a/n: Crimeny, I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated. Second semester was absolutely crazy - whenever I had time to write, I was too tired to do anything but curl up and catch up on my TV shows. But! Now I'm home for the summer, and while I won't have a whole lot of time, I'll certainly have more than I did during the school year. Plus, I miss writing Brittana.

Quick heads-up for any emetophobes out there - the beginning part of this chapter does contain vomit. Santana's pretty damn hungover.

I don't own Glee, check me out on Tumblr (chevalierdesfleurs - I've moved :3), and have a great one! Thanks again for sticking with me.

While the Angels Walk with the Lonely Ones

Santana wakes up the next morning and promptly vomits, realizing once she finishes retching that she seems to have fallen asleep in the bathroom. She licks her lips (they taste revolting) and wearily ties her hair back in a rough bun before leaning over the toilet again.

It's a good half hour before she can move without vomiting. She leans back against the bathtub, whining deep in her throat as the cold tile burns through her thin shirt and makes her dizzy all over again.

"Fuck my life," she breathes, and gasps in another breath before moving to throw up another mouthful of bile.

The clock is chiming noon by the time Santana slowly shuffles into the kitchen, wrapped in a bathrobe and dripping from the shower. She wrings out her hair over the sink and squints out at the streets of Los Angeles. Not a whole lot of action at the moment.

She fumbles her way to a cup of Keurig Morning Brew and sinks into a chair at the breakfast table. There's a note at her place, scribbled on the corner of a legal pad in Quinn's neat writing.

You were absolutely fucking wasted last night, and it was disgusting. I left you in the bathroom so you wouldn't hurl in your bed again. You can thank me later. Also I really hope you don't have work today.

I'm at Rachel's. You still have to make dinner tonight.

-Q

Santana brushes the note to the side and concentrates fully on the warm vapors rising from her coffee mug. The mug is dark blue and has a chip on the handle, but it's smooth and lovely and still functional.

It's also from her ex-girlfriend.

Tori was a mess - their relationship was a mess - and it has taken Santana years to think about her without feeling like her heart's being ripped into little tiny pieces. It's lovely to sip coffee from one of her mugs (the one that had escaped her china-throwing tantrums) and think about something entirely different. Someone entirely different.

Santana's thinking about Brittany. She paws at her pocket for her phone and realizes she has no idea where it is; by the time she hunts it down (underneath the cabinet in the bathroom) and returns to the kitchen, her coffee has grown tepid, and she has four text messages and two missed calls to take care of.

Both the calls are from Rachel. Santana rolls her eyes and taps 'ignore' without a second thought. Two of the text messages are from Twitter. The others are from Robert, and Brittany.

Olivia Wilde was active on Twitter last night. Robert wants to know where the hell Santana is. The message from Brittany is short and sweet.

I hope you're feeling okay today :[ drink lots of water!

Santana taps back a quick reply. Haha thanks sweetie! Hangovers are a bitch. She eyes her phone critically before going back and deleting 'sweetie.'

She deletes the updates from Twitter, lets Robert know she's not dead in a ditch somewhere, and wearily sets her phone to the side. Just as she pulls her hand away, it lights up with a new text message.

I'm sorry :[ that sucks. if it makes you feel any better, a few of the girls have wicked awful hangovers as well.

Santana smiles and slicks her thumb over her phone's screen. Not gonna lie, that does help a little bit. So I know I'm not a TOTAL lightweight.

She pauses for a moment and opens another text to Brittany. Thank you for last night, btw :)

Oh god, that sounds like they had a one night stand. Santana makes a face but sends it anyway. She gets a reply almost instantly.

It was no problem :) Any time, sweetie.

Santana spends the majority of the day nursing a half-gallon of coffee, dodging between the couch and the toilet, and texting Brittany. The conversations are easy and light-hearted, and Santana can't help but smile like a crazy person whenever her phone lights up.

Like now. Is it socially acceptable to wear a Snuggie if I put a belt around it?

Santana claps her hand to her mouth as her laugh comes out in an undignified snort. No. Definitely not. She types out. Even on you that'd be pushing it ;)

Brittany's warned her that her texts will be sporadic; she's at her day job, teaching dance classes. But Santana still gets nervous whenever there's a gap that seems a little too long. She's sitting cross-legged on the couch, toying nervously with her phone as she waits out one of these gaps, and her phone lights up. She snatches it up and is met with disappointment when she sees Robert's name on the screen.

She scowls and hits 'ignore' (a little more aggressively than needed), letting the call go to voicemail. Santana taps out a quick text message before Robert can try again.

I told you I'm alive, okay? Chill the fuck out.

His reply comes almost instantly. Why the hell aren't you at work?

Santana casts a distracted glance at the clock on the wall. Just after seven. She blows her bangs out of her face with an annoyed huff and slides open her phone to reply to the text.

I'm hungover as all hell. like I was still throwing up at six pm.

today's my day OFF, idiot

She snaps her phone shut and tosses it to the side, letting herself sink back into the couch cushions. A rerun of Grey's Anatomy is playing on the TV, and her eyes are blurred with half-sleep when her brain registers that there's a knock at her door.

A knock. Which means a person. Santana sits up so fast she gets dizzy. "Shit shit shit," she hisses under her breath, leaping off the sofa and lunging for the door, because all she can think is Brittany and holy sweet Jesus she is not attractive right now.

She pauses for a brief second by the hallway mirror and bites her lip in dismay before dragging her tangled hair into a haphazard ponytail. The knock echoes off her door again, and Santana's heartrate doubles. "Coming!" she calls, her voice high and embarrassingly breathless.

Her fingers are wrapped around the handle when a rough and distinctively male voice scoffs, "It's about time."

Santana freezes and rises onto her toes to glance through the peephole. Robert's red scruff is just visible. She drops back onto flat feet with a sinking heart.

"Fuck off!" she yells through the door, slapping her hand against the wooden frame for emphasis.

"I'm not going anywhere, so you might as well let me in," Robert yells back. Santana bites her lip, exhales a frustrated huff, and reluctantly unfastens the deadbolt and chain. Robert goes for the doorknob as soon as he hears the faint click, and he nearly opens the door on Santana.

"Sorry," he says automatically as she steps out of the way, scowling, and dodges around to close and lock the door behind him.

"Why are you here? I told you I was okay," Santana folds her arms stubbornly across her chest, trying to ignore the fact that she's in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and spandex.

Robert gives her a look like she's suddenly started speaking German. "And I had to come check on you," he replies slowly, as if Santana's just a little bit stupid.

"Why? I'm a big girl, I can handle myself." Santana shoots him a half-hearted glare before stalking back towards the kitchen. It's time for more coffee. Robert dogs her heels.

"Because you went out drinking with a bunch of people you didn't know, then came back and ignored my calls all day." He leans back against the counter as Santana fusses with the coffeepot.

"They were just girls, Rob. It wasn't like I was going to get raped or anything."

Robert steps between her and the coffeemaker, effectively stopping her in her tracks. "Don't say that," he says very seriously, his eyes blue and bright as they lock onto hers.

Santana backpedals. She forgets sometimes. "I - I'm sorry. For, um, ignoring your calls and stuff." Robert still looks solemn, so she reaches out and touches his shoulder. "I'm fine. Just super hungover." Santana abandons the coffee and turns to go back to her couch and Grey's.

"I can't believe I forgot it was your day off," Robert says wryly from somewhere behind her. Santana hides a smile.

"Yeah, thankfully I didn't." She flops back onto the couch cushions and wriggles happily under a blanket. Robert's looking at her from the kitchen, the beginning of that goofy smile on his face.

Santana sighs and rolls her eyes. "C'mere, Rob. I know you love this episode." Robert perks up and immediately comes over, flopping down next to her like an oversized puppy.

"Can we watch Deadliest Catch next? There's a marathon this afternoon." He snatches the other blanket and pulls it over him. Santana shrugs in assent and tosses him the remote.

"It's all yours, pretty boy."