Characters: Booth, Brennan
A/N: This is just a bit o' silliness. The Terrible Towel is a talisman for fans of the Pittsburgh Steelers. Google it if you'd like more info. I happen to be married to a loyal Steelers fan. :)
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"The game's about to start. I can't watch without the towel. It's bad luck."
"Booth"—her lowered eyebrows signaled the onset of a lecture—"there is no scientific basis for luck. In fact—"
"Not now, Bones," he said, waving her away. "I've gotta find it."
"What does this towel look like?"
Sighing, Booth rubbed the back of his neck. "Yellow with black lettering."
"Hm. Yellow with... Oh." She nodded. "I believe I know where it is."
"I put it in the bag with your old blankets when you donated them to Goodwill last weekend."
"You donated my Terrible Towel?"
"There were holes in it, and it didn't appear to be very absorbent anymore."
"Bones, I've had that towel since—"
"Here"—she handed him the dishtowel that hung from his refrigerator door—"now you have a towel."
Booth stared down at the towel in his hand. "What do you expect me to do with this?"
She shrugged. "Whatever you would normally do with your Horrible Towel."
He was torn between laughing and yelling at her, but laughter won out; he doubled over, clutching his stomach. When he could breathe normally again, he straightened and met her quizzical gaze. She'd donated his Terrible Towel, but damn, did she make him laugh. That's when he realized he was in love with her. Not attracted, not interested, not in it for the great sex. In love.
Still smiling, he slung the towel over his shoulder and then cupped Brennan's cheeks. "Terrible Towel, Bones," he said before peppering her face with kisses. "Not Horrible Towel." He brushed his lips over her forehead.
"You're an odd man, Booth," she said, pulling back to look him in the eye. "I don't understand your attachment to a towel."
He smiled and flicked her with the dishtowel. "Trust me, Bones, neither do I."