The barstool had been uncomfortable when he first sat down but now, hours and countless glasses of rum later, Killian's only discomfort is in his heart. Even that pain has been dimmed, thankfully; but there still remains a reasonable ache. Which is why he is dismayed to find the bartender demanding he let her drive him home.
"We closed an hour ago. Let me drive you somewhere or I'll call the cops and you can spend the night in jail." She says. Killian likes the fact that her words are blunt and rude but her tone implies that she is amused.
"I don't have anywhere to go." He murmurs, or rather, slurs.
The bartender sighs. "I know. You've told me about your wife thirty times in the last hour. Are you telling me you don't have any friends?"
Killian downs the last of the rum; then looks at it dejectedly. He stands, which takes a great deal of effort, and looks into the eyes of his adversary. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time, love. But I'll get on my own way just fine." To step away from her proves nearly impossible but Killian is determined. As honorable as his intent might be, walking out of the bar becomes a feet even he cannot conquer. He takes two steps then falls back against the bar, knocking over a stool.
"Okay, well, A for effort I guess." The bartender helps him stand, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders for support. "Come on, I'll drive you to the Granny's Inn down the street."
As much as Killian tries to protest, his body's inability to move on its own leaves him at a severe disadvantage. He complies with the demand of the petite blonde, who is far stronger than she looks, and gets into her yellow bug without further protest. "Will your wife…Milah? Will she be looking for you?"
Killian thinks back to the state he found her before he went to the bar. "No, love. Milah will not be thinking of me tonight."
Surprising both herself and Killian, the bartender nearly whispers, "I'm sorry." Almost immediately after saying it, she feels the need to defend it. "I mean, I don't know exactly what happened. But by the look of you, I'd say she broke your heart."
Killian chuckles weakly. "She ripped my heart out like it meant nothing, love. I'm not sure 'broke my heart' quite accurately illustrates it. But thank you for your noble attempt."
The bartender hesitates. "Well…you sound like your sobering up. Maybe that was my intent all along."
"If bringing me back to my heartbroken bleak reality was your intention, congratulations. I am indeed 'sobering up'." Killian rubs the sore spot on his arm where the prosthetic hand meets his flesh.
"We're here. Do you need help getting inside?" The bartender looks at Killian with kind eyes, though she sounds slightly annoyed.
Killian looks out the window at the Inn. "I think I could manage…if I had anything to serve as payment to this establishment."
The bartender sighs heavily, obviously very annoyed now. "You spent all your money on rum?"
"Aye. All the cash I had." Killian looks away from the Inn and into the eyes of the bartender. They aren't so kind now. "Would you lend to a drunken stranger? I already owe you for helping me here. You could add it to my tab."
"Just so we're clear, none of this is in my job description." The bartender sits back in her seat, considering. When she's made up her mind, she looks at Killian with a sort of calm intensity. "I'll check you out a room for a few nights. You can get back on your feet. Call it a favor."
Killian is genuinely surprised. "Can I have the name of my princess in shining armor?"
"Emma Swan."