Marvel Oneshots

Black Coffee (Daniel Sousa)

Summary: Reader's working at a coffee house, and they see plenty of people come in looking exhausted and searching for some caffeine to help. When a new face comes into the coffee shop, he manages to break the all-time record for the person closest to being an absolute zombie. Daniel Sousa's been working day and night on a case for the SSR, and he's in danger of falling asleep if he so much as stops moving. But, if he can make it through to the end of the case, it might just turn out to be worth it in more ways than one.

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"Alright, that'll be twenty cents, and Margie will have your coffee over there," I said, giving the man in front of me a big smile as I took his change. He nodded and moved to the side, and I turned my attention to the man behind him.

"I'll take the biggest possible cup of your strongest coffee."

The poor guy ordering looked absolutely exhausted. His suit was rumpled and his tie undone, and I could see dark bags under his eyes. His brown hair looked like someone had run their hands through it to mess it up, and his whole posture slumped like he could barely stay standing.

"Sure thing," I said, turning to pass the order along to my coworker. "You doing okay, mister?"

"Fine," he said, waving me off as he moved for his wallet. "Long day at work."

"...it's nine in the morning."

He looked up at me, seeming honestly surprised at the time. I met his warm brown eyes and tried to convey some support and sympathy, but I wasn't sure he was awake enough to get the message.

"Well, then I guess it's been a long night."

I just nodded, taking the twenty cents he tiredly offered me. I expected him to walk away, but he just kept standing in front of me, looking lost.

"Uh, you can get your coffee just over there. To your left," I said, gently gesturing to where Margie stood at the end of the counter. The guy slowly turned to look in that direction, stared for a few more seconds, then nodded faintly and staggered off.

I had no idea what his job was, but I hoped he got some sleep soon.

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He didn't get sleep soon. The next few days must have been nothing but work and more stress, based on how often he came back to my coffee house and how exhausted he looked every time I saw him.

After the third or fourth day in a row, I planned on asking his name, but he beat me to the punch. He was so tired by day five he accidentally handed me his ID instead of the 20 cents for coffee. Apparently, his name was Daniel Sousa, and he was an agent of the SSR.

That explained the long nights and weird hours, I guess.

By the sixth day, I'd gotten used to his daily stops through the coffee shop. He came in at nine am, somehow looking more exhausted than the day before (although that shouldn't have been possible), and shuffled to a stop at the back of the line. Today was no different.

"Hey, Margie, can you take the till?" I asked, turning to where my coworker stood behind me.

"Sure thing, Y/N."

"Thanks."

I walked off the till and made Daniel's order, which hadn't changed since his first appearance at the coffee house. I tried to catch his eye and wave him over, but he was zoned out staring at the wall behind me and didn't notice, even when I waved as big as I could a few different times. I couldn't help smiling, even as I shook my head and walked around to the customer side of the counter.