Just to add a note of elegiac glory, I found this on prospero.com's Firefly board, posted Christmas 2002:

Someone called "BavarianTale" posted this eons ago (12/25/02) and never came back under that name again. It's worth re-reading, or reading for the first time, since it says everything needs saying:

"Here kid, have some Firefly, first hit's free," whispered a shadowy man who sold such dreck as "Who wants to marry a millionaire?" and "Celebrity boxing". He'd burned me before. Tentatively, I open my arm to lay bare my vein.
The first hit knocks my boots off as it blasts into my heart and soul. The high is indescribable. I laugh, I cry, I cringe and I believe. I eagerly walk into his world. A world that does not exist but captivates me such I make it real. In my mind. Virtual reality I see myself there. See a part of myself in each and every person on the boat of Serenity. A speck of nothing hurtling into the black, hard-scrabbling out a life but not ever losing sight of my own humanity.
A note, resonance, reverberates in me. Now, I hunger for another fix.
Thirteen hits I get for free.
I scream out into the void that I'll pay, I'll do almost anything to get another hit.
"Sorry kid, you ain't got the coin."
From the ridge I see the Alliance has me boxed in, pinned down. They got a NUMBER on their side. Damn them, they ambushed me again!
The pusher shoves his hands in his voluminous trench coat and skulks away with a lecherous grin. From the dark distance he turns and coyly offers me a taste of "Fast Lane" or "John Doe".
I turn, walk into the darkness, my boots a hollow echo on the street. It's funny, as I walk away. I can hear more than just my own feet. I turn and see a legion of those like me. Disappointed again. Reluctant, resigned, still fighting but somehow knowing it's over.
I burst into tears. Feel cheated. I know it's childish; get a grip, lady, it's a television show! Those people aren't real and it doesn't really matter. But sadly, it does. To me. Strange as it may seem, I believe in that world. I believe in those struggles. And I can't get it out of my mind.
At night I dream of it, at day I write about it. My fingers dance with all manner of notions of what happens from that point. Stories that like will be told to my own ear. But that is as it should be. A great writer wrote something that touched me deeply, something that awakened a part of my own creative muscle; seems silly to waste it. I'll write what I want. What's in my heart. Damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead. For I can do no else.
I am a passionate woman. Oft given to rather florid prose. But in my enthusiasm I can sway. I'll do what I love. I'll write. Because that is my heart and soul. And I'll write what I love. And I love Firefly.
Don't worry, pusher, I have a mind of my own and ten nimble fingers that can continue this for as long as I want. Someday there will come a time for me to share with others, what I think. Even though I admit from the outset I'm a plagiarist. I write within the world Joss created. I'm bound by that, willing to pay homage to him. If he loves his tale, I don't think he'll mind letting me play with it. No. I think he will welcome it. To my own heart, I will be who I am, write what I will. And be just what I am. Keep flying.