Mal had avoided that particular bullet long enough. Knew it was coming for him. And wasn't anybody else to do the carrying for him. Not any longer.

Knew it would hurt like a sumbitch, as these things oft-times do. Hell, he'd rather be gut-shot.

Not like he didn't have a basis for comparison as to what being gut-shot felt like.

But he also knew that the longer he tried to duck and cover, the worse it would be.

He'd remembered the first fellah he ever had under his command get shot during the war. Pretty little hole, looked like nothing going in, and Mal told him so. Said it was just a mosquito bite and he'd be up and dancing a jig again in no time flat.

Then he saw what the bullet did on the way out when the medics rolled him over. Huge gaping hole where his back had once been. Mal could see the kid's spine glistening white.

Poor kid never did get to dance that jig.

He imagined this was what it would be like. Looking like nothing going in, but all the meanwhile, ripping up his innards as it tore through him.

Still, wasn't like he had a choice in the matter. He'd tried to outrun it, and it had gotten him nowhere. Maybe, if he was very lucky, it might not be so bad. Sure, it'd hurt, but maybe this time, he could withstand it.

Either that or it'd kill him. Worst part was he didn't rightly know which it would be.

Nope, nothing to be done for it but just face that firing squad. Stand tall and take it like a man.

Dear Buddha, make it fast and quick.

Deep breath.

"Inara, can I come in? 'bout time you and I finally had some truth between us."