The disclaimer is that Firefly and all of its original pertaining characters, bits, and bobs belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and no self respecting fan would ever try and claim otherwise.

The man was still smiling. He knew that as long as Zoë was lying on the floor, her body yanking itself about as it was, he had the upper hand. He knew that, even with the smell of gun oil from Mal’s pistol in his nostrils, he was safe. Mal knew it, too, and it made him even angrier that he couldn’t make this mei ta ma de hun dan die a slow and painful death. Mal also knew that each second that ticked away took a little more of Zoë’s life with it. He uncocked his gun.

“What do you want?” he asked the man, death dripping from every word.

The man took a step back from Mal, smoothed his robes and shook to straighten himself out. “There’s no need to get so very upset, dear Captain. There is a solution to your little crisis.” The man walked to his desk and sat on the edge. “It just so happens that the poison your friend there has ingested is very rare, very rare indeed. Had she been anywhere else when she fell ill, she would have had no chance at all.” The man’s voice rolled along and Mal had the certain and disgusting feeling that he had said these very words before on more than one occasion. Why was he saying all of this? He was taking time, too much of Zoë’s time.

“However,” the man continued with a flourish, “it is also the case that I happen to have, on hand, the antidote to that very same rare poison. So, the position we are in is quite marvelous…”

The man’s speech stopped as Mal delivered a punch that spun his head around. His body twisted and toppled to the floor. He grabbed his jaw in pain and his eyes were wide in shock. “I don’t have the time to listen to you stroke yourself all day. This is not one of your fanciful books where everything’s roundabout and mysterious. This is real and if you don’t give her the antidote right now, I will take you apart piece by piece until I get i