Just how much beer did he have again? Blair asked himself, not being able to recall on the exact number that he drank but fucking hell was he ever regretting that decision. He was always told to not go from one alcoholic beverage to another, and what did he do? Well, of course he had to do the opposite of what he was told not to. His head pounded and his stomach churned dangerously at even the smallest of movements caused him horrible discomfort.

Yep. Definitely fucking regretting it, for sure. Blair took deep breaths to try and calm the pain in his head and the relentless nausea that assaulted him as he struggled to find the annoying alarm clock that was beeping, nagging at him to turn the damn thing off.

He mulled over his options at that point, wondering whether or not he should just go back to sleep or actually get his ass up, dressed, and ready for the day. As the pain in his head throbbed with the sound of the alarm slowly increasing in volume, Blair was thinking that the decision he was about to make would be an easy one.

Unfortunately, Blair knew that if he didn't go for his morning run then he wouldn't go at all. And if he didn't go at all it'd become a habit and that was a habit that he refused to give up.

Even if he did have a wicked hangover.

Cursing and fighting back the wave of nausea that swept over him like a damn tidal wave slamming against a small island, Blair sat up, closing his eyes tight for a few moments. He waited for everything to settle down first before reaching over, feeling around for the cord, and yanking the damn thing out of the socket.

Silence instantly followed.

He sat there for a moment, contemplating again, whether or not he should take some Gravol and Advil and go back to sleep or suck it up and go for his run.

Blair sighed, groaning as he muttered fuck it, taking a deep breath and pushed himself off the bed. At least it was still, somewhat, dark outside, he mused to himself. Making his way into the bathroom, he grabbed the Advil and Gravol, practically shoving them into his mouth, turning on the water, cupping his hand under the faucet then drinking.

Some may call him lazy, but at least he wouldn't have to dirty an extra glass.

Glancing into the mirror, Blair saw that his messy light-brown hair was all over the place. It reminded him of when he was a child and would rub a balloon on the top of his head, static causing his hair to stand on end. His skin was unusually pale and his light grey eyes held bags under them.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that he hadn't slept in awhile and it most definitely wasn't hard to guess that it was because of Carlos.

The death left everyone feeling unsettled by what had taken place, not just him, though he was hit pretty damn hard.

Could he, himself, have done something that would've changed Carlos' fate? Maybe if he had gone out with him to the bar that night...

No.

He shouldn't think about that.

It wasn't his fault.

But why, why for the love of God, did he convince himself otherwise? He wasn't the one who killed him. You may as well have had done it, a voice in his head sneered, mocking him.

One thing just wouldn't let up in his mind and it was that he should've gone with him. He should've.

There was also nothing that he could do about it so why was he still mulling over it?

With a shake of his head, pushing his solemn thoughts to the back of his mind and letting out a sigh, Blair leaned against the sink. The water was still running and he stared as it swirled around the drain before disappearing. Blair took his right hand and placed it under the cold, running water, rubbing his hand over his face, waking himself up before turning the faucet off, drying his hands, taking a moment to stare at his reflection in the mirror before exiting the bathroom and heading back down the hall to his bedroom.

And, as it was, it was time to suffer.

* * *

The moon shone brightly, no indication that it was early in the morning. It was almost nearing dawn and the moon, like the night before, lit up the street relatively well, accompanied by the street lights. The brisk cool air nipped at Blair's face, his breath visible as he ran. He wasn't even two kilometres into the run and Blair was ready to die on his feet. The pounding in his head was even worse than before and his vision darkened around the edges.

This was, by far, the worst decision he had ever made.

He slowed down to a stop at the corner of Burnaby and Colson Avenue, near the stop sign, leaning his hands against his knees, taking in deep shuddering breaths to calm his racing heart. If he continued on with the rest of his run he'd surely faint.

Oh, this wasn't the greatest of ideas, he knew, and he regretted his insane decision, but it is what it is. He'd just walk the last block and a half back to his house and go back to sleep.

Thank God he had it off.

He stayed in that position for a few good minutes, patiently waiting for his heart to settle, and once it did Blair stood up. As soon as he looked down Burnaby Avenue he stilled, his breath hitching, and heart dropping into his stomach.

Why hadn't he noticed it before?

A couple of houses down, on the right hand side of the street, yellow caution tape marked off the property of his boss, Mister Douglass', home.

Two RCMP vehicles with flashing lights, a fire-truck, and an ambulance were parked haphazardly in front of the house, as well as in the driveway. Out front, near the rear, where the two police vehicles were located was Jason Steele.

Steele was a new officer who had just arrived in Milborough a few months back. He stood with his hands on his hips, a concentrated look on his face as he nodded his head, listening intently to what Sarah Douglass, his boss' wife, was saying.

Even though it was still relatively dark outside, Blair could see that Sarah was more than a bit distraught; she looked absolutely terrified about something. Whatever it was, it left the woman visibly shaken to her very core.

As he continued to stand there he studied her and, though he was unable to hear what she was talking about, it wasn't hard to see that the woman was at her wits end. Her long strawberry-blond hair, usually kept in a tight bun, had escaped its confines, cascading down around her face. Her eyes were puffy and she held tightly onto her young five year old little girl, Marie. The girl clung onto her mother as if her life depended on it.

The girl's expression mirrored her mother's greatly.

It was as if they had seen a ghost.

He took a couple of slow steps forward, allowing the breath that he hadn't realize he was holding out, and then took an intake of breath when the paramedics brought a stretcher from the house.

A body lay on top of it.

A sheet covered the body but it was clear who it was.

Mister Douglass.

Would it, at all, be appropriate for him to go up and ask what had happened? If they were okay? Would he, then, be considered a suspect? Was it a suicide or a murder? And if it were a murder was there a chance that it was same person or people who had killed Carlos?

* * *

Blair watched as the water cascaded down his body, focusing on and allowing the sound of the water to calm and soothe him. His head continued to pound, but his mind raced, replaying the scene that he had stumbled across not even half hour ago.

It was surreal to him. Sure, he and Mister Douglass had their fair share of differences, but that, in no way, meant that they didn't like or respect one another. They did. Just something about it wasn't...it was...well, it felt incredibly strange to him, and that was putting it lightly. Just like with what happened to Carlos, this whole thing felt off. But then again, he was still silently mourning the loss of someone who was like a sibling to him.

More so than his actual blood siblings.

He was thankful, in that moment, to be single, unable to fathom what he would do if his significant other was found dead. A lump in his throat formed painfully and Blair's eyes watered as he fought to keep his composure. Everyone who had known him since childhood knew that under the tough exterior there was a good heart and that he had no qualms about helping people but a good heart didn't make him a fool. He knew if people saw a weakness they would exploit it. He would rather be a tough son of a bitch than a bleeding heart that got used day in and day out only to be given nothing in return but cruelty and disregard.

He had, unfortunately, witnessed that many a times throughout the years with people and he vowed to never be like that.

He would fight if he had to.

Clearing his throat and taking in a deep, shuddering breath, Blair shook his head of the water before grabbing the shampoo and working in a good amount into his scalp before rinsing it out and repeating.

Normally, he wouldn't do such a thing, but with everything going on, removing his morose thoughts were what he desired to do more and if washing his hair countless times aided him in doing that, then hell, he was going to do it.

Through the closed door and the sound of the shower, Blair could hear the distinct ding-dong of the doorbell, and then Izzie started barking. Another ring.

Blair felt rather annoyed that his shower was ruined at such an early hour and wondered who on earth was ringing his doorbell.

At first, he ignored the damn thing, beginning to rinse the soap from his hair.

And then the ringing turned into someone pounded. It wasn't someone knocking, oh no, it was someone full on pounding on it with their first. Blair could feel his patience fraying away as anger and annoyance replaced the calm that he had begun to feel and he started shouting profanities as he ripped the shower curtain back, leaving the water run as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hips.

Whoever the fuck it was that was obnoxiously beating at his door was going to be guaranteed to have all of their fingers broken.

As he made his way through the hall and into the kitchen, he started speaking, threatening whoever was on the other side of the door, loud enough that he could be heard over the pounding.

"Continue pounding on my fucking door and I'll make sure that you won't have working fingers for the next few months."

Almost instantly the pounding stopped.

And then he opened the door.