Chapter Text
Maverick is tired of explaining why a guy like him is working as a barista in a coffee shop. He's tired of customers come in and look right through him into the kitchen as if to see if there's anyone else on duty, because sure as hell a guy like him can't be serving them coffee. Maverick admits he sort of looks like the kind of a guy who spits in their pretentious decaf lattes, but even if he does wear a look that radiates both boredom and hostility, he can do customer service. And most of the time he does. Maybe he doesn't make the best coffees in town or even in the block and he can't do fancy pictures with foaming milk (he's practicing hard, though!), but he owes Ramona enough not to undermine her business with acting like a jerk and so he feigns smiles and a sunny disposition very unbecoming of him.
Except when the customer is Benny.
Because Benny will keep showing up, no matter how many times Maverick frowns instead of smiling or says 'fuck off' instead of 'hello' or gets him decaf or skim or even some 'disgusting' macchiato instead of the simple 'coffee with milk no sugar'. Benny will show up and get his (usually wrong) coffee and sit in the corner table waiting for Jerry to show up and it's fucking disgusting how his face lights up whenever Jerry does. Like a demented puppy dog he fucking wags his hand (equivalent of a tail in this case) at Jerry and when they sit together Benny is like a schoolgirl with a hopelessly obvious crush.
But after Jerry starts showing up with Cotton Benny's face starts going so dark and gloomy it's like he has his own little raincloud on top of him in the corner, and Maverick almost considers getting some curdled milk for his next coffee because holy shit that would fit a sourpuss like Benny so well.
That's one of the things Maverick actually likes about being a barista: he can watch all the drama unfold from behind the counter; see the intricacies and ridiculousness of human relationships spread in front of him like a primetime soap opera on TV.
That, and he guesses it's a thousand times better than what he did before.
"You are such a shitty barista, why do you even work here?" Benny asks him, watching intently as Maverick gets him his coffee, as if making sure he does it right this time.
Maverick gives the bottle of curdled milk in the fridge a longing, wistful look (he keeps one around just waiting for the day when he just doesn't give a shit anymore), but gets Benny his coffee with milk no sugar and one of their fresh sandwiches and rings them both in.
"Four fifty-nine, and if I'm such a shitty barista, why do you even come here?" Maverick responds with an unfriendly scowl.
Benny hands him the money and scowls as well. "Why do you keep countering my questions?"
"Why do you?" Maverick retorts, handing Benny the change. He glances at the door, hoping for more customers so that Benny would fuck off the counter, but the shop is vacant, like it usually is when it's not yet lunch hour. "Seriously, if you don't like my fucking service there are a handful of other places down the street, why don't you go get your shitty coffees there?"
Benny takes the coffee and the sandwich and gives Maverick one of his usual unimpressed, borderline angry looks, but doesn't say anything as he backs off the counter and heads for his usual table in the corner. Maverick grins complacently, leaning a bit over the counter. Because Jerry comes here, he thinks and hopes Benny turns around and sees him grin because that is going to annoy him even more.