Summary: a ghost saved Arthur the other day, but how was he supposed to know that it was a ghost of a dead pilot from the second World War? And that it would follow him, and that he would actually grow fond of it. No no, there simply wasn't room for a ghost relationship in his already messy life.

Hi.

Sorry that this took so long, but I just really needed to force myself to re-write this, before continuing. But Hopefully it really will continue properly this time. So I hope you will stick around. The reason I needed to rewrite it was to get some of my facts straight. For one my dates didn't make sense, and his background story that would fit true history. So that needed some fixes. Originally I made him from 1918, but now he will be from the 2ww instead.

Enjoy. ^^

Chapter 1.

We Met On The Roof Top

If any of the busy people in New York had bothered to look their linear gazes upward, they might have been stunned to see a person, sitting on the edge of a skyscraper. He was a rather handsome young man, but anyone would say that he looked quite ordinary, except for the fact that he was wearing a pilot's bomber jacket, and clothes that belonged centuries ago. What they didn't know was that this was not a simple fashion failure or an attempt of standing out.

But even if the busy people in the city of New York had bothered to look up, they still wouldn't have seen this person, who was very far from the ordinary.

The person closed his eyes and if he thought really hard, he could almost remember how it felt like to have the wind blow back your hair, although his own sat perfectly still on his head despite the wind. The sun warming his face, and the smell of the town. Those sensations were very foreign now. He hadn't felt anything at all, not since 1945, where his P-38 aircraft malfunctioned on August 6th, and killed him instantly. Because his death happened on this specific date, his passing was quite secondary to the news.

Alfred Jones had not expected to die though. He was often known to his friends as he one who didn't see death as an option when he was in combat. He was quite the reckless pilot, with a crazy kill record for his age. He had even broken Eddie Rickenbacker's record of 26 kills. He would fly way too close to the target, so he was more sure of getting the hit. The explosions had on more than one occasion inflicted on his own aircraft. He was the kind of guy that you would shake your head of in the air force, but at the same time admire his courage… and luck.

Yet, everyone comes to an end. Even with the lack of media, he truly had gotten an admirable funeral. He was mentioned in a few books as well. Not a legacy to be ashamed of.

That would all have been grant and glorious, if it wasn't for the fact that Alfred F. Jones. Was. Still. Here!

He hadn't gone to heaven, next life, void of darkness, Vegas or anywhere else a dead person needs to check in… or out.

He didn't remember how he died, not in details at least. He just remembered someone wishing him luck, with such a sweet smile. Then he went into his beloved plane, and was off. He remembers flashes, shouts, fire and someone touching him, although he was sure he had been alone in the plane.

The next thing he remembered he was in a hospital, and heard people murmur frantically around him, but he didn't understand what they were saying, because of a low buzzing in his ears. A thin white sheet was covering his whole body, and he could only make out light through the fabric. He sat up in the bed, but the nurse didn't even seem to notice that he had done so. When he spoke to her, she didn't even flinch. In the end he had reached out and touched her shoulder, and she had only shuddered a little, with no other reaction.

If we skip over the freak-out and depression, Alfred had slowly started to understand that he was no longer alive. He could go right through everything he wanted to, and when he touched people they would only get goosebumps, no matter how hard he tried to hit.

So what? He was a ghost? That was just freaky! He never got a memo about it from any higher powers. No angels to brief him, or revelation of his purpose. But he was definitely stuck in a state between death and life. He had never thought that could actually happen, and he had never seen another ghost as long as he had been dead.

His body had been shipped back to America after he died, and he was buried in the center of New York... there was a memorial a few streets down in Central NY, where he was buried next to some military buddies, who unfortunately never showed their faces. It was kind of his... home, he supposed.

He felt kind of depressed when he thought about all of this. He would rather not. He had been through some pretty hardcore depressions in his dead life, and haunted a few poor people in the worst of his rage. Suicide was not an option, he had tried. No, he would rather watch the happy people as they kept on living, since it was the only way to get rid of the boredom. He had a few favorite people living in the town. Maybe he would go see Matthew today. He always liked Matthew, he reminded him of a brother he had had back in the days, who-

Slam!

Thoughts of the past were cut off abruptly when the door to the roof behind him was forcefully yanked open. The door hit the back wall with a metallic clash. Alfred had nearly slipped off of the edge and down on the street, but managed to catch himself on the railing in the last moment.

His blue eyes turned to the person who had opened the door. He looked like a businessman with a suit, and a tie that had been loosened so much that it was hanging down his chest. But that was all his eyes had time to register, because the man started running toward the other side of the roof, and grabbed onto the railing there. He was clearly upset. The wind ripped in his clothes and hair (Alfred felt a little jealous about that).

His hands were clutching at the metal, and Alfred could see his shoulders shake, as if he was sobbing. His blonde locks jumped a little with every sob, it looked so strange with the messy hair on such an upright-looking guy.

If Alfred had been an actual living person, he might have felt like he was disturbing his personal space, but after years, he had realized that his actions made no difference to the living people's lives.

He slowly motioned closer, and now he could hear his sobs. They sounded weak and utterly pathetic, and Alfred was sure he would have felt a stab to the heart, if he had had one. Maybe depressing images wasn't a good idea today. He could go see the happy kids in the toy stores or something. But... for some reason he didn't move just yet.

The guy's sobbing became hiccups, and Alfred's eyes widened a little when he straightened and grabbed tighter around the railing and… looked down. Oh, he wasn't going to do what Alfred thought, was he?

The blonde, whose face he hadn't even seen, started to breathe more deeply to calm himself, closing his eyes in concentration. "Okay…" he whispered to himself. "It won't hurt… it won't hurt…" he mumbled, and Alfred took a step closer.

In all his years he had never seen an actual… suicide.

The guy swallowed and then bounced his body up on the railing to climb over. Alfred's eyebrows furrowed and his blue eyes stared at the man, as he supported his body with his hands and lifted a leg to get over the railing. That's when it clicked for him.

"Wha- nah- Stop!" Alfred burst out.

The guy froze.

Alfred froze.

Then the blonde very slowly turned his head, revealing bright green eyes filled with tears, but they had morphed into surprise instead of sadness. Alfred stared back. This person's gaze was fixed on him, and the American actually turned his head to see if there was someone behind him, but there was only roof.

When he turned back the guy had dropped his feet back on the roof in a flash, his eyes still on Alfred, and he quickly wiped his tears and cleared his throat. "Forget you ever saw that, okay?" he said with a tone of authority that didn't match his appearance, and he noted the British accent.

Alfred only stared.

Was this guy talking to him?

The guy swallowed and shifted his tie back in place. His eyes dropping to the ground, as he without luck tried to make his tie be neat again. "I'm sorry you had to witness that."

Alfred still stared.

Then the others eyes flickered a little and he let his hands drop again, giving up on the tie. "I wasn't going to jump," he assured him, with a humorless chuckle and shook his head as if that was ridiculous.

Alfred slowly lifted a finger and pointed at his own chest. "Er…"

The blonde looked back up at him.

The man clearly waited for him to continue, but as there came no more interaction, besides a strange guy with a gaping mouth and century old clothes, his eyes just averted him swiftly. He started taking a step toward the door. "Well… sorry for the misunderstanding," he said quickly.

Alfred tried to form words, he really did. He had been talking to himself for ages, but now they all seemed to fail.

"Goodbye," the guy mumbled in the end, and then he hurried toward the door as quickly as he had come out a moment ago.

"Wai- eh," Alfred formed, and lifted a hand toward him, but the door was already closing with the same metallic sound. He listened to the echo for a while, still with his hand raised to where the guy had disappeared.

After a moment of silent, Alfred's eyes widened in shock. His hands bend into claw-like look of despair, and he made a jump. "Holy shit dude, did you just talk to me!" he exclaimed, loudly. Although the guy was far off.

Thank you for reading! Please review if you would like to see more.