Krystal felt angrily embarrassed from the way Fox so lightly brought up marriage. She knew his intentions had been good, but she was tired of all the romantic drama. There was no denying that she felt an attraction to the man, but in the long-run, Krystal felt too conflicted to bring the issue any finality. Perhaps it would be best after all to just tell Fox to leave when she'd gotten him safely back to Lylat. Either way, she had to get him off the planet. That was certain.
She felt the harsh pavement beneath her to take its toll on her feet. Her shoes felt too small, and her feet begged for freedom from their bondage. But as quickly as it emerged, Krystal tried to suppress the image of running barefoot, for it had always brought memories of her youth on Cerinia, where most of the inhabitants trod freely across the cool grass without footwear. Krystal could almost feel the dew between her toes as she ran, but reality took hold of her consciousness again when she realized that it was only stale sweat. Realizing that this slip in concentration had caused her to slow her pace slightly, she redirected her energy towards running; throwing one foot forward, landing as lightly as possible, swinging the other though to keep her balance, and landing again. The cycle was dull and repetitive, but it would get her to her destination with speed and efficiency.
When she turned her head to get a bearing on Fox, she found that neither speed nor efficiency was looking kindly upon him. He was a few dozen meters behind her, struggling as if he were wading through a foot of water. Krystal stopped to wait for him again, hoping the frustration she felt was conveyed to Fox.
"I think I need another break," Fox spluttered.
"You'll be able to rest your sorry ass soon enough. The pawnshop is just around the corner. Get out your gun," she said as she took hers in hand. Fox, knees buckling, made a painstaking effort to pull his weapon from its hiding place under his shirt, which was darkened in places by perspiration. Krystal noted it, both with her eyes and her nose. "When was the last time you ran, anyway?"
"On a regular basis? Probably not since you left Star Fox."
Krystal made a grunt in response. He'd shifted the blame back to her. Touché. But rather than perpetuate a fruitless argument, she peered out of the alleyway towards their destination.
Miraculously, it was free of suspicious activity. Their pursuers must've begun tracking them after they'd visited the old man for the first time. Of course, such a lack of opposition could prove to be treachery, but Krystal tried to force herself to assume that this wasn't a trap.
"Come on, Fox. We're going to have to run for the front door."
He nodded slowly, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of a hand. Krystal looked him over, exhaling deeply. Even when she was angry with him, the sight of him gave her hope. As she took off toward the shop, she heard Fox trotting faithfully after her, doing his best to keep pace for the short sprint ahead of them.
They burst through the door, knocking the little bell above it to the floor. The building was just as it had been when they last saw it—except that the old man was pointing Sasha at the door. Krystal screeched to a halt, nearly causing Fox to run into her. She thrust her hands into the air and dropped her weapon, cursing her naïveté in assuming that there was no trap.
"What are you doing? Pick up your guns, both of you! I'm not aiming this at you," the old man said over the grinding hum of his enormous weapon.
Krystal, immensely relieved, snatched up her pistol. "Then who are you aiming it at?"
"The folks following you. I assumed you'd run here, and I just received word that they were already headed this way. They'll be here any minute, so get yourselves hidden in the back room!" he commanded as cars could be heard pulling up outside.
Krystal nodded to him, saying without words, "Thank you for saving our lives." Without further hesitation, she led Fox past the old man back into the junk-filled storeroom. She directed him into a corner, killed the lights, and ducked into a corner herself. In complete silence, the both of them listened to the conversation outside filtered through to them.
"What're you doing here!? Get outta my shop!" came the old man's scratchy voice.
A smooth, unperturbed voice responded coolly, "My men believe you may be harboring two particularly dangerous individuals. If you aren't, I assure you, a thorough search of the building will cement your innocence. Please stand aside."
Krystal could hear Sasha make a menacing, escalating, hum; the old man was charging a shot. "You'll do no such thing," he replied with a slow determination.
Still the soft tenor of the other man's voice didn't seem intimidated in the least when he said, "I'm afraid you'll regret it dearly if you choose not to stand aside."
The old man snarled, "Same to you," and Krystal wished she'd covered her ears as Sasha violently belched forth all the energy she had been holding back.
Amidst the pandemonious screams, the tenor, having finally lost his composure, roared, "I do hope you don't think we won't be able to outmatch your firepower! Mark my words, we'll be back in full force when you least expect it, old man, and you certainly aren't the only one with illegal arms at your disposal!"
But the old man growled coldly, "Get out of my sight," and Sasha accompanied him by charging another shot. Krystal smiled to herself as she heard hastily retreating footsteps.