Chapter Text
If this war had taught them anything, it was that the Galra were not tolerant of weakness.
With this in mind, it was no surprise when two of Lotor’s generals finally entered their prison cell and zeroed in on Pidge.
“The small one,” they had called Voltron’s obvious soft spot. The unwelcomed nickname sent shivers throughout her body. What little reserves of bravado she had vanished the moment Ezor snatched her away from the comfort and protection of her team by the wrists and pinned her high against the wall. The team’s shouts of protest and noisey struggles to reach her, to protect her, were muffled by her heart thundering in her chest, forcing her blood faster and faster still in her veins. Venomous eyes bore into Pidge as the throbbing of the back of her head and shoulders faintly registered.
She clenched her teeth. Told herself to breathe.
“Now, I’ll ask again.” Slowly, Ezor questioned, “Where is Prince Lotor?”
“I don’t know,” muttered Pidge. It wasn’t the answer they wanted, but that was all she had.
She huffed, then mocked with a dramatic roll of her eyes, “‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!’” Dropping her hostage, ignoring the surprised grunt from the human girl, Ezor turned to the other captives. “Do you Paladins know anything?! Voltron and his Sincline Mech went into the rift between realities and only you came out. What happened to Prince Lotor?”
Keith, of all people, cautiously took half a step forward, palms raised and open. “Please,” he begged. “Let’s talk this out. We don’t know what you’re-”
Zethrid suddenly jerked a blaster from the closest sentry and slammed the butt end into Keith’s left cheek. His name echoed off the walls. Instinctively and bent over in pain, he cradled his bruising cheekbone and blinked and grunted through the pain. A blaster was pressed to his temple as he was told to shut up.
Becoming increasingly frustrated and impatient, Ezor hauled Pidge to her feet. Only for Lance to not learn from Keith’s misstep and lunge forward, warning, “Don’t you touch her!” The general made quick work of the team’s sniper, kicking him in the gut with enough force to send him flying into the wall. His name rang throughout the room and a blaster was also aimed at the crumpled, groaning mess on the floor.
“Anyone else?!” Zethrid demanded. “Or are we going around the room like this?”
Everyone remained quiet and motionless.
Ezor squeezed Pidge’s upper arm. “I suggest you start telling us what we want to know.”
Lying crossed her mind, but she had no evidence to back it up. Didn’t have any to prove their honesty, either. Pidge stole a brief look at her friends. Somehow, lying seemed more dangerous. The risk wasn’t worth it. “We don’t know what happened to Lotor,” she responded a touch firmer.
Without breaking eye contact, Ezor un-holstered a small blaster from her hip and fired it once. Hunk and Romelle squealed and pitched themselves away from the black mark on the wall between their heads. “Don’t lie to me.”
Panic settling in further, Pidge sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m not-”
The next mark appeared between Shiro’s feet.
She flinched, voice shaking, “Please-”
“Ezor,” Zethrid warned.
The weapon was holstered with a sigh. “Fine,” Ezor mumbled, releasing her grip on the girl’s arm. She cleared her throat, and a sickeningly sweet smile blossomed on her innocent face.
It lasted all of five ticks before Ezor’s knuckles collided with Pidge’s cheek, sending her glasses skidding across the ground. Pain rischotted within her skull. Pidge dropped to her knees with a gasping cry, pressing a hand to her face as tears formed and fell without permission. She tried to smother any more noise of distress from escaping her throat. Failing to do so, she settled on breathing through the pain and fear as she was jerked to her feet once again. Confusion was added to the list of things Pidge had to work through when her cuffs were suddenly removed.
Ezor leaned in. “Take off your armor,” came the command, doing little to clarify the new situation.
Ice encased Pidge from the inside out. She didn’t like where this was going.
Maybe it was her hesitation. Maybe it was the rising tension from the team. But charging blasters were shoved into Keith’s and Lance’s faces.
Her gaze cut to the boys; fury and fear and helplessness swam in their eyes at the unspoken threat. Disbelief joined in when Pidge began fiddling with the armor protecting her legs with a muttered, “Okay, okay - please, don’t.” She spared them one last glance, silently pleading to not draw anymore attention to themselves. With trembling hands, pieces of armor were undone and removed, steadily creating a pile at her feet. The chest piece fell last, and Pidge stood.
Never had she felt so small. Logically, she understood that she was tiny in comparison to most, especially the Galra, but this was somehow different. Paladin suit and armor equaled to safety in her head, to invincibility. But the black undersuit alone slimmed her down even more, reminding her and everyone else of her true size and vulnerability.
Small one, indeed.
Pleased at the obienance, the generals smiled, even praised her as a “good girl.” Ezor circled their prisoner once, twice. Pidge shuddered at the finger skimming across her skin, at the arm oh-so casually draped over her shoulders. A soft chuckle escaped Ezor’s lips, commenting to Zethrid, “Aw, she’s trembling. Isn’t she the cutest?” Her long fingers gently grabbed Pidge’s chin to face her and thumbed away a few stray tears. “Such gorgeous eyes, too. Don’t you agree?”
Zethrid shrugged. “Yours are better.”
Ezor hummed contently. A kiss was pressed to Pidge’s flushed cheek, it smarting again, as fingers carded through her short hair. Pidge tried not to flinch too much at the contact.
In an instant, their smiles disappeared. Ezor seized Pidge by the hair and hauled her to the wall opposite the captives. Nails digging and feet dragging did little to deter the inevitable. Begging was pointless, too. She’d rather save herself the embarrassment in front of her team. She wanted so desperately to be brave for them, for herself.
But she was just a little bird cornered by bored house cats, wasn’t she?
Of all stupid things, Pidge didn’t know where to look as Zethrid shackled her to the wall. Watching Zethrid and Ezor was terrifying, but focusing on her friends was more so in a different sense. She chose the floor, the wall, anywhere that wasn’t person-shaped. Breath coming faster by the tick, feeling all eyes on her, she was grateful her team had the presence of mind to choke down their pleas.
“Hey,” Zethrid soothed, leaning down a bit. A heavy hand rested on Pidge’s left shoulder. A threat masquerading as a comforting gesture. “Don’t go hyperventilating now. Relax,” she suggested, running her hand almost tenderly along the length of Pidge’s trembling arm. Their hands clasped together, Zethrid relished their captive’s baffled expression. “We haven’t even started yet.”
And broke Pidge’s pinky finger.
A strangled gasp of surprise and pain ripped from Pidge’s throat. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think for a moment, as waves of pain rocketed up her limb. Her arm rattled with the restraints on the impulse to cradle the injury close to her chest. Hot tears dripped from her reddening face as she groaned and suppressed the pain with clenched teeth. Stubbornly, or maybe even foolishly, Pidge refused to give them the damn satisfaction.
Ezor tipped Pidge’s slumped head back with a smoothed fingernail. “Aw, c’mon,” she pouted. “You can do better than that, can’t you?” She grinned at the mix of fear and defiance in the Green Paladin’s eyes. “Y’know, this is happening because you refused to tell us what we wanna know. It can end if you tell us what happened to Prince Lotor.”
That was a lie.
It wouldn’t end. It’d just be the beginning. The Galra finally had Voltron. As if she would believe they would ever let them go.
Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, Pidge sobbed with a small shake of her head. “I told you, I don’t know.”
Humming, her sharp gaze flicked over to Keith. “Then, this is because of Mr. Let’s-Talk-This-Out.”
The ring finger was broken this time.
She looked to Lance before Pidge had a chance to fully register the new trauma. “And this is because of Mr. Knight-in-Shining-Armor.”
Her middle finger broke in the same fashion as the first two, the wrongness of the bone popping sound amplifying in her ears and sickeningly reverberating within her blood and tissues. The combined pain of three freshly fractured fingers and Zethrid’s hand unkindly brushing against them had Pidge wailing. Heat bathed her skin as nerve endings were flooded with hurricanes of pain. Breathing became a conscious action. Nauseous threatened to empty her stomach onto the floor.
Pidge grit her teeth again. Forced air in and out, in and out. The pain would settle to a bearable level eventually, she reasoned with absurd hope. They won’t kill her now, she’s too valuable. They were only looking for information and proving a point. It will stop. They will stop.
Quiznak, but when? And how was she going to be on the other side of this?
Blinking through tears, Pidge hissed in a shallow breath and grunted it out just as quickly.
Ezor thoughtfully cocked her head to the side. “Scream pretty for me, small one.”