Thank you for your kind words.

I think it was about time to come back to Steve, so here we go.

Steve glanced around. The room beyond was sparsely furnished, with just a table and two chairs, and a bench seat against the far wall. There was a single barred window, and a naked lightbulb above the table flooded the space in harsh white light.

He was sitting at the table. His wrists were cuffed and the chain was attached to a bracket on the table. Desperately trying to remember anything about last night, his mind whirring, he waited for the police officer to arrive. They were letting him wait, but Steve knew it was on a purpose. He had done it many times himself.

The sounds of footsteps came and went behind the locked doorway, but no one entered the room for a long time. It allowed him some time to think, to dig into his memories, but it didn´t work. All he could think of was Lynn´s pale, lifeless face as she lay on the cold tiles. It was hard to believe she was really dead, but even harder to believe he had something to do with it. He wouldn´t have hurt her, would he? There must have been another explanation. If he could just remember…

A sound of key rattled in the door, which opened up a second later. Steve looked up and saw the officer that had arrested him.

"Hello, sir." She was polite. Most of the older colleagues wouldn´t be that way for sure. Her name tag read Harrison.

Steve just stared at her, confusion lining his forehead.

She took out her recorder and laid it on the table. "I´m going to use this."

He shrugged.

"I´m officer Harrison. I´m in charge of the investigation into what happened at the hotel."

"No offense, officer," Steve said, "But I´d rather Five-0 to look into this."

She shook her head. "You know that´s not an option. It´d be too personal for your team. I doubt they would be objective on this one."

Steve didn´t say anything. He didn´t like the idea of an inexperienced officer investigating the murder of his ex-girlfriend, especially not if there was his freedom at stake.

"Have you been offered a lawyer?"

"I don´t need one," Steve blurted one before he could stop himself. He might not remember much, but he was not a murderer.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay, then let´s start," she said. "What were you doing in the hotel? I know you´re local. Why stay in a hotel then?"

"I don´t know."

"I think you should talk to me about what happened."

Steve looked straight at her, not saying anything. No matter how hard he tried to put the pieces together, he just couldn´t.

"Commander?"

He remembered Lynn asking him to meet her. Remembered Danny and Charlie and Jamba at the beach. Then he was in a bar, talking to Lynn, and…

"Commander?"

"I can´t remember what happened."

"What do you mean?"

"You can ask me whatever you like. I´ll answer honestly as best as I can," he said.

"But…?"

"But there are long stretches of yesterday evening that I can´t remember."

Officer Harrison started at him for a moment. "So tell me what you do remember. Let´s start with that. Did you know the victim?"

A chill ran down his spine with the usage of the past tense. It was Lynn, for God´s sake, not some stranger. She used to be more than a friend and even though they weren´t together anymore, he still cared about her. But she was dead now. Nausea crept up his throat again with the thought.

"Commander, please talk to me."

Steve sighed, splayed his fingers on the table and looked down at them. "I do know her, yes."

"How do you know her?"

"We were in a relationship. A long time ago."

"A long time ago?"

"Years."

"So why were you with her last night?"

"She said she wanted to speak to me," Steve said.

"About?"

He shook his head. "I don´t know. She didn´t say."

"Do you remember what you talked about?"

Steve paused, thinking again, but it only caused his headache to spike. "No," he said after a while. The frustration inside him was growing, and he knew he wasn´t doing himself any favors.

"What do you remember?"

"I remember being outside with my son, my partner, Detective Williams, and his son. Then I dropped my son at Danny´s and went to the bar to meet Lynn, I think."

"Which bar?"

"Alley Cat," he said. "Lynn was there when I got there."

"What time was this?"

"Seven."

"And then?"

"We spoke."

"About?"

"I told you I don´t remember." Steve was beginning to lose his patience as the tension was growing in his gut with questions he didn´t know the answers for.

"So you talked and got drunk?"

"I don´t remember ordering anything other than orange juice."

"There were two empty bottles of bourbon in your room, Commander. Cans of beer, too."

"I know. I saw them. I don't remember buying them."

"Then how did all that get there?"

"I don´t remember."

"You keep saying that. It's not helping you. Unless you tell me what happened so I can investigate it, I'll have to fill in the blanks from the evidence. If I do that, you're going to be charged with murder," Harrison said with a frown.

"I…" Steve paused, not even sure what he could say. He had nothing. His mind was clouded by a thick fog and he couldn´t see past it no matter how hard he tried. "I´d tell you if I knew."

"Look," officer Harrison continued. "I'll be honest with you. At some point between you meeting Miss Downey at seven and the manager´s wife coming into your room to clean it this morning, your ex-girlfriend was killed. At the moment, Commander, it looks very bad for you. Unless you can give me another reason why she was found dead in the bathroom while you were asleep, I'm not going to have any choice other than to charge you, no matter who you are. Can you do that?"

"I can't," he said. "I don't know what to say. I already told you I can't remember anything else."

"Fine." She stood. "I know it´s not necessary, but just for the record I have to tell you what happens next."

Steve looked up at her, his breath speeding up.

"You´ll be moved to a detention facility and due to the nature of your job, you´ll be placed in protective custody. If you´re charged, you´ll go to trial. And unless you come up with an explanation that could help you, my guess is you won´t have to wait long. A month, maybe. You should get a lawyer."

Steve didn´t really listen anymore. He couldn´t wrap his head around what had happened. Yesterday he was enjoying having his life back and spending the Friday out with people he loved, and today a young HPD officer was telling him he would be charged with murder of his ex-girlfriend and go to jail.

"I´d like to get my phone call," he said, meeting Harrison´s eyes. "Please."

"Who would you like to call?"

"My son," Steve said. "I need to tell him I won´t be coming home today."

Harrison nodded. "Of course." She slid the chair back beneath the table. "Does your son has any family to stay with for now?"

Steve nodded. There was no one else he trusted more than Danny, who might not be his family by blood, but he considered him a brother.

"Okay. I'll arrange your call," she said. She opened the door, stepped outside, and locked it again, leaving Steve alone with his disconcerting thoughts.

It didn't take long before he was taken from the interview room to a bigger one, where he was photographed and had his fingerprints taken. They took swabs from his mouth, scraped the material from beneath his nails, and then took blood.

Steve cooperated without complaint, but it was an intensely uncomfortable experience and reminded him of a similar one he´d been through years ago. At least back then he had no doubts about what had happened.

They went through his possessions, and took his wallet and the handful of loose change that he had collected in his pockets.

He did not protest and, once the formalities of his booking were completed, he was led down into the basement of the building to a holding cell. It was a twenty-by-twenty space with a set of substantial iron bars that divided the room into two. Two cameras had been fixed to the ceiling, their motors buzzing as they panned left and right to take in all of the room.

Steve looked through the bars at three men staring back at him. The cage wasn´t big, but it had bench seats around the sides. The occupants glared with baleful malevolence as his cuffs were removed.

There were just two officers down here: the man who had brought him down from the custody suite and the officer who was in the basement to watch the detainees. Both men were armed and moving with caution.

The custody officer unlocked and opened the cage door.

Steve saw the butt of his pistol jutting out from his holster and knew how easy it would be to relieve him of the weapon. He felt the prickle of adrenaline, the itch in his palms, but he drew in a breath and allowed the moment to pass.

It wasn´t a good idea. This was not the time to make an attempt at leaving. Even if he was able to disarm the two officers, there was a good chance his actions would bring unwelcome attention. The men in the cell would likely make a noise, and then there was the matter of the two cameras overhead. He was in the basement of a police building. If he was compromised, he would have to fight his way out, through the ground floor, and then out onto the street. He might make it, but then what? He might even have to hurt someone in the process. He wasn't prepared to do that. Not to mention escaping now would be yet another reason to consider him guilty.

He walked inside and the officer locked the door. Steve could practically feel the men´s eyes burning a hole into him, but he ignored it, and made a few more steps further in, refusing to give them the satisfaction of intimidating him.

For a moment it looked like it might work and they would lose the interest, but one of the men kept glaring at him. He was about Steve´s height and tattoos covered both of his muscly arms and neck.

"You look familiar," the man said eventually. "Do I know you?"

Steve was certain he had never met this guy but knew it didn´t have to mean that the man had never seen Steve either. "I don´t think so," he said.

The man didn´t tear his gaze from him for a good minute or so, then he dropped it, which Steve was thankful for. He didn´t feel up to the fight right now. His head was still throbbing and his stomach still heaved every once in a while.

He tried to gauge the time as best he could, but it was dark in the basement and there was no window where he could assess the passage of time. Police officers came and went, delivering new suspects to be detained and taking others away again, but no one came for him. He waited for the chance to make his phone call, but it seemed as if he had been forgotten. When he tried to speak to one of the guards to remind him that he was still waiting, the man shrugged and ignored him. There was no point in pushing it, so he sat down to wait it out.

Steve guessed it was another two hours before they came for him. Unfortunately, his memory hadn´t gotten any better.

"You," the guard said, pointing his finger at him. "Come here."

Steve stood and came to the door of the cell. "Can I make the phone call now?" he asked.

"Hands."

The guard opened the slot at waist height and told Steve to slide his hands through so that he could cuff him. Steve did as told and didn´t react as the cuffs bit into the skin around his wrists. He withdrew his hands and stepped back as the door was pushed open.

"Out."

Steve stepped out of the cell.

"The phone call," Steve reminded. "I need to call someone."

"No phone call for you, I´m afraid," the man grunted.

Steve frowned, not liking it a single bit. "I´m entitled to it."

The guard shrugged again. "It´s not up to me. Maybe you get one once you´re transferred."

"Transferred?" Steve scrunched his forehead in confusion. "What are you talking about? Transferred where?"

"Federal prison Bureau."

Steve could barely contain the surprise. "What?" he barked out. "Why would feds give a crap about this?"

"Move."

The guard took out his baton and used it to prod Steve in the back. He walked on, the guard jabbing him between the shoulders to ensure he kept going.

They passed through two heavy doors and then out of the building through an exit into a yard. There was a Chevrolet Malibu parked alongside the building. It was painted black and Steve noticed the plates saying U. S. Government. The rear doors were open, offering access into the vehicle. The guard prodded Steve in the back once again and, still biting his tongue, he reached for the door frame with his cuffed hands and pulled himself inside.

The doors were slammed shut. The vehicle was not air-conditioned and the rear wasn't ventilated. The temperature inside the cage must have been more than a hundred degrees. Steve waited for the driver and another guard man, who he guessed was an FBI agent, into the front. The driver started the engine and, with a creak from its suspension, they pulled out of the compound and onto the road outside.

As they drove through the streets of Honolulu, Steve´s mind whirred. He couldn´t believe this was happening. Not now. Not when he was finally back home after all he´d been through. Not when he had a child to take care of. Not when Danny flew to the other side of world in order to get him back.

Steve thought about his friend. Danny would find out what had happened. He would figure out the truth, Steve was sure of that.

He had no idea what was going on, and what was going to happen next, but one thing he was certain of.

Right now, Danny and the team were his only hope.

*to be continued*

Let me know what you think if you find a moment :) I´d appreciate it a lot.