Author's Note: Good evening, everyone. All right, now that we've gotten sufficient background info (no worries, I'll address Olitz's first meeting with Cyrus soon…), it's time to jump back to the present , Liv's prologue gauntlet throwing words still echoing in the rafters. And she's certainly still dropping the mic here...

Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"

Present Day

"…Look, I get it. You had a life path for him planned out before you turned on the Barry White record to make him and now, it's pretty much shot to hell. He has rejected your DAR, WASP Republican betrothal in favor of an African American, apolitical, daughter of a funeral parlor owner and a coroner that couldn't even legally drink until 6 months ago. You're angry and that's your prerogative but I'm going to tell you some cold truths right now, Senator: I love your son. He is the love of my life, regardless of whether he is the President of the United States or a janitor. Your son loves me. He doesn't want anyone but me and I don't want anyone but him. We are married. We eloped but we are married. Anyone that tries to destroy that…"

"Are you threatening me, Ms. Pope?"

"It's Mrs. Pope-Grant and I am promising you that if you plot anything else against us, I will not only destroy your reputation and career, I will gleefully destroy you. My family's livelihood directly involves death and has for over 40 years on both sides. Do not test me on this…Daddy."

Never show fear. That had been one of the main lessons Fitzgerald Grant I had driven into his head, along with the importance of hard work, saving money, and networking. However, that mantra didn't prohibit feeling fear and right now, staring into the sharp chocolate eyes of Olivia Pope…Big Jerry felt fear. Not because of the matter of fact promise of death his…daughter-in-law…had just given him, not even because of the radical yet potent outline of just why this…marriage…could pay off dividends but because of an utter lack of control.

Olivia Pope…Olivia Pope-Grant's only weakness seemed to be his son but that wasn't really a weakness at all, it seemed. She could not be bought, she could not be manipulated, and she could not be easily categorized. Even getting a loose read on her was well nigh impossible. She was a damned chameleon...

Like Millicent, she was intelligent but unlike her, Olivia wielded her intellect like a machete. While Millicent was slow, sweet poison, Olivia was a bold and brazen warrior, ready and willing to (gleefully, in her words...) tear anyone that threatened her and those she loved to shreds. Most of all, unlike Millicent, she had captured every part of Tripp: his mind, his dick, and even his heart. The boy was completely over the moon for her. He'd burn down everything for her and Big Jerry could easily see him taking a beating or a bullet for her. What disturbed him was that it was a two-way street.

The last time he had seen such matter of fact devotion had been between his parents and that devotion had weathered everything and everyone that had the audacity to challenge them.

"That makes her a wild card. Apoliticals are game changers."

"In more ways than one apparently…"

Resigned, Big Jerry broke the staring contest and went to the small bar he kept in his office.

If he was going to swallow his pride enough to allow this, he needed to be drunk…

"Ms. Pope…"

Her eyes widened and her jaw clenched around a soft but audible snarl. Wonderful…his son had married an apolitical, beautiful African-American psychopath. A psychopath that he had to make nice with…

"Olivia…you have to understand. I'm just worried about my son. This is all so sudden."

She stood and joined him at the bar, matter of factly pouring herself a drink.

"You're worried about his political future, not him. Don't pretend otherwise. But, like I said earlier, those worries are unnecessary now. I do agree with you, though. This is very sudden. Wonderful but sudden."

Big Jerry took a deep pull of his tumbler of scotch and asked rhetorically, "I suppose you've convinced him to just completely forgo running for the presidency?"

"No. Weren't you listening? If Fitz wants to make a run for 1600 Penn, then we're prepared and I'm all for it. If he doesn't want to, I'm all for that, too. Even though we are married, it's still his life to live the way he sees fit. As long as it's legal, I'm ride or die. But, it has to be his choice. His, goddammit. Not yours, mine, or anyone else's. See, you and god knows who else around here never really gave him choices. You all sat down and plotted out a life path for him and just expected him to follow it like a fucking Borg drone. He didn't. He didn't and frankly, he is all the better for it. If you'd pry your head out of your drunken arrogant ass and smell a different viewpoint every once in a while, you would see that. You would even encourage it."

"You really don't like me, do you, Olivia?"

"I absolutely despise you as a human being. You're a great politician but you're terrible at everything else important. And you make Fitz unhappy. I don't like people who make my loved ones unhappy."

"Wow…"

"Life is much too short to be less than clear about one's feelings and intentions. That's why I'm not going into politics myself. I don't have the strength or the patience to put on that sort of show.", she replied unrepentantly.

"And if you end up the First Lady?"

"Then, I'm still going to feel like that and act accordingly. Besides, if I'm chugging milk from the carton in 1600 Penn at 2AM in my rainbow polka dot undies, then America and its people will have truly evolved enough to accept Fitz and me raw and uncut…that sounded wrong…oh, well. May I go back to my probably freaking the fuck out by now husband now or are you up for losing another round of verbal jousting?"

"You're good for the ego, Olivia."

"I'm the walking equivalent of a high speed stiletto heel to the junk and you know it, Senator. Look, as long as you stay in your lane, I'll keep things civil. I'm not going to make Fitz feel like he has to choose between me and you, although it would be a landslide victory in my favor. All I ask in return is that you respect our marriage and that you make an honest attempt to respect your son. He's not weak or stupid and he's far more capable than you give him credit for. He's a great man…despite you being his sperm donor. I'm leaving, now."

Before he could respond, she finished her drink and slipped through the French doors. After a moment, he could hear her bare feet retreating in the hallway, as if she were…skipping? Opening the door, Big Jerry shook his head incredulously as he saw her definitely skipping form turn the corner towards the main kitchen.

What the hell had just happened?

A 5'5, barely twentysomething year old girl in a tropical floral print frock, a wrist cuff like wedding tattoo, his mother's priceless rings, and with a goddamned big white bow in her hair like a schoolgirl had just faced him down…and won.

"Fuck."

If this was any indication of Tripp's current state of mind, then he was in trouble.

Deep trouble.