Disclaimer: Firefly and the characters and settings within are owned by Mutant Enemy, FOX, and Joss Whedon. I make no claim on the intellectual property, nor do I pretend that my stuff is anywhere near as good. It's fun to write, though.

Chapter One

He pulled into the back parking lot of the hotel a bit faster than he really needed to, but that was probably because the adrenaline was already buzzing in his veins. This was a rush, no two ways about it, and he’d do it for a living if acting wasn’t so much fun. Besides, he was supposed to be faster, more dynamic than regular guys. Nathan Fillion was an action star. As he saw it, he had a certain responsibility to his fans to be reckless and entertaining.

Fortunately for his sanity, his girlfriend had a more pragmatic view of fame. “Don’t let ‘em go to your head, Captain Tightpants,” she had said an hour previous, smiling and looking all beautiful.

“Me? Get a swelled head? I’m just the humblest, most modest god-like man you’ll ever meet,” Nathan had replied. “I’ll see you next week.” He’d kissed the top of her head and peeled out of the driveway, already picturing spaceflight and dire situations in his mind. And now he stood alone, an overnight bag slung over his shoulder, before the less-than-majestic service delivery door of the Hilton Burbank Hotel, the home for the next three days for himself and a few thousand screaming fans. Oh, to be adored by so many. The things I put up with... Grinning, he stepped forward.

The door opened before he reached it to reveal a pudgy, middle-aged fan. Granted, that was probably stereotyping the poor guy, who was almost certainly one of the convention organizers, but he had the intense and slightly off-center expression that only comes from devoting your life to a fictional universe. “Mr. Fillion?” he said. “You’re early, excellent, that’s excellent.”

Nathan took a deep breath and readied himself to be led around by other people for three days. Doing appearances at conventions was a rush, and a