This is my first real attempt at writing comedy ('Superstition' aside). Constructive criticism is always welcome. Enjoy!

Wacky Fun!

Malcolm Reynolds lay in the infirmary with a towel wrapped around his shoulders and a sullen look on his face. The events of the last few hours ran through his mind.

Mal had survived countless gun battles – riddled himself full of holes. He had dodged certain death at the hands of Adelai Niska, and lived to tell the tale.

Of course, that last part was a lie. The crazy old man had dragged him, kicking and screaming from his fluffy white cloud, in order to carry out some more crazy, old torture.

Mal would never admit that to anyone – not even Zoe. It’s not like he had any choice in the matter. Besides, he had come to terms with the events of that day.

The source of his anguish was much closer to heart. Actually, it was nowhere near his heart, but could be found at the end of his nose.

It had happened so quickly. The sharp, sickening pain in his stomach, and the overriding urge to fall over weren’t part of his Captain-y duties that day.

He never realised that a simple flu bug could floor him - faster than it took Jayne to clear the room at the slightest hint of Reavers.

Now, Malcolm Reynolds lay in bed, feeling helpless and choked up with the man-flu.

He was beginning to live up to his namesake too – in the Latin, of course. He certainly felt that way, and there wasn’t a gorram thing he could do about it.

The young doctor had told him it was best to stay in bed for a couple of days. Mal wasn’t having any of it. His whole nervous system, however, tended to disagree with that notion.

Mal stared down at his stomach and groaned. His eyes crossed in agony as a sickening feeling pushed it’s way up into his throat.

“Not again!” he cried as he leaned over the side of the bed.

Kaylee cheerily walked into the infirmary carrying a bowl of soup. She crinkled her nose as she heard the gut wrenching sounds that followed.

“I did not hear that.” she muttered.

Mal wiped a