Chapter Twenty-Eight
Everything in The Shoebox

WEEK 20
OCTOBER 17TH, 2001

1830 EST
APARTMENT OF SARAH MACKENZIE
GEORGETOWN

"What makes you think the baby's a girl?"

"What makes you think they're a boy?"

"I don't know."

"I don't know, either."

Ever since the night of the gala, Harm and Mac had been debating the gender of their child practically nonstop. Earlier that day, Harm and Mac were talking about it during a staff meeting (they knew they shouldn't have been doing that, but they couldn't help it) and the Admiral finally just told them, point blank, "You know you can find out the gender with an ultrasound picture, right? It's that easy."

Harm and Mac knew it was that easy, but they still weren't going to do it. They liked the anticipation, and the debating...mostly the debating.

"We're obviously not going to get too far with the boy/girl debate, can we do names?" Harm asked, poking his head out of Mac's guest room.

It was a Wednesday night and Harm, with a random burst of energy he was prone to getting, decided to start cleaning out Mac's guest room to begin the process of turning it into a nursery. At the rate they were going, they would probably have it done by Mac's due date, and that was being optimistic.

Mac offered to help, and Harm had surprisingly agreed. Her job was going through boxes, seeing what needed to be donated or kpet, and providing moral support for Harm-from the couch. Basically, Mac's job was sitting on the couch.

She didn't mind it. Usually, she would've complained about Harm not letting her do any heavy lifting, but she really couldn't do any heavy lifting. She was pregnant. Also, random bursts of energy were rare for Mac these days, so she was grateful to just sit and do...nothing whenever she got the opportunity.

Thanks to Harm, she got those opportunities often. Some would say she was taking advantage of Harm's chivalry, but it wasn't like she asked him to do everything for her. He just did, and Mac didn't want to seem ungrateful.

Plus, she was doing something.

Right after she found out Mac was pregnant, Harriet loaned her a giant book of baby names. While Harm was working on the room for their child, Mac was picking out a name for their child. Both of those tasks were of equal importance, Mac's just required less physical exertion.

"What about Annabelle?"

"No."

"Margaret?"

"No."

"Isabella?"

"No."

Mac sighed. So much for finding a girl name tonight, she thought, flipping to the back section of the book. Maybe they would have better luck with the boys.

"How about Ethan?"

"For a girl?"

"No, for a boy."

"Oh...no."

Mac shut the book. They were getting nowhere. They went from going in circles about their feelings to going in circles about the name of their child. Funny how things change, yet stay completely and utterly the same, Mac mused.

"Harm," she called. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, babe."

"Are there any names that you like?"

"I like my name," Harm told her. Mac rolled her eyes.

"I like your name too, but I'm not naming my son Harmon in the year 2001. That's asking for him to get picked on-No offense."

"None taken," Harm peeked out of the guest room. "I like your name, too."

Mac's eyebrows shot up. "Don't you think two Sarahs living under one roof is a little...redundant?"

Harm shrugged. "You go by 'Mac', though. I feel like we can get away with having a daughter named Sarah."

After thinking it over for a few moments, Mac shook her head. "Nah," she said. "I don't like that."

Harm emerged from the guest room carrying another box. He placed it on the floor next to the sofa, with all the other boxes Mac was supposed to be going through. He looked down at her, placing his hands on his hips. Mac was reclined on the sofa with her feet propped up.

"You uh, you think you're going to get to looking through those boxes anytime soon?" he asked.

Mac held up the name book. "I will when we have a name for our child."

"Is our child requesting that they be named?"

"No," Mac answered "I just figured it would be nice for us to be prepared with a couple of names by the time they're born. You know, considering it is our child."

"You can multitask," Harm said. "I believe in you. You can bark out names at me while going through your old belongings."

Mac looked at him and pouted. "You're not going to make your pregnant girlfriend do manual labor, are you?"

"I would never push you past your capabilities."

Harm winked over his shoulder as he returned to the guest room. Mac huffed, hauling herself up into a sitting position. She opened the baby name book up to a random page and sat it down beside her on the sofa. Mac nudged the first book closer with her foot, and opened it.

What she saw inside could have doubled as a time capsule back to her college dorm in Minnesota. It was filled to the brim with late 80's memorabilia, most of which Mac forgot she even owned. It was evident that she packed all of her things up on graduation day and forgot about it. She did this not only with college, but with every place she lived.

Mac treated every different home like a different stage in her life, and each 'stage' got its own box. She had a box for Minnesota, a box for OCS (she was only there ten weeks, so that box was a little smaller), a box for Okinawa and one for when she lived in North Carolina while she went to Duke. There was also a box for the year she spent in Bosnia and for the six months she was stationed at Quantico.

Mac sat down a bottle of hairspray that expired in 1988 and glanced back at the name book. "What about Eleanor?" she called out. "We could call her Ellie."

"I like that."

"Okay," Mac made a mental note to write down 'Eleanor' as the first name both of them liked. She went back to going through the box. There was a yearbook from the year she graduated, a Whitney Houston CD, scrunchies in an array of colors (not even Mac was immune to 80's hair trends), perfume that Mac was tempted to spray just to see if aged well, and a photo album. There were a couple of framed photos as well.

The first was a picture of Mac with four of her closest friends from college. Stacy, Leslie, Dana, and Holly. Dana was the one who bleached her hair three days before her wedding, but this picture had been taken before she was even engaged, so she was still a brunette.

Mac didn't make a habit of taking trips down memory lane, so to suddenly be bombarded with her college-aged self was an interesting experience. She didn't really like thinking about the past for a multitude of reasons, but college actually wasn't something Mac cringed to look back on. It hadn't been perfect, but it had been heaven compared to her childhood.

Mac studied herself in the picture. How was I ever that young? She asked herself, I look like a middle schooler. I still had some acne. The Mac in the picture was a million miles away from the Mac on the sofa. The picture was taken before Mac was even 'Mac'; she went by Sarah until she joined the Corps.

She still kept in touch with her college friends, if exchanging Christmas cards could be considered 'keeping in touch.' They also emailed each other on their birthdays, out of some sort of sisterly habit. Mac forgot sometimes and felt awful, but she could recall multiple years where May 6th passed and she only received one or two emails when she should've gotten four, so she didn't feel too guilty.

Should I tell them I'm pregnant? Mac wondered. How do I casually mention that? Should I get them together and tell them in person? That sounds a little awkward, considering we haven't seen each other since 1990.

Mac was the last of them to settle down. Stacy had gone into interior design, Dana had gone into marketing, Holly became a high school science teacher, Leslie went into real estate, and Mac went into the Marine Corps. One of these things is not like the others. Becoming a Marine wasn't exactly a fast track to a white picket fence. Dana had a son that started middle school this year, and Mac was just starting out.

Suddenly more interested in her college heyday than Mac ever believed she would ever be, she continued to rifle through the box. There was an ancient video camera and tapes that had god knows what recorded on them (Mac hoped the worst of it was just stupid stuff her and her friends did), and there was also a spiral notebook.

As luck would have it, there was also a pen rolling around in the bottom of the box. Mac grabbed it, flipping past notes from some psychology class and finding a slightly-yellowed, but blank page. At the top of the page she wrote 'Baby Name List' and the first line she wrote 'Eleanor.'

It was a start.

Mac turned her attention back to the name book. "How about Ella?"

"That's the exact same thing as Eleanor."

"No it's not, it's shorter. It flows off the tongue easier."

Harm walked out of the guest room again, this time carrying a small shoebox instead of a larger box. "Is that how you're picking out names? By how easily they flow off the tongue?" he asked.

"It's definitely a factor to consider," Mac shrugged. She looked up and froze when she saw what Harm was holding.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, her voice suddenly tight.

"From the guest room," Harm answered slowly. He gave Mac a sideways glance, confused as to why she was suddenly acting so strange. "I figured you would want to go through it."

He held out the shoebox to Mac, and was surprised at how quickly she jerked it out of his hand. "I don't," she answered curtly.

Harm blinked at her. Mac tucked the shoebox against her side and went back to sifting through a box that looked like it was fresh out of a John Hughes movie. Harm couldn't tell if this was just some normal Mac-moodiness or something deeper.

"What's in it?" he asked, hesitantly.

"Nothing."

"Okay," Harm could tell from her tone that she didn't want him to press her on the matter any further. He turned around, heading back into the guest room. He was pretty sure the only boxes left were Christmas decorations, which could be stored in his loft until December.

"What about Finn?" Mac asked a few minutes later, as a sort of olive branch for her snapping at him earlier.

"I like it," Harm replied. "Write that one down."

THE NEXT DAY

0800 EST
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Right when Mac got off the elevator, she was met by Gunny.

"You're halfway through your pregnancy, ma'am," he said. "How are you doing?"

"I'm livin' on a prayer, Gunny," she replied. "Livin' on a prayer."

Mac might've only been halfway through her pregnancy, but she already felt as though she waddled rather than walked. Harm assured her that she didn't, but Ham was also capable of telling very convincing white lies.

As she entered the bullpen, her eyes immediately landed on a white board standing in the middle of the bullpen. Harm had wheeled it in earlier that week from one of the conference rooms. It was the Unofficial-Official Baby Name Idea Board. A shorter name was in the works.)

Harm and Mac were having such a rough time agreeing on names they liked that they decided to enlist the help of their coworkers. Whenever people got the chance, they would write down a name they liked on the white board. Once a week, everyone would convene under the guise of a staff meeting and go over the names. Each name would either be approved or disapproved by Harm and/or Mac.

Occasionally someone would utilize the board for other reasons. When Mac checked on the board that morning, for example, there were a couple of messages. One read, "Gunny, I know it was you who took my sandwich from the breakroom fridge-Tiner.:" The message right below it read, "I didn't take it-Gunny"

Mac took an eraser and wiped away the messages. She looked at some of the names that were written. There was a color-coding system, which she had come up with. Boy names were in blue marker, girl names were in red marker, and unisex names were in green marker.

There was Emily, Ryan, Sophia, Mason, Paige, Mackenzie (Very funny, Mac thought), Gavin, and Danielle, among others. Mac noticed a common theme going on with some of the girl names. There was Dahlia, Iris, Rose, Chrysanthemum...Mac grimaced.

She erased those names. Mac doesn't like flower names, she wrote.

As Mac walked to her office, the Admiral stopped at the board. He read what Mac wrote and frowned. "I like flower names," he murmured to himself.

Mac entered her office and shut the door behind her. She tried to keep her mind focused on baby names and the interview she had to conduct that day for an upcoming trial. She tried not to think about the shoebox.

The shoebox and Mac went back a long time, and it didn't have any shoes in it. Mac had a box for every place she'd lived, and her childhood home was no exception.

When she ran away from home at seventeen, Mac didn't take many things with her.

Mac stuffed some clothes and basic toiletries in the backpack she used for school. She got three hundred dollars in cash from the lock box her dad kept under his bed. He had no idea she knew the combination, but she did. It was her birthday. 5-6-67.

After stuffing the money in her wallet, Mac began to panic a little. It was the middle of the night, her dad was passed out drunk on the sofa in the living room, and Chris Ragle was waiting for her at the end of her driveway in his pickup truck, the headlights turned off so he wouldn't draw any attention. He hadn't done anything, but looking out and seeing his truck gave Mac a sense of urgency.

She didn't know what to take, and she was running out of time. And room. There was no space left in her backpack.

Mac looked around her room, growing more and more frantic. Her eyes landed on the corner of a shoebox poking out from under her bed. She grabbed it, emptying out the heels she was supposed to have worn to prom a few weeks earlier-she didn't end up going because Chris didn't want to go, and she did whatever Chris did.

Dumping the heels out on the floor for her father to find the morning when he discovered her missing, Mac went around her room, grabbing anything that she found that was small enough and had sentimental value. A couple of framed pictures, a woven bracelet, a couple of birthday cards, a few sea shells from a long ago beach trip, and a diary that belonged to her grandmother. That was all.

After getting those things, Mac left. Left and never looked back. Going out the front door would require tip toeing through the living room, past her father. It would've been possible, considering he slept like the dead (especially if he was drunk), but Mac didn't want to risk it. She ended up going out of the back door, sneaking down the creaky back porch steps and around to the front of the house. She closed the passenger door to Chris' truck as quietly as she could, and they left.

It was a warm night in June, already stifling in Arizona. It was 1984, and Mac had only been seventeen for three and a half weeks. Whenever Mac thought back to that night, the first thought that came to mind was I was so young. She was too young. Too young to not feel safe in her own home, too young to be forced to go out on her own with a guy who only cared about her because she looked good in a miniskirt and went along with whatever he wanted.

Thinking about her childhood made her angry. Livid. The 'closure' she got with her father and the 'reunion' she had with her mother helped her come to terms with things to some extent, but that didn't stop Mac from being angry. She was still so, so incredibly angry. And that was without any visual reminders. If she opened that box and saw tangible evidence of her childhood, even if those things were associated with happy memories, Mac was afraid she wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Hello, Earth to Mac."

It wasn't until Harm spoke that Mac noticed him standing on the other side of her desk. His expression was pleasant, but there was obvious concern in his eyes. I was dealing with my shitty childhood for years before I even met you. she wanted to snap at him. I don't need you to psycho-analyze me using information from a psychology class you took at Georgetown almost a decade ago.

But she didn't say that. If she did, Harm would definitely try to psychoanalyze her using what he learned in a Georgetown psychology class from almost a decade ago. Instead, she forced a smile. "What's up?"

"Why are you forcing a smile?"

Mac stopped smiling. "Because," she huffed. "I know what you're going to do."

Harm raised an eyebrow. "What am I going to do?"

"You're going to ask me something work-related, then segway into asking me about the shoebox. Then, after I tell you I don't want to talk about it, you're going to psychoanalyze me using something you learned in a psychology class you took at Georgetown," Mac folded her arms over her chest. "Am I close?"

Harm frowned. "How did you know I took a psych class at Georgetown?"

"I didn't. I just figured you did because you're always trying to psychoanalyze me."

"I am?"

"You are."

Last time Harm checked, him being concerned about Mac wasn't the same thing as him 'psychoanalyzing' her. She was just being defensive because she had difficulty opening up. It was probably due to the lack of affection received during childhood or something of the like. Harm paused. Maybe he was psychoanalyzing her a little.

"I just think it would be a good thing for you to communicate," he said. Mac's eyebrows shot up.

"Me? Communicate?" she asked. "You shouldn't talk to me about bad communication skills."

"Why not?"

"Did you forget the ferry? In Sydney? You turned me down, then acted like I ripped your heart out when I accepted that ring from Mic."

"I did not."

Mac snorted. "Yes, you did. People with savior complexes in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."

"Savior complex? Now you're psychoanalyzing me. You're deflecting."

"And I'll keep doing it," Mac said. "Leave me to brood over my shoebox in peace. I don't need therapy."

Maybe she did need therapy, but she didn't need it from Harm.

"I like the name Madison," Harriet said. "Madison Mackenzie-Rabb has nice alliteration."

Mac shook her head. "Chloe's last name is Madison, that might get confusing."

"I still like Rose," the Admiral grumbled.

"Sorry, sir."

"Alright," Harm tapped a marker against the whiteboard, gathering everyone's attention. "What do we think about Ryan?"

"Ryan Rabb?" Mac raised her eyebrows. "That's a little heavy on the R's, honey."

Harm sighed, picking up the eraser and removing 'Ryan' from the white board. From behind her, Mac heard Tiner mumble, "This is going nowhere." She had no right to get mad at him, because he was right. In fact, Mac agreed with him. This was going nowhere.

"I like Charlie," Gunny said.

Mac turned around. "You didn't put 'Charlie' on the board Gunny," she told him.

"Does it have to be on the board to be discussed?" he asked.

"Yes," Harm and Mac answered in unison.

Gunny got up and walked to the whiteboard, picking up a red marker and writing 'Charlie' on it.

"Technically Charlie's a unisex name," Mac corrected.

"Well," Harriet said. "It depends on if he means 'Charlie' as in 'Charles', or 'Charlie' as in 'Charlotte.'

"Which one did you mean, Gunny?" Mac asked.

"I don't know-" Gunny paused. Thinking it over, he sighed. "I'll fix it ma'am."

He erased the name and rewrote it in green. After he sat back down, Harm asked, "Do you like Charlie?"

Mac shook her head. "No. Sorry, Gunny."

"This is getting nowhere," he said under his breath as Harm erased the name.

Mac looked around, she could tell everyone was getting a little annoyed at how stagnant the baby name search was going. Even Harriet, who loved being supportive more than anything, seemed to be growing a little impatient. Everyone was sacrificing their lunch breaks to help Harm and Mac decide on a short list (or even a long list) of names, and Mac would guess that they didn't want to spend their lunch breaks doing that.

She felt a tiny flutter inside her, as though the baby was as over the name search as everyone else was. Mac's hand went to her stomach. "Maybe we should try again next week," she said. "This is getting nowhere."

2030 EST
MACKENZIE-RABB RESIDENCE
GEORGETOWN

After a trip to Goodwill and moving the rest of Mac's things into Harm's loft for storage, the guest room was now cleared out and ready to become a nursery. Harm didn't have any intention of starting work on the nursery that night, so he was just admiring the work he'd done so far.

There was still one box from the guest room that remained, though. Mac's shoebox. She'd stuffed it in the back of their closet when she thought Harm wasn't looking. When Harm was sure Mac was busy sweeping up in the nursery, he pulled it out. The only problem was, Harm couldn't bring himself to open it. He was curious to see what was inside of course, but he wasn't wild about violating Mac's privacy.

Harm's fingers came to rest on the box lid, tracing a thin line in the dust that lightly coated it. He wanted to know what was in the box-not to be invasive, but just so he could get to know Mac. He wasn't the best at sharing personal information himself, but he had told Mac a few anecdotal stories and shown her a few pictures. With Mac however, Harm barely knew anything about her life before she joined the Corps. The most she'd ever told him about her childhood had been the story about how Eddie died and small stuff when they played 20 questions.

Mac shouldn't feel obligated to share her past with Harm, but he would be lying if he said he didn't wish she would.

"Do you wanna look through it?"

He jumped, whirling around to see Mac standing in the bedroom doorway, broom in hand. It had taken her a lot less time to the sweep up the guest room than Harm had anticipated. She didn't look angry or defensive, something that surprised Harm more than her premature appearance.

"I wasn't going to look through it," he answered sheepishly.

"That wasn't my question," Mac said. "I asked if you wanted to look through it."

"Oh," Harm blushed, "Well, yeah-Only if you want to, though," he added hastily.

Mac smiled, propping the broom against the wall before walking over to him. She sat down on the bed, grabbing Harm's hand and gently tugging him down to sit beside her. After propping herself up on some pillows, she placed the box on her lap and lifted the lid. Harm, who was still perched on the edge of the bed, watched her with raised eyebrows.

She looked up from the box and rolled her eyes. "Come on," she patted the space next to her. "You said you wanted to look, didn't you?"

"You had curtain bangs?" Harm chuckled. "That's adorable."

Mac blushed, tucking her head against Harm's shoulder to avoid looking at a picture of herself at eight years old. "Yeah well, that was the style," she murmured, her cheeks burning.

"Are you embarrassed?" Harm looked up from the photograph to check Mac's expression.

She nodded. "Why?" he asked. "You were a cute kid."

"I don't know," Mac shrugged, unburying her face from Harm's shoulder. "This just feels so weird. I'm not used to talking about my childhood-I usually never do."

Harm was the first boyfriend who'd seen this much of Mac's childhood. Mic hadn't even seen these pictures, and he had almost married her. Mac wasn't sure why she suddenly felt compelled to share her past after keeping it secret for so long. She mulled it over while she was sweeping, and the thought suddenly occurred to her that her past didn't bother her anymore. At least as much as she thought it did.

"You had freckles too?"

"Uh-huh."

Harm traced his thumb over the faded photograph. Mac was sitting on a sofa in between two older women. The evergreen tree in the background suggested that the picture was taken around Christmastime.

"Is that your mother and grandmother?"

Mac nodded. "My mom's on the left, my grandma's on the right."

"You look like your grandma," Harm observed, and Mac smiled.

"Yeah, everyone used to say that," she said softly. Her grandmother had been a main source of happiness for Mac in her childhood. Her diary was what kept Mac from dying of boredom in the weeks she spent at Red Rock Mesa, and the sea shells were from a beach trip they took together.

"Our kid is gonna be cute if they have your looks."

"What if they have my brain's instead?" Mac asked.

Harm shrugged. "They'll still be cute," he went to pull out another picture. When Mac saw what it was, she had to stifle a gasp. It was a photograph of her and Eddie, taken when they were kids. Harm flipped the picture over to check the date.

"1978," he said, looking at her. "So you were-?"

"Eleven," Mac finished, swallowing the lump that suddenly appeared in her throat. "We were eleven."

"First boyfriend?" Harm asked, looking at her with a twinkle in his eye.

Mac shook her head. "No. He was my best friend."

The light in Harm's eyes suddenly dimmed. "Eddie?"

"Yeah."

That put a damper on the exploration of Mac's past, and the two of them sat in silence for a few moments. Like her grandmother, Eddie was a positive piece of Mac's childhood, but memories of him became bittersweet quickly.

"What was Eddie's full name?"

"Huh?"

"What was Eddie's full name?" Harm repeated. "Or was it just 'Eddie'?"

"Oh," Mac shook her head. "No, it was short for Edward."

Harm got a thoughtful look on his face, then he said. "What do you think about Edward? For a boy's name?"

Mac's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"I don't see why not," he looked at her, "If you don't have a problem with it, of course."

After thinking it over for a few seconds, Mac had her answer.

"I like it."

THE NEXT MORNING

Mac pinned the piece of paper to the refrigerator with a magnet. "What do you think?" she asked, turning to look at Harm. He stepped away from the stove and walked over to her.

"It looks good," Harm nodded. "That's one thing to check off the list."

After looking through the shoebox, Harm and Mac had finally decided on a list of names for the baby. It had taken them almost half the night, and Mac was almost positive she would fall asleep in court that day, but finally putting the name debate to rest was worth it.

The middle names had been easy. They decided to go with Patricia for a girl and Harmon for a boy. As for first names, they were able to agree on six in total-three boy names, three girl names. For boy names they had Steven and Henry, after Harm's grandfathers, and Edward of course. Mac considered adding Matthew after her uncle, but she decided against it. Even though she loved her uncle, she didn't think naming her baby after someone currently locked up in Leavenworth would send a good message.

The girls' names had been a little tougher, since they didn't have any legacy names to go off of, but Harm and Mac still managed it. They decided on Danielle, Caroline, and Abigail. They considered Emily, but according to Harriet that name was extremely popular and Little AJ had three different Emilys in his day care class, so that steered them away.

Harm and Mac both thought it was better to wait until the baby was born to finalize their name choice. They wanted to see which name went best with their baby's face and personality (not that newborns had that much of a personality, but still) so they wouldn't mess up and end naming their kid Steven when he really looked like a Henry.

Mac couldn't help but feel a little giddy when looking at the list of names. She had the comforting sense that everything was coming together, and she was relieved that she had one more thing checked off her Mom-To-Be to-do list. Also, she was just elated at the fact that her baby had a name. Well, six possible names.

"What are you thinking about?" Harm wrapped his arms around Mac's waist and nuzzled his nose into her hair, smelling the sweet scent of her shampoo.

"Nothing. I'm just happy."

"Just happy?"

"Yeah," Mac said, even though that wasn't all.

"That's not all, is it?"

Dammit, she thought ruefully, pregnancy has made me a bad liar.

She turned around, running her fingers through Harm's hair and looking up into his blue eyes. It was a secret hope of hers that the baby would have his eyes. "I'm just glad our kid is gonna have a good childhood, that's all." she said. Mac knew she could have elaborated, but she didn't feel like she had to. Harm knew what she meant. Their kid wasn't going to have a childhood like Mac's, Mac would make sure of it. She knew Harm would too, which was what made her so content.

"How could they not have a good childhood when they have such an amazing mother?" Harm asked.

"They're gonna have a pretty great dad too, so I think they'll be set."

1030 EST
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Now that Harm and Mac had names picked out, there was a new purpose for the white board in the bullpen. It wasn't Harm or Mac's idea, it was actually Gunny and Tiner's. They came up with it so they could wager another bet with each other, but no one called them out on it.

On the white board, 'NAVY' was written in blue marker and 'MARINES' was written in green. Beneath the words were tally marks indicating how many people in the office believed Harm and Mac's baby would go into the Marines or the Navy.

"Isn't it a little early to decide all of that?" Mac asked. She was having trouble picturing what her child would look like, so trying to imagine what career they would have was impossible.

"Some would say it's never too early, ma'am," Tiner replied. Then, turning to Gunny, he said. "I'll bet you fifty dollars that the kid's gonna be in the Navy."

"Fine. What's the interest rate?"

"Interest rate?" Tiner's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, interest rate?"

"We're not gonna find out what the kid's gonna do until they're eighteen."

As Tiner and Gunny walked off, discussing interest rates for their wager, Mac studied the board. Is there an "I Don't Care Because I'm Not Going To Force My Child Into a Career" option? she wondered.

Just as she was thinking this, Harm came up beside her and put a tally mark under the Navy category. She looked at him in disbelief. "Are you serious?" she asked.

Harm looked up at her innocently. "What?"

Mac arched an eyebrow at him. "You're gonna pick a career for our kid before they're even born?"

"Oh come on Mac. It's not that serious," he said. "You're just nervous they're gonna pick the Navy instead of the Marines."

"I am not!" Mac exclaimed. As much as she didn't want to make a decision, Harm's smug expression propelled her to make one. Underneath 'Marines' she put two tally marks.

"Why did you put two tally marks?" Harm demanded. "That's cheating!"

"No it's not. The baby gets a vote. It's their career path."

Harm folded his arms across his chest and looked at Mac incredulously. "And what makes you think the baby's gonna be a Marine?"

Mac shrugged. "Well they're naturally going to be inclined to side with me, since I'm the one currently housing them inside of me. So it would be more plausible for them to vote Marine."

"It doesn't matter. You're both wrong."

Harm and Mac both turned around to see the Admiral standing behind them.

"Sir?"

Without answering, the Admiral walked between them and grabbed the red marker. In big red letters, he wrote 'NEITHER-Chegwidden' under both of the columns.

"Your kid's not gonna go into the military," he said.

"How do you know, sir?" Harm asked. "With all due respect, of course."

"Because," he said. "They're going to get so fed up with hearing you two argue about which one is better, the Navy or the Corps, that they're not going to want to do either."

After the Admiral walked away, Mac erased her previous two tally marks and redrew them under the Admiral's message.

"You agree with him?" Harm asked.

Mac shrugged. "He has a point, if you think about it."

Harm did think about it, and he quickly rewrote his tally mark beside Mac's. "Gunny, Tiner," he said. "I want in on your bet."

"Sir?"

Harm flashed Mac a grin. "I'll bet both of you a hundred dollars my kid's not gonna be in the military."

Gunny and Tiner looked at each other with wide eyes, and Mac rolled her eyes.