33%
"Are. You. Kidding?!"
The Doctor glanced back as Swift's frustrated growl sounded from behind him, visibly flinching at the harsh sound.
"No luck?" he turned to face her as the TARDIS's doors shut and the floor began to tremble.
"I'll give you one guess," she hissed dangerously, leaning on the rail and glaring at the ground.
"Again?" the Doctor shakes his head, laughing halfheartedly in a futile attempt to lighten the mood. "Funny—I run into you angels all the time, but it only seems to happen when I don't need it to."
His uncertain laughter faded into an awkward silence as Swift began to bare her fangs, which, after a week of planet after planet of failure, the Time Lord had finally realized to be a bad sign.
"I… I'll go make coffee," he muttered, pointing stupidly towards a room he used for a kitchen. "How much do you want?"
Swift sighed, drooping slightly. "Just a decent cup."
The Doctor looked back at her as he made his way to the coffee maker. She had been so full of vigor when they had begun their search, but now she seemed so tired…
The chocolate-haired man poured some of the warm brown liquid into a pair of mugs, popping several sugar cubes into his without thinking, and leaving Swift's plain and dark as she liked it. He strode carefully back into the main room, trying as hard as he could to not spill the life-giving fluid.
The angel gave him a single nod as she took her cup, slumping against the wall to sip on it and zoned out while staring at the far side of the TARDIS. The Doctor stared at her without fear of being killed—after a bit over a week, Swift was used to it by now.
How interesting, his scattered thoughts swirled around in his head to forme one basic conclusion, she's been at this for so long, the failures are starting to get to her now. Like some sort of run-down battery—she's at thirty-three percent. Soon she might just give up.
For the longest time he just stood, there, leaning against the control panel and sipping lightly on his coffee, his eyes fixed on the weeping angel as she sat in her exhausted daze.
And there they were. The most unlikely pair in the universe, casually drinking their coffee in the control room of a TARDIS.
The Doctor sneezed.
"Hm?" Swift snapped out of her reverie and her head shot in his direction.
"What?" he wiped his nose on his sleeve.
The angel rolled her eyes and pushed herself to her feet, draining her coffee in one massive swig. "Whatever. Let's just get going. What's the next planet?"
"Uh—Chr—"
"Never mind. I'll just see for myself."
The Doctor looked on, stunned at her sudden change in attitude, as she slammed her mug onto the dashboard and strode through the doors with a swish of her dirty white robe, colourful wings held high.
"Huh. So much for thirty-three percent." The Doctor smirked slightly, then mentally slapped himself.
Geez, Doctor, that's what you get for thinking of her as a machine. Thirty-three percent, my foot! It seems she's back at a full hundred.
In several more minutes, Swift had returned. She brushed past the Doctor, the fire in her eyes just as bright as before.
It seems there's no figuring out this mystery, the brunette thought as he watched her retreat to get room.
But one thing's for sure. She is not a machine.
He sighed as he went back to the kitchen to fix himself some more coffee.
You moron.
