Author's Note: This is the first outtake of "Love and Twenty Six Adjectives!" I've had some fully fleshed out chapters written that I decided to replace, but then I realized I didn't want the discarded chapters going to complete waste, especially when I kind of like them. So, I decided to start this story. This one is more of a peace offering for the angsty chapter in the main story. I couldn't leave you hanging like that over the weekend, so I wrote this. I hope you enjoy it.

If you haven't read "Love and Twenty Six Adjectives," the main/original story, you should! Just kidding (sort of). All you need to know is that it's a series of one-shots based off random adjectives. There's romance, there's humor, there's angst... you get the picture.

Setting: Sometime before Zack goes all Gormogon on us in the S3 finale. (In other words, there isn't a corresponding episode/time, although it involves Wong Foo's from S1, AND even though the Nationals are actually playing the Phillies this weekend in a three-day series).

Last Thing, Promise: I cannot make any promises about this, but, if you have ideas or specific words you'd like to see written, I'll take them into consideration and see if anything jumps out at me. I'm not good at writing fiction when I'm instructed or pressured to, but if one of you suggests something and I end up writing it, and it doesn't fit into the regular story, I'll post it here!

Having bad luck or misfortune; cursed.

He was feeling all kinds of sick. His head was pulsing beneath his touch, let alone scorching his fingers. Whenever he opened his eyes, the light practically blinded him and made his head feel worse. His entire body was covered in sweat, and he was so sore and exhausted he could barely move.

He shouldn't have gone against Sid—he should've eaten whatever Sid would have brought instead of ordering the chicken dish he thought he was craving. He knew better, and now he was jinxed because of it.

When he saw the green lights of his clock, he groaned. He had been waiting weeks to get the chance to call into a local radio station to win tickets to the Washington Nationals vs. Philadelphia Phillies game for this Saturday. Today, the Wednesday before the game, was the last chance. But because of the fever apparently he had, he slept through the better part of the morning, and alarm, and missed his last chance.

His disappointment was only worsened by his sick state.

He barely made it to the toilet before he threw up. Sitting with his head hovering above the porcelain bowl was not how he expected to spend his morning. He had envisioned walking into the lab with an extra bounce in his step, making people ask why he was particularly chipper. Then, with a grin on his face, he would adjust his belt buckle and boast about winning.

The stomach flu was nowhere in his daydreams.

Bummed about the tickets, and too sick to move, he took the day off. Bones had called him once to see if he needed anything, but he insisted he just wanted to sleep and promised to stay hydrated.

Luckily, it was one of those "twenty-four hour flus," and he was back at work the following day. Before he went to his office, he stopped by the lab to have the squints fill him in on what he'd missed.

Hodgins had wanted nothing to do with him and his germs, Zack didn't seem to notice he hadn't been there the day before, and Cam had nothing for him but a "glad to see you're feeling better." After visiting those three, he forewent Angela's office and headed to Brennan's. She wasn't weary of any remaining germs, already knew he had been gone a day, and had more to say than Cam.

He sat across from her at her desk and waited for her to finish her task. When she was done, she closed the laptop and smiled at him. "You still look a little flushed," she observed.

"I'm fine," he nonchalantly replied. "I shouldn't have had the chicken."

Brennan nodded and searched through her drawers. When she didn't find what she was looking for in her desk, she grabbed her purse and looked there. He sat and watched as she ruffled around in her bag with curiosity. Before she pulled anything out, she looked up at him with sympathy in her eyes. "I'm sorry you didn't get the tickets to your game this weekend."

He shrugged. He was definitely disheartened that he didn't win them, but he would live. "Maybe next time, I guess."

Finally, she pulled out a white envelope and handed it to Booth. When he didn't take it, she dropped it on his lap.

With an eyebrow quirked, he tore open the envelope saw tickets to this Saturday's game. With a huge smile, he stood up and went to her side of the desk. "You didn't," he said, his tone light and amused.

She too stood up and smiled at him. In a serious tone, she replied, "I didn't." He looked at her confused, again, but was soon distracted when she pulled out lanyards with special passes hanging on them. "I bought the tickets. When they heard who I was they gave me dugout box seats and a special media pass so I could meet the team."

His eyes widened as she handed him the lanyards. "There's three," he stated, the shock keeping him from forming long sentences.

"I was unsure about how many tickets you would win and how many people you would go with. I figured you and Parker could go with a friend."

He shook his head. "No way. You're coming with us." His day was automatically looking up with the prospect of spending a Saturday afternoon with his beautiful best friend and son with some of the most expensive seats in the house. Let alone the possibility of meeting some of the players.

"I think I would find that quite enjoyable," she answered with a grin.

After finalizing plans and agreeing to meet up later for lunch, Booth walked out of the lab with a huge smile and that jaunty step he had imagined. Maybe eating against Sid hadn't jinxed him after all.