Arthur watched as the hall slowly filled with humans. Humans that had been sleeping for the past 120 years, humans that didn't know all that had happened in the hall they now walked in.
He had watched as the crew slowly ripped away all the vegetation that Jim and Aurora had worked so hard to put in place, to grow. He hadn't been able to do anything but watch. He couldn't move from behind his bar, trapped in a prison that never felt like a cage until then. Couldn't stop them.
He didn't like these humans. They didn't talk to him, treat him like a person. Jim and Aurora had. Treated him like a person, talked to him, listen to him, and treated him like family. He had been family
He'd watched them grow older and grayer. Arthur had watched as they'd slowly changed with time, and as they changed everything around them at the same time.
He'd celebrated Christmas with them-The rose he was wearing was a present from Aurora, on their last Christmas-, celebrated their birthday with them-still did even now without them-, celebrated New Year, celebrated Halloween, and of course had served them on every Valentine day. He had been a part of their family. He wasn't family to these new human, just some android.
The crew had asked him about them, after they had read Aurora's book-and what a book it was, a story of a love that should not have been-, after they had watched years of the life of a couple that shouldn't have found each other, after they had heard the message from Homestead Company telling Jim how sorry they were, but they couldn't help him.
Jim had never listen to that message, hadn’t cared by then, had already knowned the answer by then.
"Aurora had Wednesday and Jim had Tuesday" he had answered. For them that wasn't an answer, but for him it was, it described them, their life.
Aurora came first, even if she had come after, and Jim was there first, but always put himself second, but in the end they were part of the same thing, the same life.
"They lived a hell of a life" he would say to the new passengers once they learned about the man and woman whose hibernation had failed, once they had read Aurora's book and fallen in love with the mechanic and the writer in it. Afterwards he would move to another passenger, not wanting to talk anymore about it.
(Androids shouldn’t feel grieve, but he wasn’t just an android anymore was he?)
When nostalgia would get the better of him over the next centuries and decades Arthur would look at the book that rested among the bottles, would gaze in the mirror to see the scares Aurora had helped him with- "Girls like scars Arthur."- and he hadn’t let Homestead’s engineers touched them, would looked at the dried rose in the pocket of his jacket, would stare at the millions of picture that decorated his wall and for a moment he would remember Jim Preston and Aurora Lane.
Then he would turn to a new customer, "What can I get you? Whiskey or Manhattan?"
The crew still didn't know why he kept repeating the same two orders.