Work Text:
Pittsburgh wasn’t known for a lot of things, honestly. Sure, the city had a vast history and solid sports teams. And sure, it wasn't a bad city — it had established itself throughout the years but it also was not remarkable in any way that mattered for people to truly care about it. But if it had to be known for exactly one reason, really, it definitely would be as the birthplace and hometown of one Jack Abbot. Jack Abbot, chart-topper and face of 90s pop rock. Jack Abbot, Rock & Roll Hall of Famer.
Jack Abbot, who had been born in the quiet suburbs of Pittsburgh that had eventually become part of the city itself. Who had grown up under the oaks of the nearby forests, the quiet lulls of the Ohio, Monongahela and Allegheny. Who had been discovered there at barely 18, at a local performance with his band consisting of his childhood friends, signed not soon after and then rushed out of his hometown that was his anchor up until then.
The first few years were hard. Away from his family, away from the familiar. Los Angeles. New York. Nashville. New Orleans. Austin. Ushered from studio to studio, meeting people he'd never expected to when living in Pittsburgh. It had merely been a hobby, back then. London, Paris, Berlin, Tokyo. To see, to hear, to learn. Writing, singing, playing, trying to make music, get his big break into the mainstream.
And then it happened; 'Can’t Stop This Feeling' at 21 in 1996. Surprisingly mature and raw fpr his age, the critis had said. Catchy, nontheless. Catapulted him straight into the charts, and not just the domestic ones. The album became an instant hit overseas, too. And with that came the tours. Athens, Toronto, Rome, Munich, Sydney, to sing, to perform, to entertain.
And since then, he spent most of his life performing on stages all over the world, sleeping in luxurious but cold hotel rooms, singing with legends he'd listened to back in his childhood bedroom in Pittsburgh.
He loved performing. He loved writing. He loved music. So much that he kept going, kept touring at almost 50 and with a limb lost to an accident on the road of a tour. So much, that it had been the only thing that could make him get out of bed after his wife had died.
But none of the cities he'd seen could ever replace Pittsburgh for him. Even rockstars needed breaks from entertaining, needed roots, needed a place to unwind away from preying eyes. And that was exactly what Pittsburgh was to him, despite all the time he spent away from it. Always made sure to find time to come home between flying across the globe, even if just for one day to kiss his mother on the cheek and hug his nieces and nephews tight before another scheduled concert.
He owed lot to Pittsburgh, really. His childhood had been peaceful, surrounded by the nature and loving parents who'd encouraged him to follow the intrigued that music posed for him. He had met his late wife, Annabeth, during one of his breaks between tour stops. Got to keep his life, thanks to the doctors at the PTMC.
The PTMC, under the careful guide of his childhood friend Michael Robinavitch, who along with his team had done everything they could after that horrific accident. The same Michael Robinavitch whose name was flashing on the screen of Jack's phone, the melodic ringtone he had carefully chosen filling the air just as he had been pulling into the driveway of the townhouse he kept in Pittsburgh.
He let it ring, figuring that he could Robby back once he'd parked. If Robby had found the time to call him, he surely would have time to wait.
So his fingers swipe open the phone once his trusty Subaru Forester had been put into park, the ignition turned off.
It rung once, twice. Robby picked up on the tenth, not that Jack had been counting.
"Mike? What's up, brother?" Robby didn't call often. Preferred to text, considering both of their schedules. Made it easier to keep up with everything on his pace, really.
"I heard you're back in the city," came the fast reply and Jack didn't have to see Robby to know that he'd have his eyebrow raised. But of course his sisters had told him.
"Yeah, man. It's been a while." It had. Six months, this time. But hopefully he wouldn't have to leave anytime soon again. Not if he had a say in it, anyway. "You want to grab a drink?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
And that's how Jack Abbot and Michael Robinavitch find themselves in the back of a bar in Freeport, both nursing beers that had long gone warm.
"… so that's why I 'look like shit', as you'd so eloquently put it," came Robby's finishing remark after an elaborate but short ramble on further PTMC budget cuts. Cuts that had just lifted the past year, enough for him to hire another attending for Emergency Medicine.
And because Jack Abbot loved performing, loved his friend and most of all loved Pittsburgh, he found himself saying, "I have an idea."
Samira Mohan hadn’t been born in Pittsburgh. For her, it was only supposed to be a temporary step — a crucial step to be taken in order for where she had wanted to be later in life. But somewhere between the years of her residency, it had managed to become a place she enjoyed being at. It still wasn't home, but she'd given up on that notion long before she'd moved here for her residency following getting her degree from Hopkins.
It was nice enough for her to have done her fellowship at Presby, before accepting Robby's begging offer to become the newest junior attending at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center's Department for Emergency Medicine (which, to be fair, had been quite adequate). Enough for her to go out on Fridays with the friends she'd reluctantly made.
She enjoyed her life in Pittsburgh now. Work had been going well, definitely better than during her residency. Her papers were being reviewed, then published. A sense of accomplishment had finally found her, filling her with the closest thing to 'belonging' and 'calm' she had had in a while.
So when Gloria and Robby told her about the new budget cuts, cuts that would certainly affect patient care and satisfaction and their ability to teach med students, she took a deep breath. Felt the stability that had been so carefully constructed fall, apart, brick by brick, excusing herself to go up to the roof to let the skyline of Pittsburgh and the fresh air that did not smell of blood and antiseptic fill her senses before putting on a brave smile and heading back to the Pitt.
And when Gloria had sent an email two weeks later, with 'great news', she could not help but feel suspiscious.
She'd been in emergency medicine long enough to know that it was severely and chronically underestimated, underappreciated and underfunded. The annual hospital fundraising gala, where she had been required to sweet-talk donors for money even as a senior resident that never truly amounted for significant improvements if it weren't for one mysterious donor that always made sure they could stay afloat, was proof of that.
So she found herself at the hub the same day during hand-off, next to Robby. Her eyebrow was raised in question, words unspoken as the budget cuts were not official knowledge throughout the department yet and they certainly did not need Princess and Perlah to know.
"You'll see," was all she got out of him, before he excused himself to clock out, suggesting her to do the same, to which she only replied with a scoff.
So when she heard that Jack Abbot, who had not actively performed entire concerts since last year, would perform at PPG Paint Arena to raise funds for local hospitals and would match every dollar donated himself through the radio of her car, she almost hit the car in front of her.
Samira had never been a big music person. But even she knew Jack Abbot, had heard his work and seen his ruggedly handsome face more than once in Pittsburgh. Knew of the mark he'd left on the music industry, a fraction of which she could only hope to leave on the medical community herself.
"Absolutely not."
Trinity Santos rolled her eyes.
"C'mon, Jack. You're doing this concert. You might as well do it right," she reiterated.
He just ran a hand across his face, knowing that arguing with her would make no sense. Damn him and his decision to cave when his label had talked him into "furthering his presence online" in 2020, obviously never having heard the common knowledge that one couldn't teach an old dog new tricks. That's how Trinity had ended up here. Trinity Santos, not even 30 and tasked with making Jack more accessible and palatable for the youth.
A thought he had just wanted to scoff at, still did. He'd turned 50. Most of his core audience was part of his age group. But that's not what management had thought. They told him about his peers going 'viral ' on social media plattforms, with songs that had come out decades ago. Hell, he had even seen it from his nieces, who had made it their task to educate him on current trends so he could 'stay relevant'.
He was 50. Spent the last three decades in the business. Did some writing on the side for newer artists that had earned him multiple awards and hits. He was very much 'relevant', still, thank you very much. Should feel selfish, really, for just how much. But music had always been here for him, so while he did not actively perform and regularly release his own music anymore, choosing to at least make space for he up-and-comers, he was very much still relevant in the industry. Damn whatever his nieces, Trinity and his label would say. He had more money than he needed, was in a relatively good space mentally again. He did not need to go 'viral' from a concert that was supposed to be for charity anway. Preferred to be philanthropic in silence, in general.
He had no idea what slipped into his mind that night when talking to Robby, really. Sure, he missed performing, and he certainly wanted to help the hospital, but it had been years that he'd played in Pittsburgh. Maybe the girls were right — maybe he was not relevant enough anymore to spit out this idea and make a claim to an arena that would hold almost twenty-thousand people.
But then the event had sold out.
Which was the reason he'd found himself in the office he still had above his studio in the city, sitting face to face with Trinity Santos, who had been tasked with marketing the show.
"I'm just saying," she started again. "It's what all the cool artists are doing right now. A new level of fan-artist engagement really. Do you want to see the metrics? I do have the engagement numbers."
He just sighed. "No, that's fine. Take me through it again."
"So, before you start singing 'So Happy it Hurts', the spotlight will go through the crowd. You'll choose someone, invite them up on stage. Dance a little, let them sing. Whatever you want."
He raised an eyebrow. "You want me to invite someone up and serenade them?"
His response came in the form of a beaming Trinity, nodding — happy that he seemed to have finally understood.
"What the hell, sure."
Robby had wanted Jack to meet his team ahead of the concert, to know the faces of the people he would be helping.
That was how he first saw her. She introduced herself as "Samira Mohan", soft and humble and warm. New attending at the Pitt, joined after Robby and Emery had to amputate his legs ten years ago. He'd heard Robby mention her in passing, he believed. The resident he had lost to Presby a few years back, which he had heavily regretted. Back then, all Jack could do was shrug. Now that he had a face to attached to the name, he thought that he would never want to let her go.
Samira Mohan, whose golden skin, dark curls and pink lips almost rendered him speechless when he had introduced himself to every single one of the staff of the EM. Whose dark eyes shone with a nuance of wamrth he rarely saw in people anymore.
Samira Mohan, whom the flashlight chose for him ahead of So Happy it Hurts.
And god, she'd never been so thankful to have dressed appropriately. She'd gotten ready with Javadi and Mel. It wasn't everyday that one met someone famous, especially a Hall of Famer. And it certainly wasn't often that they could enjoy concerts, so they'd decided to go all out. It barely helped with the nervous smile she flashed Jack as she'd grabbed his hand, letting him lead her on stage amidst thousands of pairs of eyes.
She saved lives on the regular, but being on stage in front of a sea of people was another beast entirely. She felt him squeeze her hand, her gaze wandering to meet his hazel eyes that seemed so warm and kind and encouraging. So she danced with him, let him twirl her around. Clapped along everyone else in the audience once the song finished, marking the end of the show, a standing ovation he deserved for the show he'd put on.
He bid the crowd goodbye, thanking him for their attendance again. Waved until the lights turned off, removing his mic before turning to Samira again and guiding her off stage, his hand respectfully placed on her back.
"What do you think about dinner?" A light sheen of sweat covered both of them, gleaming under the now muted lights. She took his breath away. His eyes sparkled, making her heart stumble in her chest.
"I'd love that."