"Here," Cat offered the woman the bottle of water she'd grabbed from the supermarket, hoping that she'd finally calmed down enough to explain. Cat would certainly have preferred that this be some sort of mistaken identity situation, that this could be something they could clear up in a minute or two with the right authorities and then be on their way, but she had the sinking feeling that with the Doctor around, nothing would ever be that simple again.

The woman nodded back at Cat, swallowing obediently. Her makeup had run, ringing raccoon-like around tired eyes that didn't seem to want to focus on either of her helpers'. "I should have known better," Her voice was soft, half a broken whisper, half a sob. "Not after the Friedman's boy, not after he-" It cracked, broke on the last phrase, choked on whatever she couldn't face remembering, and the tears started again.

Cat gingerly patted her on the shoulder, looking over her head towards the Doctor, hoping he'd have some magical sort of understanding that would clear this all up.

He didn't, or if he did, he wasn't showing it. Rather, he seemed to not have paid any attention at all to the two of them, engrossed instead in working his way through the newspaper.

Frowning, Cat stared at the front page currently obscuring his face, as if by staring hard enough, she'd bore holes straight through, finally catch his attention. It wasn't like this was a normal occurrence for her, however much she'd adjusted to travel with him – and it hadn't helped that this whole day had been getting off on the wrong foot, more dramatically each time. How was she supposed to figure this out, in time to get back to the TARDIS before she changed time forever and ripped the universe apart, if he didn't help her?

"Just take a deep breath," She started, concentrating on her attempt at comfort. She wasn't a patient person, not particularly, and had never been good with this sort of thing, the intimacy of breaking down in front of others. "I need to know what happened so I can help you." Because that was all she wanted to do: figure out what was going on, fix it, and get back to the TARDIS before she tore the universe apart. Was that too much to ask?

The woman only sobbed harder, pressing her face into a rumpled tissue.

Cat's frowned deepened, as she rocked back on her heels to think. Pressing more water on the woman was about all she could manage, until she decided to cooperate. What was it that she'd said? Something about the Friedman's boy… Concentrating, she tried to remember if there had been any news stories revolving around someone with the surname Friedman, or anyone going missing, but came up blank. It was just such a big city, she couldn't expect to have heard every story, for whatever this woman's story was to have even made the news, much less in any way that she'd remember – part of her, divorced from the proceedings, hoped that it just hadn't made the news. That it wasn't that Cat hadn't noticed, too busy with her own life. Not that that was something to be ashamed of, it was too frighteningly normal for that, but it wouldn't sit right, not after all she'd seen and done with the Doctor.

Her pensive staring was interrupted as sheet of newspaper was briskly shoved under her nose. "Last paragraph." Was all he said, moving over to kneel in front of the woman.

Mildly irritated and wondering what exactly had gotten into him that day, she looked down at the page anyway. There, in small print on the last paragraph: Freidman Case Goes Cold. The even smaller following blurb lacked detail, but even the concise account of the boy gone from a locked home without a trace was chilling enough.

He watched her read, watched the realization dawn on her face as she grasped the obvious connection, the obvious sympathy in her eyes as she looked the woman over again. He didn't want to say anything, didn't want to shatter her illusions, but as awful as missing children were, it wasn't their business, and they oughtn't interfere – not when she was possibly going to run into any number of people she knew, not when there was the possibility that she might rip the world apart. But there was something in her eyes that stopped him, let him agree to go look at the woman's place, begin looking for her child. Agree to pretend he was someone who could help, even if it was only for a moment.

/

Her flat was attached to a small, mildly shabby complex, the sort of place that had once been particularly respectable but had only recently begun to fall into disrepair. She hadn't said much at all on the short walk over, only continued crying as she led them, barely able to do more than confirm their suspicions.

"Now then, Ms-"

"Margaret. Margaret Law," She whispered back, eyes red-rimmed but finally dry, obviously steeling herself.

"Right. Have you tried the police?" He continued, hands in his pockets, slipping, in spite of himself, back into investigative mode.

She shook her head. "They weren't any help with the Freidman boy," here was a worrying tremble in her voice, but she managed to swallow it, "and I know they won't be of any help here." She caught the look in his eye, cut him off. "Don't ask me to explain, Mister-" She paused for a moment, wondering, suddenly, belatedly, why she'd never asked who he was before this, responding only to his general air of authority.

"John Smith." He flashed a piece of paper from his pocket, signifying his credentials as an investigative agent.

"Mister Smith. I can't tell you why, I really can't," that worrying tremble again, the same obvious control, "but its wrong. It just feels… wrong." More wrong than missing her child would, more wrong than anything. Just… wrong.

"Right. Now, I want you to stay here, while my assistant and I give it a once-over. He was in the parlor, you said? Last you saw him?"

She only nodded in response, tossed him her key. Because she didn't know what to do, didn't want to do what she knew she should, because then it would mean it was real. And if it took trusting strangers, however wholesome they might seem - she was fine with that.

"What was that paper you showed her?" Cat whispered, as they went in the front door. There wasn't any need to be quite so quiet, with no one in the house, but it had a hushed, funereal air to it so empty, that she couldn't help herself.

"Slightly psychic paper," as if that should have been obvious, "shows them whatever they want to see."

"Handy." She breathed, looking about the front hall. It was painted a bright, cheery green, exactly the sort of color she could see a woman picking out when wanting to brighten up a slightly dingy little place. And Ms. Law had been right; there was something wrong. She couldn't place it, couldn't explain what it was that she felt, but it reminded her of that feeling she'd had in front of the doorknob of the projection room, that sense that something was wrong in a very important sort of way.

"Something is wrong here." His voice had dropped, just as quiet as hers as he began rifling through those endless pockets for something in particular. "Feels rather like a low-level psychic disruption field, but I can't be sure…"

"Hm?" She prompted, crossing her arms against the mild chill that had set in as they ventured further into the place.

"Faint psychic buzz. Good for warning people away, rather like a…" He searched for the term, finally having pulled out his screwdriver and begun scanning the neat little parlor, "mosquito repellant. Keeps anyone from looking too closely, good for obscuring evidence or misdirection."

The feeling had built as he'd started messing about, increasing the sense of awkwardness to a steady state of mild dread. "I'm assuming you can't pick that up in your local Sainsbury."

He shook his head, continuing to flick his little blue light about, searching for the transmitter. "It's not unusual technology, not really, but not for another several thousand years, so no, this doesn't belong here at all." He crouched, fishing around under the couch.

She flinched as the feeling sharply increased again, to the point where she was barely able to will herself to stay in the room against the sense that she shouldn't, really shouldn't be there. Closing her eyes, not wanting to look the coward, not sure that even further away from the transmitter she could feel any safer than how she did with the Doctor, she breathed a sigh of relief when the tension suddenly broke.

He nodded in satisfaction, having had no trouble at all disabling the thing. It was, on closer inspection, exactly what he'd said it would be. "I'm fairly certain that if we looked, we'd find one of these at the Freidman's place as well. This is not good, not at all."

"I'd gathered." With the tension broken, in a now-welcoming pastel space, it was easy to be smart, easy to pretend that there wasn't anything terribly serious going on.

He looked at her reprovingly over those magically appearing glasses. "Because someone with the technology to hide it is stealing children and I don't know why."