"Never been? You've i never been /i ?" The Doctor blinked across at her in evident astonishment.
"Doctor, 's not like I spent a lot of time travelling before I met you," Rose pointed out.
"Here I am, taking you all over the universe, and I've neglected to take you to JazzFest. Got to rectify that." His hands flew over the TARDIS controls as he half-skipped around them.
"What is it, exactly?"
"What is it?" he yelped. "You don't even know what it is? It's a concert. But better than a concert. It's a lot of concerts. Endless concerts for days on end. Superb music. Here, listen to this." His hand flitted over another lever, filling the TARDIS control room with music.
"What's this supposed to be?"
"G. Love & Special Sauce."
"The what now?" she asked, amused.
"We didn't get to see Ian Drury. We didn't get to see Elvis Presley." He turned to her, grinning, and leaned against the console, crossing his arms. "But we will see G. Love & Special Sauce."
"Just my luck," she smiled at him.
"You'll love them. Oh, and the food! Wait until you experience the food! Best food, well, in the galaxy, really. Better put some sun crème on, though. You'll burn. Oh, and you need to be wearing less clothing."
"Do I, now?"
He didn't catch the bit of flirtation. "It's hot in New Orleans," he replied
She shook her head. "You're thick," she told him, ruffling his hair before she walked out of the control room.
"Oi! What was that for?" he called after her.
Rose laughed as she walked to her bedroom; once there, she studied her clothing, finally choosing a flouncy pink skirt because it looked like the coolest article of clothing she had in her wardrobe and a simple white tank top to go with it. Then she had to hunt for sandals. She and the Doctor did not normally go places where sandals were practical footwear. She was looking forward to this. The TARDIS shuddered with its landing. She quickly slathered herself with sunscreen, and then carried it out to the control room.
"You ready?" he asked.
"Here." She handed him the tube.
"What's this?"
"Sun crème. For you to put on."
"I don't need to put that on!" he protested.
"You're so pale, you're going to burn toa crisp."
"Time Lords do not get sunburned," he proclaimed, grandly, tossing aside the sunscreen negligently.
"Do Time Lords not get warm, either?"
"What does that mean?"
"You're not even going to take off your jacket?"
He looked down at his suit. "Welllll," he said, turning to the TARDIS door. "I took off one coat, didn't I? Oh! Hold on!" He suddenly dashed back into the control room, disappeared underneath the console, and emerged with a pair of sunglasses that he put on. He grinned at her. "What d'you think?"
"Fabulous," she said. "Let's go." She pulled open the door of the TARDIS, and took an immediate step back as water lapped in over her bare toes. "Oi!" she exclaimed. "Where did you land us?"
"What do you mean?" He watched her as she scurried into the control room, away from the rising water. Alarmed, he walked, heedless, through the increasing puddle, to gaze out the open TARDIS door. "Oh," he breathed, after a second. "I may have...gotten the date wrong."
"When is it?" she asked, standing on tiptoe to slosh through the water so she'd get as little of it on her as possible. The water was filthy and tepid. It reminded Rose of water left in a dog's water bowl too long. She peered over his shoulder.
The water stretched for as far as she could see, but it was neither an ocean nor a lake. In fact, it looked to her like they were in a park. There were huge oak trees everywhere, some rising out of the water, most laying on their sides, huge root systems rising toward the sky, far taller than she was. It was unusually quiet. The sort of quiet that didn't come naturally to a place. No sound at all. And no sign of anything moving.
"Doctor..." She didn't know what she meant to say, except that everything about this made her uneasy.
He looked down at their feet, lost now in the water. "Get to the top of those steps," he said, pulling the TARDIS door shut before taking her hand and sloshing them through the water.
It was not especially deep--not more than a foot--and he tugged them through it quickly. The steps were a set of large, stone steps leading to a huge, stone, be-columnedbuilding to the right of where the TARDIS had landed.
"New Orleans Museum of Art," Rose read from the sign in front of it. "But this...of course." She looked at the Doctor. "It's Hurricane Katrina, right?"
"Right," he affirmed, grimly. "And there are people inside that building right now, barricaded in against looters, trying to save works of art that are supposed to be in a climate-controlled environment. They're in there, very little food and very little water, no electricity and no telephones, waiting for help that isn't really on the way, all to save some art. And why? Because it makes you human. Saving things, treasuring things, just because they're beautiful. You give that up, you abandon this museum and leave everything in it to rot, and it's the final concession, isn't it? As long as there have been humans, there has been art. It would be the final surrender of human civilization."
Rose stood for a second, on the steps of the museum, then said, "We need to get some supplies from the TARDIS--"
The sound of the motor was deafening. It was still far away, but in the utter stillness of the park it was extremely noticeable.
"What's that?" she asked, looking in its direction.
"I think it's a boat," he answered, even as the boat came into view, moving slowly as it navigated the shallow water.
It was a small motor boat, laden with three people—a man, a woman, and a boy--and a bedraggled-looking dog. Upon seeing them, it motored over to them, moving virtually in slow motion.
"Y'all need a ride?" asked the man, lifting his eyebrows in evident confusion at their outfits.
"Yes," the Doctor answered, briskly, turning to hand Rose into the boat. "I'm the Doctor," he said, leaping lightly into the boat himself. "This is Rose. And we can help."
As the small boat cut a path through the darkly menacing water, they were able to determine it had been just two days since the eye of Hurricane Katrina had passed east of New Orleans; barely a day since the skies had cleared, the baking sun had come out, and people had begun to search in earnest for missing loved ones or—increasingly important—food and fresh water. Rose stared at the destruction as they passed through what appeared to be a park, her silence radiating sadness, while the Doctor held a low conversation with the driver of the boat. Skip and his family had been trapped in their house by the rising waters; they'd found an old piece of wrought-iron fence in the attic and had been able to batter their way through the wood and shingles of their roof to make it to safety before being drowned by the rising water or baking under the hot eaves. The boat had floated by a few hours later, its provenance unknown but its providence unmistakable.
The family had set out, searching for food, water, dry land, or other survivors. They'd heard voices shouting for help from houses barely showing above the water, but had been able to do nothing to help. The dog had been found floating on a piece of Styrofoam, and had joined the small family in the boat. "Came over from on by Dillard, but ain't seen nothin' t'help us." He said with the lilt of a native of the city. He looked consideringly at the Doctor. "Y'all ain't from these parts—you on vacation? How'd y'all get on out here? You got any news?"
The Doctor was spared the necessity of a response, the sounds of shouting greeting their ears as they entered a neighborhood…or what used to be a neighborhood. The water had become deeper as they'd left the park, and was now deep enough to rise well above any first-floor windows of the houses. Here and there, the roof of a pick-up truck appeared, rising like a sea-monster out of the dark water; trees seemed to have no trunks at all, the branches rising directly from the surface of the water. The shouting grew louder as they neared one of the houses, and Skip slowed the boat down to see if there was anything they could do. Without any tools or any visible way into the house, he shook his head. "What's your address?" he shouted; a house number and street name were shouted back. "We'll try to get y'all some help, 'k now?"
The boat slowly crept away from the house to continue its eerie journey. Rose looked beseechingly at the Doctor as the cries for help faded into the distance. "Isn't there anything we can do?" she whispered.
"Not with our bare hands, no," was his grim response. They continued through the flooded streets.
The drone of the motorboat was interrupted periodically by the heavy whup-whuping noise of helicopters working search and rescue; each time, they would all look up to see a bright orange and white—or, occasionally, an olive-green--helicopter streak over their heads, side doors open and people leaning out. Sometimes they encountered other boats, some empty, some occupied by other refugees; as they passed, information and news would be shared before the boats moved apart. Flotsam and jetsam continued to float past as they moved further through the neighborhood, some of it recognizable and some of it not. Rose didn't want to think about what could be floating by or under the boat, and stayed focused on the houses they passed. The dog—a mutt, by the looks of it—had curled up by her feet, and she absently stroked its fur. The sun continued to rise in the clear sky.
Many times, the Doctor's sharp hearing led them to a partially submerged house with people trapped inside. As they floated through the neighborhoods west of City Park, the group had managed to accrue one very old, very rusty pickaxe, and something that looked like a long steel rod. Using these rudimentary tools, they were able to start breaking holes into roofs, and it was with some relief that the members of the boat were able to assist some of those trapped in getting out of their houses—although there was no more room in the boat. The hot sun was directly overhead when they finally reached the 17th Street Canal—or what was left of it—and the humidity and stench were positively stifling in spite of the swift current in the water. Rose was grateful she had dressed in light clothing, but was desperately longing for even a sip of cold water. As soon as she thought it, Rose shook herself guiltily. She had a home to go back to, with water, food, and clean clothes; the people who lived here—people like Skip and his wife and son—had nothing left. They'd have to start all over again, either rebuilding their home in New Orleans, or moving to a completely different city. She blinked her tears away, telling herself firmly that now was not the time to cry; she and the Doctor could help, i would /i help, and that she could fall apart after their work was done. She sniffed, wiped her eyes, and looked up to see the Doctor watching her with concern. She gave him a small half-smile, and his expression relaxed minutely.
At the 17th Street Canal, they found volunteers on the dry side, still frantically trying to sandbag the levee even though it was painfully obvious that it would be impossible to stop the flooding. Skip navigated the eddying currents with the ease of a man who had done a bit of fishing on the river, and pulled the boat up along the dry side of the canal. They were soon in possession of a bottle of water each; a few energy bars had also been handed over. After taking a few sips from her bottle, Rose poured some of her water into her hand, the mutt lapping it away as fast as she could puddle it in her palm. The Doctor had requested a piece of paper and a pencil, and as they snacked on their 'lunch' they compiled a list of the houses they had found with people still trapped. "There are people still in the NOMA—it's an island," the Doctor added as Skip handed the list to someone who looked to be in charge. Skip talked someone out of some fuel for the boat's motor, Skip's wife managed to charm a few additional bottles of water out of one of the sandbaggers, and they soon set off back towards the NOMA.
The return to City Park was much like their trip from it; taking a different route, they were able to free several more people from their houses, and ferried a young man trapped in a tree over to a clear roof top. Each time, Skip took down the address while the Doctor quietly reassured them that they would be rescued, that they wouldn't be forgotten; Rose wished she could believe the Doctor, but knew that giving the trapped people hope was as important as keeping them dry. Skip's wife, Louise, and their son seemed increasingly shell-shocked, and soon Rose began to chat them up quietly—as much to draw them out as to distract her from the terrible scene she was in the middle of. The house had been inherited from Skip's pa, who had inherited it from his pa, who had built it in New Orleans after earning his way free of sharecropping. Skip had known no other home, while Louise had grown up right next door. Louise recounted many happy memories of the house, of growing up in the neighborhood and of raising their son in a place that was solidly home; and Rose had to fight back tears as she thought about what they would face in the coming months and years. Louise continued to share happy memories as they sluiced through the rising waters, her eyes distantly focused on the past and not the destruction around her.
They had re-entered City Park, following the line of I-610; the Doctor noticed Rose was still trying to keep Skip's wife distracted. He leaned over to Skip. "Listen, you don't know me, not really, but please take my advice. Get down to the French Quarter; it's dry down there, and they'll be able to help you and your family." He paused, sifting through what he should or should not tell the grimy, tired man in front of him. "Don't go to the Superdome or the Convention Center. And, if you can get out of New Orleans, go. Don't wait for help. It's not coming. Trust me about that." The boat was slowly approaching the NOMA, and the Doctor forestalled any of Skip's questions with a rather urgent gesture in the direction of where they had been picked up.
"What, you want me to drop you right here in the middle of this mess? Are you crazy?" Skip looked at the Doctor disbelievingly.
"Please do. Actually, drop me off first; Rose wants to take a look around the building to make sure it's alright, don't you, Rose?" She was about to object, before realizing the Doctor had a plan of some sort. She smiled.
"Right! I'd love to take a long look and make sure it's not terribly damaged." The Doctor beamed at her as he stepped out of the boat and onto the top step of the Museum. Skip, Louise, and their son looked at the Doctor like he was mad, but Rose—well practiced in this routine—distracted them immediately with questions about the building and the park in general. Only the dog noticed the Doctor slipping down the stairs to the strange blue box in the water, and if he noticed that the water failed to flow in when the door was opened, he didn't say anything.
Rose had run out of questions and distractions by the time they circled the Museum, and was relieved to see the Doctor standing at the top of the stairs when the boat completed its circuit of the building. He had his hands behind his back, and was rocking forward excitedly. Rose noted his sodden shoes and trousers, and she winced to think of having to walk back through the foul water to get back to the TARDIS. Skip looked confused to see the Doctor standing there still, but said nothing as the boat gently bumped against the steps of the Museum. He took Rose's hand to help her out of the boat, and she was once again surprised as the strength in the narrow hands and lithe body. He beamed at her as she set both feet on dry ground next to him, before turning to Skip. "Remember this: things will get better with time. Until then, probably best to keep an ear on what's going on." With that, he handed a small portable radio over to a rather stunned Louise. "Just crank that handle there, it'll keep the radio going for hours. Simple's the best way to go sometimes, eh? Eh?" And with that, he used his right foot to push the small bass boat away from the stairs. "Good luck! Thanks for the lift!"
They stood there, waving, until the small boat puttered out of sight. "Are they going to be all right, Doctor?"
The Doctor looked at Rose, his smile fading at her question. "They'll be fine, Rose. Their house is gone, but their family is together. They'll rebuild their lives. Their son? He'll be a fire chief one day. A fire chief! White helmet, red engines with the sirens and the bells! And a Dalmatian!" He once more bounced excitedly as Rose smiled wearily. "New Orleans will be rebuilt, in time; communities all around here, all the way over to Florida, right now, are banding together to start rebuilding; neighbour helping neighbour, all working to a common goal. Humanity at its best, during its worst." He wrapped an arm around her, and they stood companionably in silence for a few minutes.
The Doctor gave her a light squeeze, then seemed to seriously consider their surroundings. "We'd best be off; they're about to show up and liberate the poor staff from the building here."
"Can't we leave them some supplies or something?" Rose asked. "From the TARDIS? Won't they need them?"
He beamed at her. "Excellent idea. Can't do any harm, right? Just need to move quickly."
It was difficult work, slogging through the water to the TARDIS and back to the steps, laden with everything Rose could think of. Some of her offerings were less than practical but the Doctor said nothing. They would stop at the next planet to replace whatever they needed, and Rose clearly had to do this. So he let her, trudging back and forth, helping her carry bottles and boxes of goods from the TARDIS. He even conceded that it might be a bit warm, pulling off the suit jacket and then, eventually, rolling up his sleeves.
Rose finally stepped back and surveyed the pile of supplies with satisfaction. "There."
"Feel better?"
"A bit." She took his hand. "I didn't like it. I don't normally feel that way when I'm with you."
"Feel what way?" He was guiding her down the steps, back to the TARDIS, scanning the water for visible hazards; he'd have to make sure they both took thorough showers to be rid of the foul water.
"Like nothing we did made any difference."
He paused and looked at her for a moment. "First, you made quite a difference. We hacked all of those people out of houses and told authorities where to find them. Skip might have tried but he wouldn't have been able to get to all those houses by himself, nor to remember all of them."
" i You /i did that."
"You helped Louise feel better. Look at what she's lost, all of it. And you listened like it mattered to i you /i . Didn't try to tell her she was being silly because she was most upset about losing Robbie's report cards. You made her feel like it was the most heartbreaking tragedy in the world, the loss of the report cards."
"But it was," Rose sniffled.
"Exactly." They stepped into the dryness of the TARDIS. The Doctor closed the door and looked at her, tipping his sunglasses up into his hair so he could really see her. "You make a difference with everything you do, you know. It has nothing to do with being with me."
Rose sniffled again. The Doctor reached for her and pulled her against him, kissing the top of her head.
After a moment of companionable silence, she said against his shoulder, "Doctor."
"What?"
"Your nose is red."
"What?"
"I think you have sunburn."
"Impossible," he said good-naturedly, appreciating her attempt to lighten the mood. He pushed her away from him gently. "You need to take a hot, thorough shower. Your clothes..." He looked at them consideringly. "Leave them outside your door, I'll gather them up and get them good as new again. Your sandals, too. Which I never complimented you on—they're nice."
She took a very, very long shower, and then took a long time drying her hair, until she finally felt more composed. Then she went back to the control room. The Doctor had changed, into a blue suit she'd never seen before.
"New suit?"
"Going to take the TARDIS longer than usual to get the brown one in fighting shape again—it and your clothes are being disinfected. Do you like it?"
"Not really, no," she told him honestly. She was used to him in brown pinstripes. He looked strangely non-Doctor-ish in the blue suit. It was almost as jarring as it would be to have returned to the control room to find him regenerated.
"Wellllll, no time to wait for the brown one. I've got something to show you." He took her hand, tugged her out of the TARDIS.
They were outside. It was warm. Nighttime. There were crowds of people. Human people. And a parade. And beads flying through the air—
"Mardi Gras," the Doctor announced. "Welllll, Lundi Gras, to be more precise. The Monday before Mardi Gras. The day Rex, King of Carnival, comes ashore to begin his reign."
"Is it before Katrina?" Rose asked, taking in the intact oak trees, the undamaged old houses, the laughter and air of jubilation.
"No, it's after," he replied, surprising her. "The first Mardi Gras after. And this is what you humans do. Life, Rose, it moves on. And you celebrate, the way you always have, the gift of more time, more life. Another Mardi Gras. Laissez le bons temps rouler." He grinned at her suddenly. "Do you want some beads? Throw us some beads, mister!" he shouted toward the floats, waving his arms over his head. "Give it a try," he urged Rose.
"Throw me some beads!" she shouted, enthusiastically, making eye contact with one of the masked float riders. He pointed at her and sent a purple necklace arcing through the air. She caught it and looped it over her neck, looking up at the Doctor, eyes shining with delight. "I didn't even have to show my breasts!" she enthused before turning back to the float, intent on the next throw, thereby missing the Doctor's slightly gobsmacked look.
He let her have all of Mardi Gras. They strolled St. Charles when the parades were over, taking in the sleepiness of the Garden District before dawn on Tuesday, both of them laden with beads and Rose decked out in a feather boa and a mask. After nipping back to the TARDIS for a quick nap for Rose--although even the Doctor was feeling weary after the previous twenty-four hours--he brought her to the sensory overload that was the French Quarter. He had to keep firm hold of her hand not to lose her in the pressing crowds as he wended their way (from a memory he'd deny if Rose asked him about it) to Pat O'Brien's and bought her a Hurricane and watched in amusement as she flirted outrageously with every man in the place. He should have guessed--New Orleans at Mardi Gras suited Rose.
The party ended, abruptly, at midnight on Mardi Gras, the police sweeping the narrow, airless streets of the French Quarter, shutting down the bars and ending the festivities. He and Rose walked leisurely, hand in hand, toward St. Louis Cathedral, tolling the bells to announce the arrival of Lent, around the edge of Jackson Square where, even at the late hour, fortune tellers offered to read their palms, to Café du Monde. He sipped café au lait and watched dawn creep over the city. Rose ate beignets and admired their beads.
"I'm going to drape them over the console," she said.
"Please don't," he countered.
She sat back and sighed in contentment. A saxophonist was playing in Jackson Square. i Oh, When the Saints… /i "It's just i gorgeous /i here."
"It is," he agreed, looking at the embankment that led to the river. "It isn't a city that should be here. It's supposed to be underwater, flooded every year. But it's its own place. How much you would lose if you gave up on it. So you humans—" He finished his café au lait, put the mug on the table. "You stubborn, amazing humans--you'll figure out some way to keep it. You'll rebuild, and repopulate, and keep throwing beads on Mardi Gras."
Rose, after a second, smiled at him and rubbed a finger over his nose. "You're peeling. 'Time Lords don't get sunburn'," she scoffed.
He smiled back, then leaned across the table and licked a bit of powdered sugar off her cheek. "Powdered sugar everywhere," he said, kissing her.
"Tell me about it," she said, dusting it off his suit jacked.
"Ready to go?" He stood, offering her his hand.
"Can we bring some beignets back to the TARDIS?" She took his hand as she stood as well.
"Only if you promise not to drape the console in beads."
"You know," she said as he wended their way through the tables toward the takeaway window, "I do kind of like the blue suit."