Firefly belongs to Joss Whedon. And today is the wrap party for “Serenity.” We will all be there in spirit.

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CHECK MATE: Pairings.

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Wash's blood pressure – already soaring at the prospect of his becoming part of a Reaver's wardrobe – cranks up a notch or two as the pilot stares down at the tiny gun his wife's just handed him. The slight to his manhood is unmistakeable. 'Little man, little gun' as Jayne might have put it. Zoe, Mal, Jayne and even the gorram preacher are toting colossal weapons whereas his has all the potent menace of a shrivelled dick.

Wash has noticed something about the hierarchy on this boat: the more destructive you are, the higher you rate in the pecking order. Being good at something other than killing counts against you. Not having spent a lot of time shooting people, slitting their throats or plain old blowing 'em up Wash has it hard enough, but Simon – who saves lives rather than taking them – ranks lowest of all. Kaylee's probably next, because she fixes things instead of breaking 'em. Then it's him, Wash. In the middle there's Book and River who despite their respective piety and kookiness know one end of a gun from the other. Top end of the scale there's the psychotic Captain. He's maybe not as deadly as Zoe nor as eager for a fight as Jayne, but he's got that whole shoot-first-ask-questions-later thing going on. Plus a tendency for self destruction. Wash grunts and tries not to think about that conversation Zoe and Mal think he didn't overhear. Or about Inara's syringe. Because he'd sure hate to put them in a position where they might have to show him some respect.

He's jolted out of his resentful musings when Serenity is rocked by a powerful shockwave, not once but twice. Wo de ma! The feng le de biao zi de ben er zi are bombarding them with electronic cannon fire! His fantasy of winning a macho pissing contest against Mal will have to wait. Better get his ass in the pilot's seat – his seat – and fast.

“Not fair,” River sighs wearil