Chapter Text
John got called into the office on a Tuesday.
He was immediately suspicious - nothing good ever happened on a Tuesday - but he got into his truck and drove the sixty-five miles to Atlanta to hear what Yelena thought she couldn't tell him over the phone.
“You're getting a new co-host,” she announced, face serious, but eyes sparkling in that way that said she knew exactly how he was going to take the news and was going to enjoy the fallout.
“No,” he refused immediately, some unnamed anxiety clawing at his throat. “I can do the show by myself.”
Yelena leaned forward, folding her arms on her desk. “John, we both know that the one who had all the charisma on your show was Lemar.”
John frowned, slightly offended. “I can be charismatic.”
A bark of laughter followed his comment. “You can be unintentionally funny,” Yelena allowed.
“Fuck you,” he said, but there was no heat behind the comment.
Thankfully, Yelena wasn't someone who was easily insulted. “We've already selected your new co-host.”
“I don't even get to choose?” John huffed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “What about chemistry? Or a screen test?”
The corners of Yelena’s mouth curled up, and John was overcome with a sense of foreboding. She slid a piece of paper over her desk silently. John rolled his eyes at the drama of it. She could have easily just told him. Yelena was clearly doing this for effect.
Unfortunately, this was one of the reasons she made an excellent producer.
He took the paper, holding it up closer to his face to squint at the print. Shit, maybe he should look into getting glasses, because it looked like it said that it was a contract offer to James “Bucky” Barnes. He set the paper down. “There must be a mistake.”
Yelena shook her head.
“You got Bucky Barnes to agree to host a TV show with me?” Yelena nodded. “He hates me!”
“He doesn't hate you,” Yelena refuted.
John leaned forward, placing a hand on the desk. Not quite a slam, but close to one. “He said a blind monkey with a crayon could design better floor plans. He doesn't even do floor plans!” John exclaimed.
“That was over three years ago.” Yelena’s shoulders were starting to shake. “You really need to learn to let things go.”
“Last year at the alumni meeting he asked me if I'd finally learned the difference between a P-trap and a Q-trap!” He stabbed a finger into the desk. “Last. Year.”
“And did you?”
“I've known the difference since I was ten!” John exploded. “It's not my fault all he knows how to do is restore old houses in Brooklyn! He has no concept of floor planning or design.”
Yelena lost the battle she'd been having in trying to hold back her laughter, leaning back in her chair, hands over her belly as great guffaws consumed her.
John narrowed his eyes at her. “This isn't funny.”
“Yes, it is,” she gasped.
Anger fading as quickly as it had come, John sat back in his chair. “Why did he even agree to this? He's been out of the game for three years.”
Getting her laughter back under control, Yelena righted herself in her chair. “Because I asked him to.”
“That can't be the only reason.”
“I might have asked Sam for some help in convincing him,” she admitted.
Sam was Bucky’s old partner on their show Brooklyn (re)Builds, which had been popular when it first aired, but unfortunately steadily lost viewership as the program remained staunchly invested in only rehabbing older homes in a specific area. Sam had been the face and voice of the show until he'd decided he wanted to move on to something else, leaving Bucky without his more extroverted partner.
It was a lot of careful detail work, but the wow factor these shows usually thrived off of wasn't really there - at least not in the way audiences tended to demand - and Bucky by himself wasn't enough to carry the program. Viewership slowly declined until the network finally decided to cancel the show after it's fifth season.
However, Bucky and Sam were still considered amazingly knowledgeable and thorough in their work, and well-respected within the community, enough so that they were regularly asked to guest star on other shows. Usually, only Sam every accepted.
“Still, he wouldn't have said ‘yes’ just because you asked.”
Yelena’s expression turned serious. “Look, this doesn't leave this room, but the offer wasn't made just because Lemar had to leave and we were left scrambling for a new co-host for you.”
“He didn't leave like that on purpose,” John censured, standing up for his best friend. “His mom is sick. He needs to be with his family.”
“No one here is upset with Lemar,” Yelena assured him. “But unfortunately, it did leave us in a little bit of a tight spot. I was talking to Sam about it, since he's usually up to do guest appearances, but he's busy right now with another project, so he suggested Bucky.”
John eyed her warily. “Sam knows we don't like each other.” Sam was a good guy, laughed easily and freely, but got down to business when it mattered.
“He thought it would be funny, too.”
Ah, there it was. “And he got Bucky to agree?”
“Apparently Bucky has been ‘moldering around his apartment by himself for too long’ and he ‘needs more social interaction,’ according to Sam.” The amusement was back in Yelena’s voice.
“That makes him sound like a geriatric pit bull,” John muttered.
“He's not far off from it,” Yelena agreed.
John sighed. He hated the fact that Yelena knew him so well. John had a soft spot for hard cases; it was why he did what he did. “When do we start filming?”
Yelena’s lips curled up. “Two weeks from now. A family in Marietta needs some help reconfiguring their home with a new baby on the way.” She started playing with some papers in her desk, and John knew a silent dismissal when he saw one.
“Also, I set up a lunch meeting with you and Bucky for Monday,” she added just before he got to the door. “He's moving down here for the duration of filming.”
“Great,” John muttered and opened the door to leave.
His instincts had been right; nothing good ever happened on a Tuesday.
Lemar didn't stop laughing for a solid five minutes after John told him the news.
“Glad someone's happy about it,” John said sullenly into the phone.
“You have to admit,” Lemar said after catching his breath, “It is pretty funny.”
“No, it’s not,” John argued stubbornly. He balanced a bowl in one of his hands, setting his cellphone down and changing it over to speaker with a tap of the other. Freed from having to juggle both holding his cellphone and stirring a bowl of brownie batter, he carried the bowl with him over to the counter next to where the oven was preheating. “This is going to be a disaster,” he mourned. “We hate each other.”
“No,” Lemar corrected. “You think he doesn’t like you, and your incessant need to be liked has you spiraling.” The merriment in his voice was fading, but not totally gone. “Does Yelena know about your big, fat crush on that man?”
John started to mix more furiously. “I do not have a crush on Bucky Barnes.”
“Yes, you do,” Lemar countered.
Instead of answering his best friend's ridiculous nonsense, John set his bowl down to bring his greased baking pan closer. Metal slid across the quartz counter top.
“Are you baking?” Lemar asked incredulously.
John hesitated a moment. “No.” He winced, knowing how Lemar would read that slight pause.
“You are,” Lemar said, delight coloring his voice. “You only bake when you're conflicted about something.”
“Maybe I just like the science of it,” John said grumpily, dumping the batter into the pan, then tapping the pan against the counter to get it to spread evenly.
“You failed chemistry,” Lemar said with all the authority of a 20-years-long friendship. “And you think baking has too many variables for going wrong.”
“Once it's in the oven, you can't fix it,” John stressed as he opened his own oven's door and shoved the baking pan inside.
Lemar’s voice was infinitely patient. “So you start over and try again.”
John grabbed a bottle of spray cleaner and paper towels to clean up the few drops that had escaped the bowl and not made it into the pan. “I don't know if I have that many more tries left in me.” He winced to himself; he hadn't meant to sound fatalistic.
“It's not in you to quit, John.” There was warmth in Lemar’s voice that spoke of their long years getting through one obstacle after another together.
Emotion threatened to close off John's throat, so he swallowed it down and changed the subject. “How's your mom?”
Lemar must have known what John was doing, but he let John get away with it anyway. “She's doing alright. She was able to sit up for a bit today. Joked around a little.” Lemar paused for a second. “She misses you. You know she considers you one of her own,” he added gently. Prodding without asking the question they both knew he wanted to ask.
It wasn't like Lemar didn't already know the answer anyway.
“I'll make time to come down soon.” John hoped Lemar couldn't hear the emotion in his voice, but knew it was likely a futile wish. “Tell her I miss her too, and that I love her.”
“Will do, though she'd rather hear it from you directly,” Lemar affirmed. “Take care of yourself. Don't stress too much about impressing your celebrity crush.”
The comment earned a bark of laughter from John. “Shut up. Go be with Momma.”
“Love you, little brother.”
“Still not funny, and I love you too.” John disconnected the call before Lemar could offer another smart-ass remark.
He finished cleaning up the slight mess he had left in the kitchen, then settled in to wait for the brownies to bake. John felt calmer after talking to Lemar, in the way that only his best friend since high school managed to make him feel.
Unfortunately, Lemar also knew him very well. When John and Lemar had first been trying to get into the game, Brooklyn (re)Builds had just finished its wildly successful first season. The idea of taking an old, abandoned brownstone and restoring them to their former glory had appealed to a lot of people, as had the handsome duo of Sam Wilson and James “Bucky” Barnes. Sam had the charisma and vision; Bucky had the gruff exterior and expertise.
While they were both good at what they did, and put thought into every piece of their projects, it was Bucky that truly cared about these homes and what they meant both in terms of history, and to the families they housed.
That was what had really come through to John, watching the show and wondering if he and Lemar could really do the same one day. Bucky cared about the architectural historical significance of the homes, wanting to preserve those small pieces of the past, seeming to connect with them on a level only a very few could understand. Together, Sam and Bucky had breathed new life into old homes, letting new and old residents alike experience the charm of Gothic Revival to Queen Anne Style.
It hadn't hurt that they were both extremely attractive.
They'd been a force to be reckoned with, and then Sam had left a few years later, and Bucky had tried to keep the show alive, but it just hadn't worked out in the way these things so often did. By the time John and Lemar were getting renewed for their third season, the network had announced the cancellation of Brooklyn (re)Builds. Since then, John had only met the co-hosts a handful of times, usually at gatherings hosted by the network for alumni and current project hosts.
The first time, however, was for a competition show pitting idealistic newcomers against seasoned renovation pros. John and Lemar had finally achieved their dream of heading a series aimed at helping struggling homeowners make their houses more livable- whether that be by updating electrical to modern standards, replacing failing water tanks, or reconfiguring floor plans. They did it all.
Reviews flooded in about how upbeat and reassuring Lemar was to even the most distraught homeowner, while John was noted as being quieter, but steadfast, seeming to pull miracles out of his ass in terms of giving houses new life and the illusion of extra space. While the heaps of praise from online reviews was amazing, John knew they'd really made it when they were invited to take part in the competition show. He'd had a long talk with Lemar about doing it, what it could mean for their ratings in the next season, and whether or not they were taking on too much, but it really came down to seizing chances as they came.
He'd been excited to say the least, when it was announced that one of the teams on the "pro" side was Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. He'd been looking forward to meeting the powerhouse team that he looked up to and was inspired by. John had thought they'd even have some things in common, and anticipated talking with them about their experiences of coming from a family of contractors, builders, and architects. Albeit Bucky was more aligned with architectural history and careful restoration, while John had grown up under a contractor father who'd learned most of the trade working his way up the ranks. John had followed in his footsteps.
Though, he had managed to snag some college credits in interior design as well, while working long construction hours. John had thought their team well-poised to, if not win the competition, then come pretty damn close to it. Mostly, however, he was excited to meet the man who had inspired him to really give it his all, despite maybe not being completely within the same scope of projects.
And then he'd actually met the other man.
Lemar had laughed at him beforehand, saying that he was sure Bucky would like him just fine. John cared about his projects, put his whole heart into them, giving people not just what they needed, but also what they wanted- a place to live and grow. Surely Bucky and Sam would see that.
John had circled the room nervously with Lemar at his side, searching for the older men while trying not to look like was he doing so, his best friend chuckling at his obvious anxiety by his side. At first, John hadn't spotted either man, and his hope started to swindle that they had attended the meet and greet for the show before filming began next week.
Then Lemar had tapped his arm and pointed over his shoulder at two men standing slightly apart from the crowd, having what at a distance might be called a quiet, but heated discussion. John swallowed around the sudden resurgence of his nervousness. Sam wore a button down shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled up, hem tucked neatly into charcoal gray slacks. He looked good- formal enough for the event, but approachable.
Bucky, however, looked like every wet dream John had ever had about another man since realizing he was not, in fact, staunchly heterosexual. He wore a leather jacket over a dark, heathered blue shirt, and black jeans tucked into boots. There was a reason his fan base called him the 'bad boy of home renovation.'
"You gonna go introduce yourself to him or what?" Lemar asked, amusement evident in his tone.
John opened his suddenly dry mouth in order to speak. "Yeah, uh," he desperately tried to draw moisture up to wet his tongue. "Maybe I'll get a drink first." He started to turn away, but Lemar caught him by his elbow.
"Oh, no. You're not getting out of it that easy." He started to drag John through the crowd and towards the two men.
"Lemar," John hissed as he was dragged inexorably closer. "I can't!" He leaned back slightly to try and slow their progess, but Lemar liked to weight lift when they weren't filming, and he made sure to never skip leg day, so it was a bit of a futile effort. Eventually, they got close enough to notice, and John tried to preserve some of his dignity by walking the last few steps under his own power.
Sam noticed them first, looking politely curious. Bucky, alerted by the shift in Sam's attention, turned to look at them as well, though his expression was colder.
John's mouth took over for him. "Hi, uh, I'm John Walker." He gestured to his side. "This is Lemar Hoskins." Lemar gave a small wave. "We're the hosts for American Hometown Heroes. I - we - just wanted to say we're huge fans of your show."
Sam gave him a small smile. "Thanks. It's a pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand to shake, then elbowed Bucky in the side.
Instead of returning the greeting, Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. "You're the idiot that ruined that gorgeous Colonial Revival on national television."
"Bucky!" Sam hissed.
Immediately, John went on the defensive. He knew what project Bucky was talking about, and he'd been proud of that house once it had been finished. "The layout wasn't working for the family that lived there," he explained, trying to remain genial.
"You took out a beautifully molded arched doorway, and got rid of the separate formal sitting room and the grand entryway, just to make an open concept floor plan." Distaste coated his tone.
John fisted his hands at his sides, and reminded himself he could not start a fistfight before filming had even begun. "The kitchen was too small, and the family had no use for a large entryway or a formal sitting room."
Bucky scoffed. "Then they shouldn't have moved into the house to begin with, if they weren't planning to upkeep it."
"That house had been in the family for two generations," John explained through gritted teeth. "It just wasn't working for a modern family of five."
"Then they should have learned to live with it."
Okay, that was it. The unbelievable arrogance of this asshole to assume he knew better than the family that lived there every day was incredibly arrogant. "Just because you're stuck in the 1890s doesn't mean everyone else is," he spit out.
The look of incandescent rage on Bucky's face was beautiful, and John felt smug satisfaction settle over him.
"Okay," Sam decided to interject at this point. "Obviously someone hasn't had their nap yet today." He got in between the two men, guiding Bucky back by his shoulders. Lemar, for his part, put a hand on John's shoulder. The physical reminder that his best friend was there helped to ground John, and his upset at Bucky's criticism began to recede.
"Don't patronize me Sam." Bucky's face was scrunched in anger.
"Then learn when to cool it." Sam's tone was sharp. He turned to give John and Lemar an apologetic look. "Sorry about him." Sam truly did look apologetic, but it wasn't on him to be the one to say it.
Still, John knew it was probably as good as they were going to get, and they needed the filming to go well. He gave a nod. Next to him, Lemar held out his hand to Sam. "Not on you," he said, echoing John's thoughts. "But appreciate your saying so all the same." They shook hands with Sam, then parted ways.
"Well, that could have gone better," Lemar said once they were a little further away.
"Yeah," John agreed. "I guess it's true what they say about never meeting your heroes." The disappointment was evident in his voice.
Lemar clapped him on the shoulder. "You're a good man, John Walker. That family was grateful."
"Hey," John replied, bumping him with his shoulder. "You helped too."
"You're the one with the vision. I'm just there to smooth the way and offer an extra set of hands."
John frowned. They'd had this argument many times. "There's no 'just'. You could have done this all by yourself. You didn't need me."
"Maybe," Lemar grinned. "But I like having you around."
The phrase had the well-worn edges of a long friendship. "I like being around." He took a deep breath. "Alright, let's get through tonight, then kick ass in that stupid competition, and show that jerk just how wrong he is about us."
They'd ended up coming in third place, right behind Sam and Bucky, while another show's hosts won the entire thing. Not bad for two guys that had just completed their freshman season, and it certainly showed they had the knowledge and skills to keep going.
So put that in your pipe and smoke it, John had thought viciously after the results had been announced.
His next call was to Olivia.
"I made brownies," he said when she picked up.
"Oh, John," she sighed into the receiver. "That bad?"
Olivia had stuck with him in a dark time. Not only did she know him even better than Lemar did, he owed it to her to be truthful. "They're replacing Lemar for the next season."
"You knew it was a possibility."
"I know. I was just hoping they'd let me run the show myself until Lemar could come back."
Her laugh was low and sweet. "I think we all know that's a bad idea."
"Hey," he said, feigning offense. "I could do it. I'll just keep doing what I've always done. It's worked so far."
"Stumbling over your words and then getting drawn into tangents about the pros and cons of gas versus electric stove tops?" There was fondness in her tone, still there despite all the things he'd put her through. It wasn't his fault, she'd said. Not only. They'd gotten married too young, thought love was enough when it really wasn't, and hadn't known how to handle the harsh realities of becoming both a public figure as well as a parent.
They'd had a baby at probably the worst time to try and reconnect. It hadn't worked, but John didn't regret any of it. Neither did Olivia, she had said time and again. They'd been divorced for nearly three years now, their son was turning four soon, and they were the most solid they'd ever been.
"I could have made it work." There was a quiet regret in there that said he wasn't speaking only of the show.
"No," Olivia replied fondly. "You couldn't have." Both of them were silent for a moment. "So, who'd they get to fill in?"
John hesitated to answer. "Bucky Barnes." This time, Olivia's laugh was bright and clear. "Glad you find it funny too," John grumbled. "Maybe you and Lemar can get together over it some time."
"John." The censure in her voice was over-ridden by her laughter.
He grinned to himself. "Had to try." He'd been trying for the last year, subtle hints that he wouldn't mind, but neither of them had taken him up on it so far.
"No, you didn't, but I'm too amused to yell at you this time."
"Thanks for your graciousness."
"You're welcome," Olivia replied regally. "So, what did Lemar say?"
John sighed. "To not stress too much."
"And what are you doing?"
He grimaced. "Stressing too much."
"Mm-hm." There was a beat of silence. "Wanna get cheeseburgers and milkshakes at the diner with Daniel and me?"
"God, I thought you'd never ask," he said all in a rush, relieved.
"See you in… let's say an hour?"
He nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "Sounds good. See you then."
"See you soon."
They hung up, and John carefully packed away the brownies before grabbing a quick shower. He put most of brownies in a Tupperware container, figuring he could hand them off to Olivia to give to Daniel later as a treat. Daniel loved brownies, but since they'd be having milkshakes for dinner, it was best to hide them for now so he didn't try to weasel more sugar out of either of his parents.
John pulled up to the diner about an hour later. Olivia's car wasn't anywhere in sight, but that was alright. He texted her that he'd get them a booth and went in, greeting Carla and taking their usual seat. John, Olivia, and Lemar had been coming to this same diner since they were in high school, laughing and chatting over homework and classes. As they'd gotten older, it'd become their comfort place, where they could go to unwind and reconnect.
Olivia arrived a few minutes later, and John stood so he could scoop his son into a tight hug. "Daddy!"
"Hey kiddo." John inhaled the scent of him, the kid-scent of a child that knew they were loved and secure doing more to relax him than anything else had that day. He looked over Daniel's shoulder to see Olivia smiling at him. "Hey, Liv."
"Hi, John." She leaned around their son to give him a one-armed hug. "How are you?"
He set Daniel down, but kept a hand on his son's curly head. "Better now. Thanks."
"You're welcome." She slid into a seat, and John went to grab a booster seat for Daniel. "You wanna sit next me or Mommy?" he asked when he brought it back to the table.
"You!" John grinned at the answer. He didn't get to see Daniel as often as he liked, so impromptu visits like this were a treat.
They ordered soon after they were settled. John and Olivia got the same thing they always did when they came to the diner, and Daniel decided he wanted chicken fingers with his vanilla shake this time.
"I still don't know how you can eat a chocolate milkshake with a cheeseburger." She shook her head in mock disgust.
"It's delicious," he said, taking a big slurp to prove his point. "And your son likes to dip his chicken fingers in his milkshake." He pointed to Daniel, who was doing just that.
Olivia wrinkled her nose. "I blame you for that one, too."
"It's good," Daniel said. "Mommy, you should try it." He held out a piece of chicken he's been gnawing on.
"No, thank you, baby."
"You dip your fries in your shake," John pointed out unhelpfully.
"Yeah!" Daniel chimed in.
Olivia leveled John with a look that said she would have thrown a fry at him if their son wasn't at the table. "That's salty and sweet. It's a classic combination."
"Chicken is salty," Daniel pointed out.
"Yeah," John agreed with a straight face. "Chicken is salty."
Reluctantly, Olivia took the nibble-upon chicken and delicately dunked it into her drink, making a face after she took a bite. "Nope, not for me." She handed the rest of the piece back to Daniel. "Do want the rest of this?"
Daniel shook his. "'M full."
"Alright." She set it down on his plate, and moved the entire thing to her side of the table.
John flipped over his place mat and handed him some crayons. "You mind drawing quietly while your mom and I talk for a little bit?"
"I'll draw you a picture!"
"Sounds great, buddy."
Daniel thus occupied for at least a few minutes, John looked over the table to Olivia and sighed. "I don't know what to do."
She considered him for a moment. "What about this scares you the most?"
"Daddy's not scared of anything," Daniel mumbled in protest, still mostly absorbed in his drawing.
"Sometimes Daddy gets scared of things," John corrected gently. If there was one thing he'd learned from his own upbringing, it was that denying an emotion existed didn't make it go away. It was better to acknowledge it and learn to deal with the feeling appropriately. "And… I guess I just don't know why he agreed to this. He doesn't even like me."
"Hmm… Maybe it's not about you," Olivia offered.
John cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"
"Maybe this is an opportunity for Bucky as well."
John fidgeted with his fingers, tracing the spot where he'd once worn a wedding ring. "Yelena said something similar at the meeting earlier today."
"What did she say?"
"That she'd been talking with Sam. Something about Bucky needing to get out more."
Olivia nodded. "So maybe this is less about you and more about them using the opportunity to help a friend."
John mulled it over for a moment. "Maybe…"
"Don't worry too much about it." She leaned her elbows on the table, peering closer at what Daniel was drawing. "If he agreed, it must mean he is willing to play nice."
John let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, tension seeping out of him with it. "Yeah, you're right."