A/N: This takes place several months later. It is partly written as background for Collision, but it didn't quite fit in that story. So I put it here.
Tasha stepped into the cell. She recalled the last time she'd visited Gray in the cell in Odyssey—she'd slammed her pistol across his temple. Afterward, she'd regretted her lack of control, and felt guilty for her sense of gratification for making him feel at least some of the pain that Jason had felt.
This time, she almost felt pity for him. She had to remind herself that this was the man who had mercilessly tortured Jason. He didn't look dangerous now; he hardly looked like the same man.
Gray lay in the cell, curled up in the corner, facing the wall. His prison uniform was tattered and dirty, his hair long and unkempt. He was thin, and bruises laced his arm.
Could this really be Gray, the infuriatingly smug, self-assured, immaculately dressed man she'd seen only months before?
She took a step forward, leaned down to touch his shoulder. He flinched, but his blue eyes stared straight forward vacantly.
What have they done to him? she wondered. Is there anything left? I need something to be left. My assignment needs a good lead—and this man supposedly has intel on my target.
She was tempted to try to shake him out of his catatonic state. But she doubted that tactic would be very effective.
She'd have to coax his psyche out into the open somehow. She rebelled against treating this man with the care and respect he didn't deserve. But she had to force herself to act professionally, and keep her personal life compartmentalized. He didn't have anything to do with Jason. He was a source of intel, nothing more.
She knelt in front of him. Touched his arm. His skin was cold.
"Gray," she said.
He didn't even blink.
"Starr," she said, using his most recent alias.
Still no movement. He just stared ahead, blank, unseeing.
How am I going to get any information out of this man?
She stepped over to the guard by the door.
"How do they usually get information out of him?"
The guard shrugged. "Drugs, mostly. You could try hitting him a few times, but that doesn't work as well as it used to."
Disgust rose in Tasha's chest at how matter-of-fact this man talked about hurting Gray. She had reason to hurt him—but this was business. There were better ways of getting information than torture. Especially for one who had been tortured.
"I would like to take custody of this man."
"I am not sure that…"
"I'll have to talk to your superiors."
His fragile psyche needed to be mended—at least patched up—before he'd be a credible source of intel. She couldn't afford to wait, but she'd have to tread carefully in order not to drive him even further inside himself than he already was.