A/N: First, welcome to my tiny glimmer of hope shinig through the cracks of doom and dread that is this story. Second, this chapter:

is one that I've been waiting to write forever (!)

marks the one quarter mark of this story (!), and

is the most number of chapters I've ever written for one story (!)

I feel like I'm so dedicated to this, even though they're all short little nuggets…I love writing it, & I'm excited to keep it going! Review?

Title: Fleeting Moments
Author: sparklinglemonade
Rating: M
Summary: Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments.
Genre: Angst/Drama
Chapter: Twenty Five

Mistake

One night, they make a mistake. It's a tangle of lips and limbs, of anger and sadness and disappointment and bitterness, rolling around on his bedroom floor.

He's not quite sure how they got from him ignoring her to this, but he realizes it's happened somewhere between the time she's screaming at him in the parking lot of Sheets 'n' Things (in a bad way), screaming in his ear (in a good way), and when she's screaming in his arms (again, in a bad way). She must have nightmares or something, some real demons – then again, why wouldn't she – because she screams and yells and cries, startling him awake.

He runs his fingers through her hair, whispering softly into her ear until she quiets down and just cries in his arms. When she falls asleep again, he gets up carefully and tip toes out of the room. He has no idea what he should do – get back in his bed and go to sleep, ignoring the fact that they just had angry, slutty sex, or lay down on the couch and analyze everything that just happened (and worry about it). Should he wait for her to wake up and freak out they way he knows she will? He opts for the bed, since his Mother and sister won't be home until late tomorrow morning, and he doesn't want her to wake up alone, or have any more night terrors (whatever that was, it was way more than a nightmare). He slowly crawls back into his bed, hoping she'll stay sleeping; he's finally made it under the covers and sighs, content with his current place.

"Where'd you go?" she asks, sleepily, smiling as he frowns at her.

"Kitchen," he answers, "I thought you were sleeping."

"No, I noticed when you left," she mentions, "are you…okay with what just happened?"

"The creepy night terror, or the slutty angry sex?"

"The sex," she answers bluntly, "the terrors are probably the least of your worries."

"…no, and yes," he responds, "I'm not, because we're so shitty right now," (subtext: you are so shitty right now, I'm simply managing with you,) "but I am, cause I'm Puck-osaurus, and I don't do that."

"Do what?" she questions, yawning.

"Analyze," he responds, even though he does (and is). She snorts.

"You're a liar," she says, and faces him, "but it's fine, because lately so am I," this time he snorts.

"Am I going to be okay? Are we?" she whispers, after they've been lying in a sober silence for a while.

He doesn't respond, pretends to be asleep, because if he answers she'll know he's lying.

She kisses his cheek softly, and whispers, "I'm going to try and make sure we will…that I will, okay?"

She lays her head on his chest. God, he hopes so.