A/N: This is my second Finchel story. I've got some ideas of this story in which Rachel is a music magazine editor working for Sue Sylvester's publishing company and Finn is a freelance photographer. And finally I decided which plot I should use for this story. I know paper publication/photography workflow and vocabulary of my country and in my mother tongue, but not enough of the US and in English. So, I believe there will be wrong and unrealistic use of terms and all mistakes are mine. The story is not related to the novel which I've never read, but I like the song of Griffin Peterson, which is beautiful lyrically and musically I think, and its lyrics have something in common with my story (the lyrics of Nickelback "Someday" too). That's why I titled "Maybe Someday" for this story, which I believe that you figure it out that I titled afterwards. Anyway, I hope you guys will enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee and its character.

Chapter 1 – January 2012

"We have bad news." Were Will's first words when he walked into the meeting room. The Musicraker's editor in chief looked over his team as he plumped himself down on the chair before announcing. "Matt had a car accident. We need to find someone to take his place in three days."

"When did it happen?" Artie asked. "How bad is he?"

"Last night, on his way home on his bike, hit by some intoxicated driver." Will informed the art director of the details of the accident. "Femur fracture, shoulder dislocation, three months in hospital."

Rachel shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. This was not happening. This was the first big assign for her since she got promoted to a senior editor. She had been prepared for this with Matt, Artie, Blaine and Mercedes for months. How could they manage to find someone who could know photography, let alone cameras, you know, not digital ones, 35mm or medium format or large format ones like Matt Rutherford in three days! So many photographers had tried to impress them bringing and showing their portfolios, but it was really difficult to find someone who exceled in the ancient equipment, technically and artistically, in the time of digital technology's predominance.

The Musicraker was one of the magazines which were swimming against the tide of the times; many publishing companies terminated paper publications for complete shift to digital publishing. Yes, The Musicraker had its own website, twitter or facebook or any other sns accounts, but Sylvester Publishing proudly continued circulating paper publications except for Athlester (Sylvester's sports digital magazine), and they used photographers who could work with manual settings for The Musicraker.

Rachel and Mercedes were in charge for a special issue featuring articles on New Directions, who were one of the legendary groups of New Orleans Jazz, and her team was going to New Orleans next week, which they had already accommodated interview and shooting schedule to Mardi Gras.

Rachel fell flat on her face, not able to deal with her biggest and worst crisis.

"Well, it happens, Rachel." Blaine, the senior writer, patted her on the shoulder, trying to encourage.

Mercedes, one of Rachel's best friends and the senior editor, gazed up to the ceiling. "Yeah, it does. But I don't think anyone could fill in for Matt." She sighed, shaking her head. "And I don't think we could find another photographer before the week is out either."

"But we have to anyway." Blaine murmured.

Will clapped his hands to get their attention. "Alright, why don't we get Athlester or Survêtement to help?"

"I don't think so." Rachel shook her head, looking at her boss with pessimistic eyes. "Fashion Week starts in two weeks or so," she remembered Tina, another one of her best friends and the senior editor of Sylvester's fashion magazine, Survêtement, had mentioned, "and Super Bowl comes in next week." Which also Tina told her since the Asian's boyfriend was a senior writer of Athlester. "I don't think anyone eligible or decent is available."

Will scratched his head before letting out a sigh. "Then let's take a fresh look at the photographers who have plugged themselves for hire." He suggested before pressing his secretary's extension number. "Marley, could you bring five copies of the list I've asked you to make this morning?"

After Marley brought five copies of the list as she was instructed, all five of them in the meeting room started examining the list then discussing as to which one could possibly cover for Matt. The progress to have been made, however, was only the hands of time not their discussion. It had been almost four hours since the editor in chief first opened his mouth.

"I don't want to make you guys take work home, but," Will glanced at the clock on the wall before stretching out his upper body on the chair, "ask someone, anyone who possibly knows photographers who can at least operate 35mm and normal lens, then pick one or two up by tomorrow's lunch meeting."

"What if we couldn't find anyone?" Mercedes cautiously asked.

"Rachel," Will sifted his gaze at the tiny brunette, "you have some experiences in taking pictures with manual focus cameras, right?"

"No, no, no, no, no." Rachel waved her hand in front of her nose frantically, not liking where this was going to. "I just have knowledge in them. Why do you think I became editor not photographer, Will? Do you know my rangefinder is a kind of white elephant since my dominant eye is left?"

"I didn't ask you to use your keepsake from your grandfather, Rachel." Will insisted. "You have a keen appreciation for photography."

"Will," Rachel started, sighing, "there is a huge difference between having an eye for photography and having an eye for capturing unbeatable moments with his or her own way." She explained, trying hardest to shirk Matt's filler. "We'd better go look for someone amongst NYU stu–"

"Wait," Artie interrupted, "there was the guy who had an interview a little while ago? A year ago or so?" He tilted his head to one side before turning his head towards Rachel. "What was his name? Didn't you say he was real good, do you?"

Rachel pursed up her lips, closing her eyes, not wanting to dredge up things from the past.

"Artie!" Mercedes shushed, shaking her head to imply that he'd better not touch on the guy who he just had mentioned as Blaine nodded agreeing with the African American editor.

Artie raised his eyebrow, throwing a quizzical glance at Will.

Will cleared his throat, knowing that the guy Artie just mentioned had disappeared from New York City a little while after the company's party on New Year's Eve in 2010. "Well, that's not bad idea you guys go to NYU to find someone to fill in for Matt." He stood up from the chair to call it a day before walking out of the room.

Artie yanked Blaine's arm as he got out of the meeting room, whispering in his coworker's ear. "What was that? Did I hit on her sore spot?"

"Yeah, you did." Blaine answered in a low voice, over his shoulder looking at Rachel, who was still sitting on the chair, her head in her hands, Mercedes rubbing her arm up and down whispering something to her. "But you didn't know what'd happened to him or her." He sifted his gaze towards Artie. "Hell, I don't know exactly what happened between them either." He patted the guy with suspenders on the back as they walked down the corridor to be back to their cubicles before changing the subject. "Hey, don't you want to go visit Matt at the hospital with me now? He might know someone who is like Matt."

"Yeah, right," Artie nodded, "let's go."

"It never hurts to ask." Mercedes dragged Rachel into Figgins' bar, where Tina and the others who worked at Sylvester Publishing always grabbed a drink after work.

"Whoa, whoa, Rachel. The bar's animal sweater free zone." The Mohawk, the owner at (not of) the bar, shouted from behind the counter pointing to a patch of paper on the shelf behind him where glasses were neatly deposited as he saw his cousin peeling her coat off from her body walking into the bar. All he earned, however, was her sharp glare, which caused him to frown. "Why is she so cranky?" He asked to the woman tangling her arm with Rachel's.

"Amaretto sour, virgin." Rachel ordered before Mercedes could answer but immediately amended. "No, El Diablo."

Puck arched his eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"I pay, you tend, just get me my drink, Noah!" Rachel yelled at the Mohawk cousin, who held up his hands in the air without saying anything and turned around to grab his shaker. Then she snatched her glass and slammed down her 15 dollar bill onto the wooden counter when he put it in front of her before turning on her heel to look for her coworkers from the other divisions.

"What was that?" Puck said petulantly, folding his arms across his chest.

Mercedes just shrugged at Puck and grabbed her drink before following the tiny brunette.

"Rachel! Mer!" Tina called out from the entrance with a waving hand as The Musicraker senior editors was about to sat at table after they asked around but got nowhere. "Why the glum faces, guys?" She asked, sitting on a high chair to join them.

"Matt had a car accident." Rachel mumbled, massaging her temple with her two fingers. "Now we need to find another in three days! No actually in two days! That's impossible!" She held her hands up in the air dramatically before burying her face in them. "What are we supposed to do without him?" Her shoulders slumped down before she peeked at the Asian through her fingers and asked hopelessly. "You happen to have more staff than you need?"

"I'm sorry, but no." Tina answered sympathetically. "I told you that we were short-handed because of Fashion Week. Oh," she raised her voice as she saw a guy, who wore a black cashmere coat with a big feather on the shoulder over a tight fitted black suit, purple shirt, fur Cossack hat and lace-up boots, looking around at the entrance, "Kurt!" She called out to him with a waving hand. When he joined them, she began introducing him to her best friends. "Rachel, Mer, this is Kurt Hummel, the one who our devil in tracksuits proselytized from Harper's BAZAAR."

Kurt did a double take in horror when his eyes were offended by an owl sweater the brunette named Rachel wore, but soon he composed himself, clearing his throat, taking their hands respectively. "Pleased to be acquainted with you two."

Tina, assuring the new guy took a high chair, opened her mouth to resume the conversation which the three girls had had before Kurt's appearing. "Have you asked the Athlester's guys?"

Rachel shook her head. "Yeah, but, you know, they work only with digital still photojournalists. So, span our wheels." She shrugged.

"What are you guys talking about?" Kurt interrupted with a questioningly look as Tina made her way to the bar counter to get her and Kurt's drinks, and Rachel's and Mercedes's another rounds.

Mercedes briefed him on their crisis before asking. "Do you happen to know someone? Working for Harper's BAZAAR? Or other fashion magazines?"

Kurt tilted his head to one side, his fist underneath his jaw. "Hmm, I'm afraid but I don't think so." Then he lightened up a little, straightening up on the high chair. "My brother's a photographer. He's drifted from place to place in Europe for a year, but he finally returned home yesterday." He pulled out his cell phone out of his pocket.

Rachel and Mercedes exchanged an expectant glance. "What is the brand of his equipment?" The brunette asked. "Dose he use manual focus?"

"Ah, yeah, I believe so, I don't know which brand he uses though." Kurt paused, looking up from his phone, stopping himself from texting. "He sold most of them a year ago, replacing by buying digital ones, for some reasons. But I know he has some which he can never sell. And he's really good, if I might add."

Rachel shrieked, jumping out of her chair, clapping her hands before giving the new senior editor of Sylvester's fashion magazine a tight hug. "You're a lifesaver, Kurt!"

Kurt flinched, sporting a horrified look on his face as if her owl sweater were infectious viruses or something when Rachel held him tightly.

"Could you," Mercedes cleared her throat, trying to distract him from her best friend sweater, "um, could you tell him to come over to our office tomorrow morning?"

"9am, sharp." Rachel added, stepping back from Kurt. "With his portfolio."

"What are you guys so excited about?" Tina asked from behind with an amused look, holding four glasses of cocktail in her both hands.

"Kurt's brother!" Rachel beamed at Tina. "He's a photographer, you know, a real one, who uses manual focus."

"That's great!" Tina deposited the glasses on the table before turning her head towards Kurt. "What's his name?"

"Finn," Kurt answered, "Finn Hudson."

"No, I'm not going to go in there!" Rachel shrugged off the African American woman's hand from his arm.

"Then why are you wearing your nicest and sexiest attire which you've never put on for work?" Mercedes stepped back from her, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, her arm crossing.

"Because," Rachel tucked a pile of her hair behind her ear, straightening up on her chair, "because I can." He voice deflated a little.

"Even if you don't go in there today," Mercedes started, "you'll have to see him again soon or later anyway." She waited for her colleague's answer.

"I'm not sure he'll show up as he promised." Rachel mumbled sarcastically after an eternal silence. "Besides," she cleared her throat, "undecided to hire him to cover for Matt yet. Or we don't know he'll take our offer."

"Rachel," Mercedes sighed, "I know you are hurt, but we have no choice." She put her hand on the brunette's shoulder. "He could possibly turn down our offer though."

"Okay, hire him, but," Rachel let out a breath, "I'm not going to go in there." She sifted her gaze from her the woman with a big bling around her neck to her own hands on her desk. "I've saw his work enough, so it's no necessary to take a look at it again." She murmured.

"Alright," Mercedes said, having had it, "I'll leave you alone, for now." With that, she walked away from the stubborn girl's cubicle.

Rachel placed her head on her desk, trying hardest to not remember the day she experienced the worst heartbroken ever.

A/N: Survêtement is 'tracksuit' in French, which name I know is absolutely not for fashion magazine. I could hear Kurt yelling at me. :P

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