I seem to be making a habit of lateness. Let us correct that this new year.
But, this chapter is a few hundred words longer than normal! So yay!

Thank you ever so much to blue J, The Cloud's Essence, Zeplerfer, the Bluegayle, Petaltailify97, seenlee93, MyJen, SakariWolfe, Aqua Cahill, Bexreader, Forever in the Fire, WeAllFlyHigh, ninja82, Aquarius-Otter, and Phoenix for your lovely reviews!
Thanks as well to amichalap, Matchet Hatchet, winged wolf 2, Dragoomega06, Pain and Betrayal, Kuma the wolf alchemist, Icephoenix321, Wolferunner123, MakesnoSensei (I love that name, btw), roxassoul, and again to The Cloud's Essence, Bexreader, and Forever in the Fire for your favorites and alerts!

On a related note, this story has reached 200 reviews! Thank you to everyone for your continued support!

And on a story note, I know I kinda promised Civil War stuff... but you're going to have to wait another chapter more. In the interest of following canon, hopefully, Japan's fun enough for all of you!

Enjoy!
I disclaim, and own nothing.

January of 1852 was no longer surprisingly warm to Alfred, having experienced previous winters on the west coast. Still, the wind off the San Francisco Bay was chilly, and his breath came out in puffs as he attempted to stuff his fingers further into his pockets.

Charlie appeared to be having no such warmth problems, his bare hands waving about and his scarf coming undone as he yelled,

"What do you mean, you can't take us back?!"

The boss of the shipping company rubbed his temples, fingers brushing the grey streaks that were slowly working themselves into his hair. He was a mere ghost of the powerful man with a fearsome presence, his head bowed as the regular dock crowd shifted around them.

Charlie, on the other hand, was fuming, practically shooting sparks as he gesticulated wildly, pinning their boss under the fiercest glare he could muster. Alfred admittedly found it was pretty impressive.

"We worked the necessary time, didn't we? Did all your idiotic… box-carrying, and still came back for more?"

"No fault of yers, Wetherby," their boss cut in, his tired voice making him sound civil for once. "My latest ships ran into trouble off Cape Horn, two are being detained back east, and the one I have here is full up. The best I can do for you boys is tell you to wait another few months—"

"Bullshit!" Charlie growled, and their boss flinched. "I'm getting married when I can! I need to be back in Illinois, all in one piece, with a stable job or at least saved-up money as soon and as certainly as is humanly possible!"

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Wetherby." Squinty eyes flicked to Alfred, who hadn't yet spoken. "Or you, Jones."

Charlie snarled wordlessly and stalked away. Alfred began to follow but paused, looking back at his boss. "How soon can you get us east?"

"Six to seven months if you want to get paid, four if yer willin' to go without."

Alfred glanced to where Charlie had gone. "We'll go without."

_V~-~-~V_

"The postal system out here is damn worthless," Charlie groused. "Can't even give me a reasonable arrival date for my letter!"

"Writing to your fiancée again?" Alfred inquired as he hiked the leather satchel that contained all of his important worldly possessions higher on his back.

Charlie nodded. "I told her we'll be in New York in six months, so to send her next letter there. But I'm really worried, the last letter said her father was ill, and she's only got sisters… how're they going to fare? They haven't much money as it is…"

"I'm sure he's not that sick," Alfred said, attempting to reassure his friend, for friends they had become over the last few months. "Probably just a spot of the flu, or something. She did write during December."

Charlie wrung his hands, an achingly familiar gesture to Alfred. "Besides," Alfred continued, "it's nearly summer, so post should travel faster."

The other nodded, but didn't look convinced.

Charlie mailed his letter anyway, incompetence in the postal service and all. Mere hours later, the pair boarded a ship bound for New York, one exclusively for desperate, low-class passengers and cargo.

Alfred didn't count himself as either, having plenty of money still left from the gold they'd discovered, not at all in a rush to get back east, and certainly not crates of abalone or pigs. Charlie, however, fit just about all of the passenger criteria.

And it is said, when one is too desperate in desiring something (like an expeditious sea voyage, or a pony), the exact opposite will happen.

Their rickety ship, a month or several into the voyage, was waylaid in a storm off the know-t0-be-treacherous (and rightfully so) Cape Horn and lost a few weeks' time, plus one of their sails. Their expected supply stop on a nameless Caribbean island fell through when they discovered the port overrun with pirates on shore leave, and their jaunt up the Atlantic coast was delayed by whaling traffic and a good deal of foreign commerce.

All of this (combined with a superstitious captain who was always pausing to look for dolphins at sunrise) resulted in nearly entirely spoilt cargo and an early landing in Norfolk, Virginia when their ship ran out of fresh water, and the stink of abalone belowdecks became too much to bear for a moment longer.

And it was in the chill-but-not-too-cold grips of a Virginia November that a lost and irate Charlie Wetherby received the letter that would help change the course of history.

_V~-~-~V_

"You got a letter?"

Wordlessly, Charlie nodded. "I don't know how they found me… I told her to send all her mail to New York!"

"Maybe the postal system isn't as incompetent as you thought," Alfred replied, a touch smugly. "From Marcy, then?"

But Charlie ignored him in favor of tearing open the thick envelope that sealed his fiancée's latest news. Walnut-brown eyes raced down the page, lips moving as they read, but no words escaping, until they paused.

It was almost stifling, because Alfred didn't know what it had taken to make his friend pause like that, and Alfred never liked not knowing, especially when it came to those he considered nearly family. For if he was really of the right Wetherby's (Alfred hadn't yet worked up the nerve to ask; after all, one doesn't just say, "Hello, I might be a friend of your great-granduncle's, mind if I stop by for tea sometime to chat about your deceased family members?"), he practically was related.

"He's dead."

Jerked from his tangential thoughts that no longer seemed quite so tangential, Alfred started. "What?"

Charlie laughed, a hollow, sarcastic sound. "Marcy's father. He's dead. They've no income and multiple daughters."

Alfred was still puzzled. It must have shown on his face, because Charlie continued, "Don't you see? My family doesn't have enough money to provide for a whole new one, they have no income and thus, not much inheritance anyway, and too many financial troubles makes for a marriage that isn't going to happen! Not between a girl with no money and a jobless lawyer!"

"California was supposed to solve this," he muttered, talking to himself now. "That was supposed to be the big break, the final step—"

"People marry for love all the time," Alfred ventured. "Surely you two can work something out…?"

"My father would never go for that," Charlie replied wearily. "He's a lawyer too, you know, very interested in financial welfare and all that, and Marcy's mother will want her to marry someone upstanding, who can provide for the lot of them."

Something about Charlie's absolute despondency filled Alfred with this sudden desire to help, to just make it better, whatever it was. Maybe it was the Emeline that he automatically associated with every Wetherby. He was half-hopeful that Charlie wasn't one of those Wetherbys, because then life would be simple, and Alfred cold leave the young man, guilt-free, and never have to think about Charlie's parents or grandparents in that woeful, dreading feeling that the possibility of seeing them brought.

Yet any Wetherby with the middle name Alfred (as much as it felt like overblown self-pride) was surely no coincidence.

Glancing around the Norfolk port, Alfred suddenly caught sight of men in military uniforms loading one of the larger ships. Ships were always something that took his mind off things, maybe they would help Charlie too.

"C'mere Charlie, let's see what those folks're up to!"

If Charlie noticed Alfred's sudden leap in enthusiasm, he didn't comment. "But the letter..."

Alfred snatched the envelope from Charlie's hands. He cried out in surprise, but Alfred merely said, "Worrying can wait, but American military ships stop for nothing!"

A bright grin was all it took, and Charlie was following. Perhaps the death grip Alfred had on his post helped, but Alfred preferred to see it as natural charm or something.

Meanwhile, he all but skipped in the direction of the military ship. It wasn't a sailboat, rather a paddle-wheel steamer that had sails merely for extra power. Its name was printed on the side in bold, white letters.

"The Mississippi, huh?" he asked, directing his question at a nearby sailor. "Where's she going?"

The man paused briefly, glancing about for a superior officer before setting down his load. "We're part of Commodore Perry's mission. This here, she's the flagship. All bound for Japan, making regular dip-lo-mats of us all." He stretched out the word, emphasizing each syllable. "Though I dunno why they're sending the military," he continued, leaning closer in a conspiratory fashion, his thin, greying beard making his appearance gruffer than his words. "Somethin' not quite all right about that, y'know? But o' course, I keep my mouth shut, yessir, just do my job. You didn't hear none of this from me, awright?"

But Alfred was still stuck on one thing. "Japan? Isn't that clear across the Pacific ocean?"

"Oh, we're not going that way," the man scoffed. "Too much bother and not enough ports, y'see? We're going clear across the Atlantic, and to Africa... and after that I don't rightly know. My geo-gra-phy was never so good."

Alfred just nodded in agreement, because his geography had never been terrific either. He knew America like the back of his hand, about half the time he'd remember Canada and Mexico, and he had a vague sense of the size of the oceans, but beyond that...?

Charlie, though, seemed much more knowledgeable on this front. "You mean you'll be going through the Indian Ocean and the south Asian islands? You'll see just about the entire planet going that way!"

The man was stammering out some "well, I don't rightly know"s and shuffling awkwardly when all of a sudden, Japan seemed like a much better place to be than the east coast of the United States, at least to Alfred. And he was suddenly sure, from Charlie's enthusiastic questions, that he could easily accomplish two things at once.

"Any chance we can go with you?"

_V~-~-~V_

Barely a day later, Alfred found himself once again on a ship, with Charlie not at his side but definitely nearby (because he in the midst of an irritable spell). Only this time, they were bound for much more exciting things than Norfolk, Virginia.

And the ship itself was absolutely amazing. Alfred had never ridden on a paddleboat steamer before, always too expensive as passenger ships for his very low budget, but the way they belched black smoke and crashed through the water with none of the finesse of a sailing ship just screamed industry. And Alfred was personally rather fond of industry.

With his gold-money and more sentimental possessions stored away in a safety deposit box back in Virginia, Alfred also felt like he was finally ready for another adventure, and to a new country at that!

Besides, their adventure had very nearly not happened, because Commodore Perry (as Alfred had learned) was a man who liked planning everything down to the last detail, and it had been a grand stroke of luck that the page boy and steward who were slated to go on this diplomatic mission had backed out at the last minute, and a pair of overly qualified young men with lawyer training presented a definite improvement.

One of the many reasons Charlie was in his cabin, in a poor mood, while Alfred was standing on deck, enjoying the sea air, was because he had been assigned as the page boy's replacement. Alfred had laughed when Charlie had complained that, "Surely I'm the older one here, why is he the steward?"

But a steward and page boy's pay combined, especially for such a long voyage, was certainly enough for Charlie to start off on once he returned to Illinois, and to his fiancée, so it became an offer of both worldliness and money that Charlie couldn't refuse.

Alfred had met with Commodore Perry as something of a formality, and had dragged Charlie along with him. He'd immediately hit on with the military man: determined, industrious, and rather brilliant, he was everything Alfred felt a commander should be.

Perry had eyed them shrewdly when they'd first entered, but like most people, he immediately warmed up to Alfred, and had hired them shortly after. "Who can say? Perhaps your lawyer sense will come in use at some point," was the primary reason he gave.

"As good a reason as any," Alfred had replied with a grin, before asking the question he really wanted an answer to. "So, why Japan, anyway?"

Perry had immediately sobered. "We need reliable ports for coal and oil," he began, in what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech, "for any American ships in the area, and agreements for trade to be conducted within those ports. We also need the promise of help for any shipwrecked Americans, and freedom of movement for American citizens within those ports. To ensure their rights, you see."

Alfred had raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, the diplomat he'd been what seemed so long ago coming to the surface. "Are all these... guns really necessary if all you want is a trade agreement? Sure, the freedom of movement parts seem a bit excessive and demanding... but surely anyone would want to trade with America," he added, a note of pride in his voice.

Perry shook his head. "Japan has been closed for centuries to the outside world. I've been studying every resource there is to study on them and their history for the past nine months, and I've determined that the four previous American attempts failed because they were both insufficient in displays of strength and ignorant of Japanese character. And I," he puffed himself up momentarily, "am certain that with the proper preparations for both, I will succeed."

_V~-~-~V_

Months later, Alfred was certain that he now knew why that strange Arthur fellow from Boston had loved sailing so very much.

Madiera had been bustling, loud, and decidedly foreign. For once, Alfred couldn't understand a word of what was being said around him, and he'd actually had to muscle through the crowd on the dock, something he'd never had to do back home. He chalked it up to people being less polite than they were in America, even though the vendors were always smiling and attempting in vain to make friendly conversation in Portuguese.

The Cape of Good Hope had been decidedly dreadful to get around, mainly because there were no port stops until Capetown itself. But for one splendid moment, Alfred had called Charlie over to show him the abrupt line where the Indian and Atlantic oceans met in a clash of teal-green and deep blue.

Mauritius was a quaint, tropical place, just what Alfred had always imagined whenever Lucretia had mentioned glamorous people and the types of fancy vacations some went on. Usually they were to London or Paris, but occasionally the tropics were mentioned, but Alfred didn't believe she'd ever said how beastly hot the place was.

Hong Kong was almost not a part of China, so big was the difference between it and the port of Shanghai. A grand, modern city with an Oriental flair compared to a sprawling fishing village. Alfred spent much of his time there wondering if Yao had ever been, and trying to catch glimpses of that elusive ponytail and red tunic through the crowds.

At Singapore, he wasn't allowed off the boat because in Hong Kong, he'd spent his shore leave trying to ask after his one Chinese friend, frightening the locals to no end with his persistence. But Alfred found it amazing that so much could fit on such a small island, an entire nation surrounded completely by ocean.

This adventure, mosquitoes and bad food aside, was seeming more like one of those marvelous vacations to Alfred, even if the rest of the crew didn't seem to feel that way.

But it was in Lew Chew, the island later known as Okinawa, that Alfred remembered that this was a mission for his country, not some jaunt around the world for his fancy.

"Disembark!" Commodore Perry bellowed, loudly enough that the other ships in their fleet that had joined the mighty Mississippi heard and echoed the call. Alfred had grabbed Charlie and stuck close behind the Commodore himself, who was hoisted onto a sedan chair borne by eight men. Together, nearly two hundred men formed an impressive procession, with the colors flying in front, followed by the Mississippi's band, a company of Marines, and then the Commodore and his Marine bodyguard, which Alfred and Charlie stuck with. They were followed by even more men, another band, and the gifts.

Along the sides of the road people gathered, whispering and taking in the sight of the foreign pomp and circumstance, which Alfred thought was all a bit overdone.

"The man didn't need a damn parade to make his entrance," Charlie whispered, barely audible over the sound of the two bands. "He could've done just fine walking in and introducing himself, like any normal person."

Alfred shrugged. "I'm sure he has his reasons. Good first impressions, or something."

"If this was my first impression of him, I'd think he was a right pompous idiot with an overblown ego and absolutely no regard for diplomatic procedure."

Alfred was inclined to agree with that sentiment, but instead just shrugged again. Charlie huffed, and settled for glaring daggers at the back of the Commodore's chair.

But the expedition, Alfred was sure, would prove its worth with the result of Lew Chew that seemed inevitable. Before long, they would be in Tokyo, and then the true test of Commodore Perry's thus far admirable mettle would come to test.

_V~-~-~V_

In a pile of blankets no longer a world away, a certain Japanese man was curled into a tiny, protective ball, hiding from the world outside his dimly lit room and willing the intense feeling of foreboding washing over him to just go away.

Such a feeling had to do, in no small part, with the letter he'd received from China. Since when have we been on letter-sending terms, he wondered, and was careful in opening the message, just in case Yao had decided to send a poisonous plant or something in spite.

But there was nothing, just an ordinary letter, written in Yao's usual impeccable calligraphy that he'd once tried to teach Kiku. Of course, Kiku had then gone and invented kana instead, but that was neither here nor there.

The letter had been desperately vague. Kiku could just imagine Yao laughing as he wrote it, thinking himself clever. It told of his trip to America, lorded the fact that he now had a personal stockpile of gold over Kiku's head, while repeatedly mentioning a certain Alfred.

In closing, he'd written, Alfred is a very nosy young man. I am almost certain that he will soon find a way inside your walls.

Kiku had pondered the letter for a good day, before choosing instead to throw it in the corner where he threw all things that reminded him of the outside world, and crawled back beneath his blankets.

But going away was something the foreboding feeling still refused to do, even in the quilts' secure warmth, so it was with a sense of resigned dignity that he dressed in his more formal clothes and kneeled by the window of his room, waiting.

The sound of stocking feet on wood roused him from his melancholy thoughts. There was a brief knock beside his sliding door, but the knocker gave up and simply thrust the bamboo screen open.

"Honda-san-"

The man known as Honda Kiku to the average sort, and the nation of Japan to the rest, stood slowly. "Good morning, Osaka-kun," he replied.

The ponytailed young man standing in the doorway straightened abruptly. "Oh— I hadn't realized you were up and about." He bowed quickly. "Please forgive my sudden intrusion."

Kiku smiled wanly. "So, what important news have you today?"

Osaka jerked back upright. "Yes, the ships!" he exclaimed. "There are American ships in Tokyo Bay, big black ones that are very forbidding in appearance!"

Kiku's heart sank. "How many?"

"The number—" Osaka paused, before finishing sheepishly, "I actually do not think anyone has bothered to count."

"This is worse than expected," he whispered, addressing the feeling of foreboding he'd had nearly all week. "We have had others visit in the past, though. How are these so different? We will simply send them away—"

"But that's the thing, Honda-san," interrupted Osaka, wringing his hands in a half-frantic, half-apologetic manner. "This fleet brought guns."

Kiku paled. They couldn't hope to contest with these guns, not with their weaponry that was doubtless outdated by now, their European guns easily a century old. And what had they for ships and sailors? Fishing boats?

"Sir-!"

Another young man at the door, this time a representative of the Tokugawa family itself. He didn't give Kiku time to reply before he bowed quickly and said, in a voice that booked no argument, "The Emperor commands your presence immediately, Honda Kiku-san. Delay would not be wise."

V/~-~-~\V

Done again! And by the way, tomorrow (January 7th) is your illustrious author's birthday, so I will take any follows or reviews as birthday presents.

History first:
The journey by ship from San Francisco to New York takes about 6-8 months, going around Cape Horn at the tip of South America. It's a treacherous voyage, as the Cape is known for its storms and assortment of jagged rocks, so delays were pretty expected.
The Pony Express doesn't come along for another ten years, and the Transcontinental Railroad another ten after that, so the mail system between coasts was pretty bad as a general rule.
Commodore William Perry's expedition was the fifth sent by the United States in an attempt to convince Japan to trade with them. Perry was assigned the expedition in March of 1852, though they didn't leave until November. He spent those months learning everything he could about Japan and Japanese culture in an effort to create the best tactics for diplomacy. More of those to come.
The expedition went from Norfolk, Virginia and around South Africa to get to Japan, stopping at all the places mentioned and more, because ships stuck close to land in those days, particularly ships that needed coal refills. The Mississippi was the flagship, with the rest of the fleet either having mechanical problems or meeting Perry in Asia, so they left the USA alone, leaving instructions for the others to join them when they could.
The description of the parade in Okinawa/Lew Chew is all factual, and there really was a steward and a page boy accompanying the Marine bodyguards.
The ships docked in Tokyo Bay in 1853, panicking civilians and politicians alike. The Japanese called them the kurofune, and their arrival marked the beginning of the end of Japanese self-imposed isolation. The isolation, called sakoku (or 'closed country'), was imposed by the Tokugawa Shogunate in an attempt to keep western influences out of Japan. Among them was religion, because the shogunate feared that it would unite people under a banner other than Japan's because it forced them to pledge allegiance to a foreign power. In the interest of keeping Japan united, western influences were purged, and the country closed to everyone but the Dutch for two centuries.

Phew! Next chapter, I promise the rest of Perry, more of Japan, whales, and a return to America. Depending on how long it takes, we might even get to Illinois. We shall see!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and as always, if you have the time, please don't hesitate to leave a comment, question, or review!

See you next time!