A/N: It's Sunday, I got bored, so here's the next chapter. Enjoy :)

Chapter 5

Steve yanked open the door to the interrogation room and froze. Next to the chair in the dark room lay Travis Dyer, unmoving, staring back at him with empty eyes.

For a moment, there was nothing but the humming in his ear.

The next thing Steve knew was that he was kneeling on the cold, hard floor next to Travis. His fingers feeling for a pulse at his carotid – but there was nothing. Nothing but blood. He hadn't noticed the blood that had come from Travis' nose and ears until now. He leaned in close to the bloody nose to hear if he was still breathing. But there was just silence. And the humming.

Seven, eight, nine. Chest compressions. He was suddenly doing chest compressions, pushing down hard on Travis' ribcage – and loosing count. He kept going. For five, four, three, two, one. Then he moved to the head, tilted it back, pinched the nose closed. He sealed his mouth over Travis', barely noticing that it was covered in blood, too.

One. Two. The chest moved, up and down, up and down. But there was still no reaction. So he started on the compressions again. One, two, three, four–

"Steve, hey Steve!"

There was a hand on his forearm, puling, trying to stop him.

But he couldn't stop. He had to keep trying.

"Steve, stop." It was Chin's voice, softer now, sounding defeated.

He just kept pushing down on Travis' chest – eleven, twelve, thirteen – because it was too soon to give up, to admit defeat. He could still save the kid. Make this right.

"Steve, he's ice cold." Chin's grip on his arm loosened, but his hand lingered. "It's too late, there's nothing we can do anymore."

Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two . . . He eventually stared to slow down – twenty-four, twenty-five – stopped counting, and sat back on his heels. His hands fell limply at his sides. He hadn't noticed how cold the body was. That the blood from ears and nose had long dried, that Travis had been dead for hours.

The humming in his ear grew louder all of a sudden. Or maybe it had been this loud for a while and he just hadn't noticed before. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his flat hand against the ear, hoping it would make the humming stop.

"–happened here?"

He jumped as a hand touched his shoulder. Chin. He was looking at him with concerned eyes. "What happened here?"

"I . . . I forgot," was all he got out before the noise in his head turned up again, shriller and louder this time. He turned around, away from Chin, grabbed the chair for support and pulled himself up. The noise faded out once he was upright. Steve drew in a deep breath and, for the first time, really felt the bruise Travis had left on his side.

Travis, who was now . . . dead.

Because he had forgotten.

His chest felt tight all of a sudden and he struggled to get in another deep breath. He turned back to the body but when he stopped, the room, Chin, Travis, everything kept moving, spinning. And then the noise was back, no humming, just a high-pitched wailing that pierced through his head like a bolt of lightning. He reached out, blindly, for the chair that should have been to his right but it wasn't. It was there, right in front of him and then it wasn't anymore. Spinning round and round and round with the rest of the world. His hand missed the backrest and he stumbled as the noise in his head grew so loud, so shrill, it dropped off into silence.

"Woah, brah." Chin's hands were suddenly on his arms, steady and strong. "Maybe you should sit down."

Steve swallowed hard against the nausea building at the back of his throat. "No." He squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to stop the rolling of the waves that still made him sway in spite of the strong hold Chin had on him. Everything slowed down. "No, we have to get Max down here and HPD– I need to call Duke."

"I'll handle it." Chin was still holding on to his arms. "You should go outside and sit down."

"I–"

"You're shaking."

Steve frowned and looked down at his own hands. Chin was right. He balled his hands to fists, burying his blood-stained fingers in his palms and willed the tremors to stop.

Eventually, they did. Only then he looked back up to meet Chin's eyes. He looked worried and confused.

"Go get cleaned up," Chin said, "I'll make the calls."

With a glance back to Travis' still body, Steve nodded slowly, licking his lips. The sudden coppery taste in his mouth almost made him gag, realizing it was Travis' and not his own blood on his lips.

…

Steve didn't quite recognize the man staring back at him when he finally looked up from the sink and up into the mirror above it. Drops of water were running down hollow cheeks, his skin was pale, almost translucent. His eyes were nothing but dark circles. It was like the secrets and lies had started to chip away at him physically, leaving their marks for the whole world to see.

A knock on the door startled him. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly and then shifted his focus away from himself to the reflection of the door behind him as it opened. Chin's head popped into the dim, fluorescent light of the bathroom. "You okay?"

Steve let his gaze drop to his hands. He turned the faucet back on and let the ice-cold water run over his hands again, even though they were long red and raw from too much scrubbing. But he could still feel Travis' blood on them. "I'm good," he stated flatly.

He heard Chin open the door fully as he walk inside a few steps, still mindful to keep his distance. He cleared his throat before he spoke again. "HPD is on the way, they'll be here in a few minutes." There was pause. Chin wasn't usually one for nervous pauses. "Duke's gonna want some answers. What should I tell him?"

Steve looked up from his hands and met Chin's eyes in the mirror. He hadn't asked what had happened. He'd asked for a story. Not the truth, just a version of it – if necessary.

"I'll talk to him."

Chin just nodded. After a moment, he took another step towards Steve. "What's going on? I mean . . . what happened here?" That was a little more straightforward.

Steve shut off the faucet and gripped the rim of the sink tightly with both hands. He let his gaze drop, breaking eye contact. "I don't know, Chin," he admitted and sighed heavily. "Danny and I, we questioned him and . . . then Denning took us off the case." He looked back up. "I just forgot he was still down here. I don't know how I could just forget, I just . . ." He left the sentence hanging, not sure how to finish it, and just shrugged.

Chin frowned darkly as he let his gaze drop to the floor. "I got a pretty good idea how," he muttered, almost too softly for Steve to hear. Then he looked back up, surprising Steve with eyes filled with sympathy and understanding, neither of which he felt he deserved.

Because there was no reason, no explanation for how he could just forget.

Aside from the one he kept giving himself when he forgot other things, like eating dinner.

There were more important things on his mind these days.

Shelburne, Joe, Wo Fat.

He'd always thought he could separate that part of his life from the rest. Not fully, not completely, of course not. Wo Fat ordering Hesse to kill his father had been the reason why he had taken Jameson's offer to lead the task force, why he was back in Hawaii in the first place. But aside from that, he had always thought he was managing. On some days better than on others; especially ever since Joe had been back in his life, the lines had started to become blurry. But he was trying. He always made sure the cases came first, kept the memories locked away as much as he could. He was trying. But maybe that wasn't enough anymore.

"It doesn't explain why he's dead."

Chin's voice startled him, making his head snap up. "What?"

"I said it doesn't explain why Dyer's dead."

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. He was fine when we left . . . I think." He had seemed fine, anyway. Right? Suddenly, Steve wasn't so sure anymore. Had he not been all right? Travis had gotten checked out in the ER, bruised ribs and jaw, nothing life-threatening. If it had been, they wouldn't have let him leave the hospital, even if he had wanted to. He had been in police custody, their responsibility.

But he had been fine.

Right?

"Was the door still locked when you got down here?"

"The door?" Steve frowned, confused. The humming in his ear was back.

"Was there any sign that someone else might have been in there with him?"

"I don't think so."

"It's okay. We'll check the security camera footage." Chin stepped closer to him, tentatively reached out one hand and put it on Steve's shoulder. "We'll figure this out." He felt the hand give a firm squeeze, meant to underline the determination in Chin's voice that hadn't been there in the first place.

Steve just dropped his gaze back down to the white, porcelain sink. "What if he's dead because I forgot him in there?"

…

Not half an hour later, the usually quiet basement of the Palace was buzzing with activity. Max was in the interrogation room, conducting a preliminary examination of the body, CSU was taking prints and looking for other evidence of someone else being in the room with Travis.

Travis' father had been escorted outside by two officers after reacting badly to the news of his son's death. He had screamed, cried and then attacked Steve when he had tried to explain what had happened, even though he couldn't. Chin had caught the man's arm before he could swing his fist. Steve had just stood there, making no move to dodge the punch, because the man just had lost his nineteen-year-old son and it might all be his fault. A punch in the face was the least he deserved. And maybe it'd make them both feel better.

The new internal affairs guy – Captain Jack Kershaw – had shown up a few minutes ago. He was talking to Duke now, but kept glancing over to where Steve and Chin were standing a few feet down the corridor from the door to the interrogation room.

"Him being here," Chin said, nodding his head in Kershaw's direction, "it's just standard procedure. Don't worry about it too much."

"I know." Steve didn't really care about Kershaw being there. Maybe it was selfish, but in that moment, all he cared about was finding out whether or not Travis Dyer had died because he had been too distracted to even remember that he had been down here. If Duke and Chin had let him, Steve would be upstairs right now, checking the security camera footage himself. But the two kept telling him that there was a right way to do this, and deep down he knew they were right. But reason wasn't the only thing keeping him down here. He was afraid of what he might see on those tapes.

What if Travis had suffered? For minutes . . . or hours. What if he had called for help, hoping that someone would find him in time? What if he had been sick, needing his medication and knowing he would die if he didn't get it in time?

"Commander McGarrett." Kershaw was suddenly right in front of him, holding out a hand for Steve to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Despite the circumstances."

"Captain." Steve took the hand, not surprised by the man's firm grip. He was tall and muscular, probably in his mid-forties but still youthfully handsome, even in spite of the graying hair. He smiled openly, but there was something in his eyes that made the friendly attitude seem insincere.

"Commander, I was hoping to ask you a few questions about what happened here." He waved a hand towards to door to the interrogation room. "Sergeant Lukela was so kind to explain the situation, but I will just need a few more details from you, if you don't mind?"

Steve was about to answer when a female voice cut in. "I don't know about Commander McGarrett, but I do mind."

A somewhat familiar looking woman came walking down the corridor towards them. Steve was sure he had seen her before but couldn't quite place her. On her way towards them, she threw a quick glance inside the interrogation room before she crossed the rest of the distance, the clicking of her heels echoing loudly in the unfurnished space.

Kershaw's smile became forced as he turned towards her. "Caroline," he said, licking his lips somewhat nervously.

"Jack." She offered him a quick and clearly faked smile.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Kershaw asked, brushing the sides of his suit jacket back to put his hands on his hips, revealing the badge and gun on his belt.

"Same thing you're doing here, Jack. My job."

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Chin asked, taking a step forward.

"Caroline Keahi," she said, smiling tightly but genuinely, first at Chin and then at Steve. "I'm with the Governor's legal department." She shook hands with both of them. "Governor Denning has asked me to represent the State's interests in this matter. Therefore, I would advise you not to answer any more questions at this moment. Not until you and I have had a chance to talk. In private," she added, narrowing her eyes at Kershaw. He just pursed his lips and shook his head.

"I take full responsibility for what happened," Steve said perplexed, not sure what she was implying with the request. He didn't need a lawyer to bend the truth to make it look like he had done nothing wrong. He just wanted to know what happened, and, if necessary, pay the price for what he had done. Even though there was nothing he could do to make this right again.

"That is very honorable of you, Commander, but in your own interest, I advise you not to answer any further questions."

"We don't even know how Travis Dyer died," Chin spoke up, looking angry. "Don't you think it's a little soon to–"

"I was speaking hypothetically, Lieutenant," Keahi interrupted, the tone of her voice remaining polite. "Consider it a precaution if you will. No one is saying that Commander McGarrett is in any way directly responsible for Travis Dyer's death."

"I don't care," Steve said shaking his head while he stared blankly at the floor in front of him. "I don't care if there's an investigation or any of that." He swallowed hard and then looked up at Keahi. "I just wanna know what happened." He turned to face Kershaw. "You have my full cooperation, Captain. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

"Commander McGarrett, I'm afraid you don't realize what's at stake here. This incident could not just end your career, you could actually–"

"Oh cut the crap, Care," Kershaw groaned, sounding frustrated.

"Jack," she warned in a low voice.

"Admit it, you don't give a shit about him or whether or not he's responsible for the kid's death. All you care about is the money, Care." Kershaw smiled at her knowingly. "Always has been."

"Don't you think you're being a little unprofessional, Jack?" Keahi snapped at him before she turned back to Steve and Chin. "I apologize for him, gentlemen."

"You should apologize for yourself." Kershaw shook his head and then also faced Steve. "You wanna know why she wants you to keep your mouth shut? It's not because she's worried that you might incriminate yourself. She doesn't care about you. Hell, she doesn't even do criminal law. All she cares about is saving the Governor a couple million dollars in compensation, because anything you say might give Dyer's parents a basis for a wrongful death claim against the State." Kershaw glanced over to Keahi again, the corner of his mouth quirking up with a barely detectable, victorious smile. "That's what she meant when she said she was representing the State's interests."

Keahi pursed her lips and shook her head. "You're an idiot, Jack."

Kershaw ignored her and turned back to face Steve. "You said you wanted to know what happened, Commander. So do I."

Steve set his jaw tightly. "What do you need?" He wasn't sure if trusting Kershaw was the right choice. But right now, it felt like he was the only one who seemed to be interested in finding answers. Unlike the Governor or Caroline Keahi who, apparently, were already too busy doing damage control to care about what or who had caused Travis' deaths.

Kershaw nodded appreciatively. He turned to Keahi and cleared his throat provocatively. "Will you excuse us, Care?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him and then looked over to Steve. "You're making a mistake, Commander." With that, she turned around and walked over to the interrogation room.

"When was the last time you saw Mr. Dyer?" Kershaw asked eagerly, suddenly holding a pad and a pencil in his hands, ready to take notes.

"Yesterday afternoon when we questioned him."

"We?" Kershaw looked up at Steve with raised eyebrows. "Who was with you?"

"Danny, uhm, Detective Williams. He's my partner." Steve swallowed, and that did something to his ear. The buzzing sound faded back in, not as loud as before but still sharp and distracting.

"Okay, good," Kershaw mumbled absently as he wrote the information down. "Uhm, Sergeant Lukela told me that Mr. Dyer had to be taken to the ER before he was brought in?"

"He resisted arrest and then attacked me." It was the truth. Yet, Steve felt a sharp sting of guilt in his chest. He was accusing a man who could no longer defend himself.

The Captain just nodded. "Dyer was discharged after being examined in the ER, correct?"

"Yes."

"How did he seem to you during the interrogation?"

"He seemed okay."

"Good." Kershaw smiled tightly and nodded again. "What happened then?"

"We left. Governor Denning decided to hand the case over to the DEA and FBI so I sent the rest of the team home." The buzzing grew louder again and Steve absently touched his ear to make it stop somehow.

"You sent the team home? Just like that?"

"It had been a long weekend," Steve said and cleared his throat, feeling a sharp sting of pain in his ear as he did.

"What about Mr. Dyer? Did you intend to leave him down here?"

"What?" he frowned, the accusation throwing him off balance. "No. I– I don't know why I didn't–" Steve had to stop and swallow. He squeezed his eyes shut again as he vainly tried to ignore the sound in his head rising to a shrill wailing again. "I forgot," he ground out through gritted teeth, his eyes now firmly squeezed shut. "I forgot him in there."

"Hey Steve, you okay?" Chin's concerned voice asked from somewhere far away. A warm, strong hand grabbed his left arm, holding on to it tightly, steadying him.

"I'm good." Steve peeled his eyes open again to assure Chin, but regretted the action immediately when he realized that the world had started spinning again.

"Commander?" Kershaw was on his right side suddenly, his hand touching Steve's elbow, strong and supportive. "Commander, are you sure you're okay? Maybe you should sit down."

"No– No, I'm fine." Steve didn't believe his own slurred words. He really should get that ear checked out.

He felt hot all of a sudden, cold at the same time. His hands were getting sweaty, wet, while his mouth was almost unbearably dry.

"Come on, Steve, sit down," Chin urged him, pushing him firmly back against the cold brick wall. It didn't help to stop the spinning, didn't even slow down the motion of the room and everybody in it. The wailing never stopped, only amped up further, dancing on the edge of silence again.

When the nausea built up again, at the back of his throat and deep inside his stomach, he eventually let himself slide down until he was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out in front of him. And still the world kept turning round and round, never slowing, never stopping. It was like he was swimming in an invisible sea with vicious waves rolling and crashing all around him.

"Hey Duke, get Max over here!" Chin yelled on his left. His voice still sounded far away and muffled.

"–open your eyes?"

"–should call for an ambu–"

"–pain?"

The voices blurred together in his head and got drowned out by the constant, shrill wailing in his ear that stubbornly refused to pitch up high enough to finally fade into silence again. He let his head drop back against the wall and it was then when he felt another sharp sting of pain, like someone had stabbed a needle right into his left ear. The wailing stopped abruptly and everything became quiet.

- to be continued -