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It’s not surprising, really, that they choose her.
She’s the smallest, the one everyone curled around protectively, automatically, when the two Galra walked into the cell. It’s not exactly a leap to think that hurting her would be the easiest way to break the Paladins.
It’s a smart plan. The Galra could pull them out, torture them separately, try to make one of them crack, but even their enemies know how deep their loyalty to each other lies. Pain won’t be nearly enough to make any of them betray Voltron.
Watching their pseudo-little sister in pain might just do it, though.
She thinks she might be shaking, but it’s difficult to tell.
“Don’t you touch her!” It’s Lance who yells first, who jumps up in front of her, who tries to keep Galra away from her despite being in handcuffs. It’s unsurprising, but still…sweet. Futile, but sweet.
Lance goes flying across the cell and she winces in sympathy.
The big Galra (Zethor? Zarant? She doesn’t care enough to figure it out, settles on calling her Z) shakes her head at Lance. Her voice is amused when she says, “Your defiance is adorable and very misguided.”
“Leave us alone,” she bites out, voice much more level than she expects. She’s trying to stay strong, trying not to show just how afraid she is right now (can the Galra actually smell fear? With the way Z is grinning at her, she thinks it likely).
She’s always been small, but now she wishes she could shrink into nothingness.
Hunk’s arm is pressed against hers, shoulder to wrist. It’s comforting, even though she can feel him trembling as hard as her. She wants to grab his hand, wants to clutch at him like a lifeline, for herself and for Hunk.
Before she can decide if it’s worth it - showing that hint of fear in exchange for that bit of solace - the other Galra (Ezor, she remembers that one) flicks her tail and yanks her up by the collar.
Someone screams her name (Hunk? Shiro? It’s hard to tell right now) and someone else shouts, “Let her go!” (Keith? Lance?)
Hands wrap around her neck, squeezing the breath out of her lungs. She kicks and struggles and sputters, but Ezor’s hands are strong and it’s hard to fight with handcuffs and blocked airways.
She’s been scared before, but there’s a special kind of fear reserved for being choked by a hostile alien in a cell in front of all of her friends.
One of her teammates yells, “Put her down!” and she knows it’s Allura this time (the accent gives it away).
‘Tell us where Lotor is and I will.” There’s something awfully, gratingly, disturbingly cheerful in Ezor’s tone. “You can keep your precious Green Paladin if you answer me. ”
Nobody speaks. She can picture them all glancing around at each other, trying to come up with a plan of action. She can see their expressions - the worry on Lance and Hunk’s faces, the anger on Keith and Shiro’s, the despair on Allura and Romelle’s. She watches them, in her mind’s eye, come up completely blank.
The grip on her throat tightens. An awful, choked noise escapes her, and a collective gasp runs through the room.
“We could make this more fun, you know,” Z says, as if this is all some sick game - it probably is to them, watching her fight for air, watching her face slowly turn blue. “Do some real damage to the little one, here.”
I’m not little! she thinks.
Irrelevant, unhelpful. Reroute.
Find a way out.
She needs an escape. She can do this, she’s the smartest Paladin, surely on the list of top three smartest 15 year olds. Top 10 smartest teenagers, perhaps. If anyone can do this, it’s her.
She has to. She has - things to do, important things. She’s not entirely sure what they are right now, but they’re important in some way or another.
The oxygen deprivation is getting to her, she can feel herself slipping. By her calculations (margin of error: 10), she’s got about seventeen more seconds until she blacks out.
If she can manage to twist just so, maybe she can -
No, Ezor’s tail makes five limbs to her four. Impossible.
Breaking her own wrist the right way could get her out of the cuffs.
Except they’re not normal cuffs, chances are she can’t just slip out of them. Besides, a broken wrist creates a whole other problem in the foreseeable future.
Foreseeable future.
Not so foreseeable now.
Ten seconds.
She’s missed some of the conversation. It can’t be that groundbreaking, though, seeing as she’s still being dangling in the air.
“Answers!” Ezor demands, just as she tunes back in.
Eight seconds. Her eyes are starting to flutter.
“We told you,” one of the other voices says (it’s practically indiscernible now. Shiro, maybe?). “He’s -”
Six seconds. Does the world usually have spots?
There’s a loud noise. She’s not sure what it is.
Five seconds. She’s so tired.
“ Hull breach in hangar one. Lockdown sequence initiated.”
Three seconds. She could just go to sleep for a few minutes…
And then the pressure’s gone and she falls to the floor and she’s gagging and coughing and wheezing and there’s a hand on her back and she’s alive.
She’s pulled close to someone, gentle arms looping over her head, and a voice is saying, “Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay, I’ve got you.”
Lance. Without a doubt.
“Just breathe, sweetheart, you’re okay.”
Sweetheart. That’s new. She thinks she likes it, the way Lance says it like he’s comforting his little sister.
She’s pretty sure Lance thinks of her that way, like a little sister. Because she definitely thinks of him as her big brother.
“I’ve got you, it’s gonna be alright.”
She curls farther into Lance, feels his arms shift to compensate. She’s aware that the reason she’s not terrified right now is because her brain is addled and her mind hasn’t caught up enough to be scared, but for now she’ll just pretend that this was all some harrowing nightmare.
“I’m not gonna let them hurt you again, okay? You’re gonna be just fine, Pidge.”
True or not, the words do sound pretty.