He waited until she fell in beside him, and then started to walk. His bare feet splashed against the water that had gathered on the sidewalk. She said that he didn't have to worry about owing her... but he did. If someone did you a favor, you did them a favor back. Simple as that.
"Hmm. I wouldn't worry, but I would still owe you one. Just... keep it in mind. You never know when you'd need a favor."
Why a human girl (which Margo was, as far as Chris knew) would ever need a favor from a street-living fish mutant was another question entirely.

When Margo started laughing Chris gave her a slightly perplexed sideways look, since he wasn't really used to people laughing at his jokes. Her laughter was infectious - the corners of his mouth turned upwards in a quick smile.
But then she went on calling him 'dear sir' again. Chris let out an theatrical sigh to show just what he thought about that.

When she asked if he'd gathered funds from other unsuspecting children he gave her a quick look, and then looked down on the pavement in front of them.
"No," he said, and then added "Not today."
Chris might be a thief, but he wasn't a liar. He wasn't going to pretend he'd never stolen from a child before.
"Sometimes. But not if I can avoid it. They usually don't have much to steal."
He hesitated before adding:
"I... I would understand if you'd like to take back your offer."

Well, at least he'd been honest about it. And not like she'd really wanted to put the question that way (even though she had). As if there was any difference if you stole from a child rather than an...older man.

Like Robin Hood, huh? Take from the rich to give to the poor. See, if Chris chose to steal for his own survival, no big deal. If he took out of spite, if he even tried to differentiate between his targets, then that was when they had a problem.

"It's not like that, you know." Margo said. "I wouldn't. I wouldn't- I- the purpose- Just try to keep your fingers out of people's pockets from now on, okay?" She finished rather lamely. "Um, for your own safety too."

Concrete, beneath her feet, wet with pooling rain. It reminded her of puddle-jumping, Canada, so many years ago. The rain was still falling. So the girl whispered a poem to herself, one of her favorites: Emily Dickinson.

"If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain."

Chris was a bit hesitant about making such promises. Keeping fingers out of pockets was hard when you needed money. He had managed to survive without stealing earlier, back when he had been living at the Mansion, but having someone else providing for him always made him feel like a burden.
It seemed like the only thing he was good at was taking, always taking and never giving anything back. If that was the case he preferred taking from someone he was unlikely to meet again.
"I... I can try," he said vaguely, but then added with a bit more resolution: "Alright. I will try. What's the worst that could happen?"
Maybe being stopped by her had been a sign. Chris believed heavily in signs, and if this meant he was supposed to try something else than stealing before somebody less lenient caught him, who was he to argue? His face might not be much to look at, but he was reasonably fond of it and would prefer to not get it smashed by an angry would-be-victim.

He listened to what she was whispering, head cocked to the side in curiosity. They had arrived at the place where the van was parked; a rusty old thing that seemed like it should have been taken off the road years ago. Well, it was a scrap heap, but it was home.
The old van wasn't going anywhere, so instead of commenting on it Chris slowed down his steps. He was standing still when she finished her... poem? He wasn't sure.
"What was that?" he asked.

She finished her poem just as they arrived- what perfect timing!

"What was that?" Chris asked.

Immediately embarrassed, the girl blushed. "Nothing really," she said, "Just a poem that I thought particularly suited the occasion. Emily Dickinson." Her little habits...so embarrassing! "It's all about helping out, 'cause really the only way you can measure a life's worth is what you do for others, you know?" Not that Chris was a fainting robin or anything, but still... She was so bad at this explaining thing. "And it's just a weird thing I do, but it makes life feel special. Like a story, a movie, something."

She examined the van, an old, beat up looking thing. Sure enough, it had a flat tire. It also looked as though it was about to fall apart. Margo was nobody to judge, if Chris liked it, but- gosh, how could anyone live in that thing?

She rifled through her wallet, mentally calculating. How much would he need? She wouldn't know, having never done this sort of thing before. She usually didn't carry around that much cash, either (just in case, say, what had almost occurred tonight really did occur).

"How much do you think you'd need?" Margo asked. "I don't have as much as I'd like to give you on me right now." she admitted. "But, uh, in the future, if you ever have financial problems... I have pretty deep pockets, however undeserving I might be."