ignoring the twinge of jealousy his words sparked. "But we haven't really hashed a few things out and now that Regional's are done and over with I think it's time," she continued her explanation before waiting for a reply. When none came from the other end of the phone she found herself rolling her eyes once more and throwing out something the competitor in him wouldn't be able to ignore, "Besides, do you really want all this to be hanging over our heads as we prepare for Nationals?"

That question got a quiet sigh and a mumbled, "Not really."

"Good," Rachel whispered, breathing a sigh of relief. "Want to meet me for coffee at Starbucks on Main? Say, half hour?"

"I can do that," Finn finally agreed, after mumbling to someone with a high female voice off the line.

"Tell Quinn I'm not trying to steal you back or anything," Rachel added into the receiver, taking a chance on whom he was probably talking to. "I really do just want to talk."

"Yea, she said 'whatever.' I'll see you in a half hour," he responded before hanging up without a good-bye.

"Prick," Rachel muttered and tossed her phone on the bed beside her.

Rachel lay on her bed for a few more minutes before getting up and grabbing one of her stuffed animals and asked it, "I wonder what thirteen year old me would say if she could see me now. You don't wanna tell me huh? That's okay, it doesn't matter now anyway, because I am no longer in love with Finn Hudson."

The last thought she had before leaving her room and heading to Starbucks? So much for that whole honesty thing.

A/N 2: I hope this doesn't strike anyone as being OOC for Rachel. Truth is, Rachel is one of the few people we never really see the internal thoughts of. We never really see her home life. We never hear about any friends she's since she was a kid (I've decided to let this mean that she transferred when they started HS). And being that Rachel reminds me a bit of myself (though God knows I was never quite as intense as she can be) I imagine there may be some deeper thoughts floating around in that head of hers (as well as a lot of the other characters). Therefore, I've taken my little observations and run with them.

My writing also tends to lend itself to a darker tone in general, the world (sorry Brittney S. Pierce and show writers) isn't all sunshine and rainbows and I refuse to pretend that it is. Hopefully you, as readers, will be able to enjoy it.

That being said, reviews not only make me happy (and usually force me to kick real life in the ass so I can write more) they let me know where I should be expanding things (or not expanding if that be the case) in the plot. So please, feed the writer.