I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.

Notes: well, this is different for me, isn't it? I'd say 'trust me' but I'm not quite sure where this is going. At minimum, assume established relationship, much sweetness, and ... well ... ? more is TBD.

New note added October 2017: I wrote this story well prior to Season 8 and the latest H50 spoiler for what seems to be a similar episode featuring a baddie with a multiple personality disorder. My story here is not meant to be a related spoiler or re-write or "what if", etc.

In fact, my story did come first and before any such knowledge. It's a pure coincidence of subject matter as it relates to having a character suffering from a multiple personality disorder - and that episode (at least from my written perspective here) is (going to be or likely will be) completely unrelated to this work. Come to think of it, maybe they got the idea here - LOL!

H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O

He stood outside in the rain, broken slippah in hand, the other still on his foot. Despite the rain, the sun peeked between the clouds to sear his shoulders through his thin t-shirt. The shower was doing nothing for the humidity at all; except making it worse and it had already been unbearable. Shoulders hunched against a never-ending migraine and a body wracked with pain, he stared through the window of the small diner, watching people order their meals, get served their food … eat.

His stomach rumbled and he thought he should walk away. But he stood there, taunting himself, his fingers idly rubbing over the broken end of the slippah, loathe to move. He glanced down at the rough end of the fabric in his hand. He should throw the damaged slippah ... no? No ... flip-flop came to mind. He blinked at it, confused. No matter its name ... it was broken. He should throw it away. Both really if one was ruined. He'd found them anyway. Discarded in the trash, already frayed and old. One was better than none though; and the other should have its mate. So until he could find another pair, he'd make do and keep the two.

"Hey?" The soft query came from off to his right side and he startled, ready to run, head throbbing from a surge of adrenalin.

"I'm not doing anything," he replied with more courage than he felt. Especially when he turned and saw the size of the tall, dark-haired man who'd merely uttered one quizzical word. Weak, tired and hurting, he'd never stand a chance if things got ugly and he backed away automatically, giving himself a semblance of space.

"I didn't say you were," the man answered. He held his hand up, beseechingly before compounding it with softer words. "You look … I was just…," he paused awkwardly. "I was just going to ask you if you were hungry. That's all. My treat … on me."

His stomach growled before he had a chance to verbally reply, completely negating the shake of his head and the dark-haired man smiled, apparently amused. "Why would you do that?" He asked while backing up another step, then two more. "Give me money …. for food."

He didn't trust the situation. He wasn't sure of this man. Especially when he obviously didn't need to be standing in the light downpour, getting wet such as he was. No one did that. No one was that … kind. There was a pause in their short conversation as each decided what to do next. The man's dark hair sparkled with water. His t-shirt was soaked through across his broad shoulders and much of his back. Still, the man's hand was up again, trying to forestall him from leaving. No doubt, the man sensed how jittery he was, certain to flee at the drop of a hat.

"You look hungry and I … uh," the man paused as if searching for the right thing to say. The right thing which would make him say yes. Something which he was desperate to do anyway as two people left the diner, sending an enticing odor of bacon and hamburger wafting through the air. He swallowed hard, his mouth fairly watering while his head pounded in time to the tick of his heart.

"I was just going in to have lunch," the dark haired man explained. "So, I thought … I just want to do something nice for someone today … maybe make a new friend. So what do you say? My treat … you can pay it forward."

He snorted though his nose at the last sentence. Pay it forward? That was quite the joke! Well, he might when he could … maybe at some point. If he ever could. Based on his current set of abysmal circumstances though, that effort would be a long time coming.

"Please. Just say yes," the man suddenly added, his expression was earnest. Perhaps more hopeful than it should have been and yet, as his stomach rumbled again, he found himself relenting until he realized what he looked like.

"I'm wet; I don't have shoes," he murmured in embarrassment, showing the dark haired man the ruined slippah. He looked at his hands covered in dirt and bruises. He looked like he'd been in a brawl and for all he knew, he might have. Regardless of whatever had happened to him, he'd apparently come out on the losing end. Big time.

"Trust me, it's not a problem," the man said, shrugging it off as he gestured towards the diner's front door. "Half the people here come in off the beach … kids; surfers for a quick bite. It's not a problem … really."

He found himself nodding then, still embarrassed. Definitely self-conscious as he tried to pat his hair into place. He used the reflection of the glass door to finger comb the wet blond strands into some kind of order, insisting that he follow in the dark haired man's footsteps. Still ready to leave if it might be a trap or trick of some kind.

It was blessedly cool in the diner and as promised, no one said a word about his clothes or the way he looked. Not a soul even bothered to look his way.

The dark haired man chose a table near the door, allowing him the choice of where to sit and he made the obvious one, still considering his options for escape should the need arise.

"Get whatever you want," the dark hair man said as they each settled down. "I haven't eaten all day myself; I hear the burgers here are the best on the island."

He nodded, unsure of what to say, working hard at just taking the situation at face value. Trying not to drool all over the table as the empty ache in his belly intensified now that he was surrounded by the prospect of really eating.

"Thanks," he said after they placed their orders, glancing up to catch the rich hazel of the man's eyes when they ordered the same thing. He was taken in by those eyes, recovering neatly even though something seemed to prompt an odd sense of déjà vu.

He'd met this man before.

While part of him was sure of that fact, another screamed at him to be careful. He considered his gut instincts and then the war inside his brain. Slowly, his brain convinced him that his gut was wrong; it was merely hungry. There was no way he knew this man at all.

So, no. This chance meeting meant nothing. He'd only accepted this offer out of desperation for one square meal. This was nothing more than a nice guy doing a nice thing. That's all this was. Nothing more.

"So," the man asked conversationally as he poked his straw though the ice in his drink. "What's your name then?"

He looked away to stare at his fingers. He knew the question would come up and he'd rehearsed the answer. No matter how many times he said it though, it still felt as wrong as it was. The thing was, he didn't know what the right answer should be.

"Charlie," he said, without meeting the dark haired man's eyes.

"Charlie?" The dark haired man breathed out so oddly that he had to glance up again. Their eyes met and this time held. He felt a pang of something inside his chest then. A belief that this man not only knew he was lying … he knew him. Suddenly everything felt wrong and he shook his head, starting to slide out of the booth, now sure he'd made an error in judgment.

"I need to go," he started to say. "Thanks, you seem nice ... but ... I shouldn't take advantage ..."

"No! No, please …," the man whispered sharply, interrupting. "You're not taking advantage. Stay!" His eyes were full of emotion as his hand shot out and gripped Charlie's wrist, holding on tightly as he tugged back downwards. "I mean, the food's almost here … Charlie."

Almost reluctantly, the man forced himself to release his wrist, digit by digit. "Please stay and have something to eat. It'll just get thrown out ... if you leave now."

The food arrived on the heels of the dark haired man's pleas - as if proving his point - and though he was on edge and undeniably nervous, he gave in. Or rather, his stomach gave in with another loud grumble of its own growing desperation.

~ to be continued ~