Author's Note: Good afternoon, everyone! Okay, folks. Here's the last flashback before we fast forward to Trail time. As I mentioned in Chapter 1, Liv and Fitz had met Cyrus before the California Confrontations and managed to get him on their side when it comes to them being their Olitzy, potential First Swirl Couple selves. How?

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

2 weeks before Chapter 1: Enter the Sassy Political Dragon

"Cyrus, Olivia and I didn't get married because she's pregnant or even to give my father a swift kick to the teeth, although that's a happy side effect. We got married because we love each other and that's not changing anytime soon, especially in the name of political optics and capital."

"Fuck that shit." the aforementioned Olivia declared calmly as she carefully put milk crates full of vinyl records into their chosen place.

In another lifetime, Cyrus Beene would find Fitz's 'what she said' look and gesture absolutely hilarious but right now, it was just another investment towards his inevitable stress induced heart attack. Big Jerry had called him at the crack of dawn a week before in a lethally calm rage, demanding that he turn on the news and asking if it was time to handle the 'fling' now or should they wait for a positive pregnancy test. Turning on GMA, the still shot of Fitz tongue kissing Olivia Pope on the courthouse stairs took up the main screen. The panel had been all a-twitter at the sight of Nadia Reacher-Grant's wedding set (a set that had disappeared from the limelight after her death in '89) and the usual stir over an interracial relationship had been magnified tenfold.

The prodigal Senator's son had returned home as a decorated war hero and been charmed by a brilliant, cheerful, strong ray of sunshine from the Bronx, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. It was the sort of story that media outlets and romance novel teeny-boppers adored…

Since Ballard had given him the heads up before it dropped, he had been able to keep a level head as he joined Big Jerry and Larry Vaughn at a nearby country club. Larry had been angry too but he knew a dead horse when he saw it. He'd find another sucker…man for his 'princess' and regroup. Whether she was a Grant or not, his Millicent had enough brilliance and chops to make her own way into the Big Time and eventually into the First Lady position.

Frankly, Cyrus thought that the girl had an ice cube's chance in hell of doing anything on her own but at least Vaughn was placated. Now, to deal with Jerry and this…marriage…

"Fitz, I get it. I'm all for love and happiness but…"

"I'm not letting that Artist Formerly Known as Millicent bitch take him away from me, Cyrus. Or any other one for that matter. And I certainly won't stand by and let my dear father-in-law poke his nose where it doesn't belong.", she snapped.

"Olivia is my choice and I wouldn't undo it for anything or anyone. Besides, my political future's looking better than ever now."

"What makes you say that?"

"The Republican Party has caught hell and high water for being stuck in its ways and non-inclusive. The way I see it is as those signs at the amusement parks only instead of 'you must be this tall' it says 'you must be this rich or this certain ethnicity to ride'. Now, if I run for any sort of office…"

"If?"

"…if I run for any sort of office, particularly that nice Oval shaped one, the American people, all of the American people would see me as a different brand of Republican, not just because I happened to fall in love with a black woman but because I actually give a shit about what they give a shit about, not what the government thinks they should."

"What do you mean?"

Fitz walked through a tan beaded curtain and pulled a thick black Velcro sealed folder out of the left hand drawer of a desk. His gaze flicked over to Olivia and she met him on the hunter green couch, the both of them looking between a taupe armchair and himself significantly. 'Eerily in-sync', in the words of the notes Ballard had taken, notes he had kept from Big Jerry's peering gaze.

"Shoes.", she said before he could step out of the tiled vestibule.

"What?"

"Take your shoes off. They go in the white cabinet there." Fitz clarified while pulling out stapled packets.

"Are you serious?"

"You're more than welcome to mop up whatever essence of NYC you've tracked in because I sure as hell am not doing it…or you can just go back to Darth Big Daddy Grant with nothing. It's up to you. Lose the shoes or step off."

Apparently, Olivia was the dominant one in the relationship when it came to facing perceived threats. Her interaction with Mellie and the WWF smackdown she laid on the Cosby boy proved that. It was also apparent to Cyrus that if he didn't do what she said, Fitz would shut down in deference to his wife... partner…personal bodyguard? What was the dynamic there? And just what the hell was in that folder, those packets?

Feeling the creak in his knees, he put his shoes away and sat down across from them. Olivia pressed a kiss to Fitz's cheek and walked down the short hallway, the pale peach door shutting behind her with a quiet snick.

"She's not staying?"

"The politics are in my jurisdiction unless I directly ask for her help."

"You should ask often. She's sharp as a tack." Cyrus advised while picking the first packet up from the stack.

"I know. That's why I married her. You want something to drink?"

"Red wine, if you have it."

"Liv loves it, so yeah. Go ahead and read."

The first packet contained the Deficit reports from Reagan to Bush the Son. After that, there was what looked to be a thesis on the pros and cons on each presidency's methods. Taking from that information, Fitz had come up with his own proposals for reductions, increases, and the potential use of the capital involved…

"This is…you did this?"

"All by myself… you should never rely on one source of Intel and after getting it, you need to check it. Knowing Big Jerry the way I do, he painted a picture of me being a wet behind the ears, weak spoiled child who wouldn't know how to do anything useful politically without a 'strong guiding hand' in the form of himself and his trusted advisers, including yourself. Am I right?"

"You are. Thank you." Cyrus conceded while accepting and taking a sip of the surprisingly good boxed wine.

"No problem. I know that he sent you out here to try and undermine my marriage and to get in my head so I would be nice and pliable to his puppeteering again. None of that's happening."

"Obviously."

"Cyrus, I'm going to level with you. Barring a major health or legal crisis with myself or Livvie, I have every intention of getting into the 2008 race. And winning. However, I'm doing it on my own. I don't want Big Jerry's stink on anything and I want as little dirty politics as possible. I know it can't be a completely clean campaign. Hell, it's national politics. If there's not a little mud, you're not doing it right."

"Damned straight. What are you getting at?"

"When the time comes, I want you on my campaign. If things go well, I'd like you to be my Chief of Staff or Director of Communications. Actually, my ideal would be for Olivia to do it but I don't think America's ready to be shaken up that much. We're already changing the traditional look of a First Lady. Let someone else change the traditional role."

"Like Mellie?"

"If Mellie gets into 1600 Penn as a First Lady or god forbid, a president, I'm taking Livvie and everyone else I truly give a damn about and fleeing the country until it's over. Well?"

"What's the wife think about this?"

"I don't know. I have to ask her."

As if it was coordinated, the door opened again and she came back out in a fluffy pale yellow robe, running a white towel over her damp hair. Tucked in her pocket was a silver comb and she placed a jar of hair grease on the coffee table, along with a bottle of detangler. She passed him the comb and bottle before pulling an indigo pillow down for her to sit on. She opened the jar and held it up like a mini stool. Cyrus' brows kissed his hairline as Fitz set to work, separating the hair into sections and putting the grease on her scalp.

"Mother of God…you really do love her, don't you?"

"Yes. Livvie, what do you think of Cyrus as a part of my administration?"

"What part?"

"Chief of Staff or Director of Communications."

"You need someone with experience and the right kind of ruthlessness to keep things running smoothly behind the scenes. You have strength but for the ugly underside of things, you don't have the stomach for it. I'm not saying that in a bitch or Big Jerry way but it's true. Besides, if he's in the administration, then he's highly motivated not to do anything stupid to undermine it, including trying to break us up in the name of the Grand Master Plan. It's a good choice but it has to have conditions."

"Conditions?" Cyrus asked her directly, having realized and accepted that she was the X factor.

"Only one, really. If you're on the campaign and in the White House with him, then you're with him. Whatever you've got going on with Big Jerry or anyone else gets pulled up by the roots and burned. There's already going to be enough people outside trying to screw him over. He doesn't need a snake in the garden, too. If you're in, you're ride or die, win or lose and everything afterwards. Can you do that?"

He certainly could.

He knew history makers when he saw them, heard them.

Separately, Fitzgerald Grant III and Olivia Pope were game changers.

Together, they were history makers and he wanted to be on the right side of history.

Above all.