When Gabriel first came to earth, he was young, vain and arrogant--after all, he'd been just over 800 at the time. Looking back, he thought he'd been reckless. The word Michael chose was "idiotic." It was the wings, really. He would have been just fine if not for the way they shimmered, each gold-dusted feather rippling behind him with any touch. If Gabriel had been in love with himself, then the humans, dumb apes that they were, were obsessed with him. Add all those adoring little mortals into the equation, and even a modest angel would have been overflowing with ego. "Hello," he called cheerily, watching them gather around in awe. "Who fancies bedding the archangel Gabriel tonight?" Three virgins at the same time--he wondered why he hadn't come down to visit before. Four hundred years later, he found out. "Now!" One of them bellowed, flinging his lantern at the sodden angel. The oil sprung to life, white-hot and splintering, and he felt the chains wrap around him, felt them capture his arms, legs, wings... The ethereal shriek died in his throat. It was impossible. Chains powerful enough to bind an archangel? No mortal could forge them. Yet here he was, wreathed in flame, trapped like a rat. He struggled uselessly, whimpering at the touch of the fire. "Mercy," he begged. "Have mercy." There was none. When Gabriel woke, it was to Michael's disappointed clucking. "Brother," he sighed. "You have gotten yourself into a spot, haven't you?" The bonds were broken, and that was the day Gabriel learned caution, and humility. When heaven turned on itself, he learned the meaning of heartbreak. He memorized the scent of battle and the weight of a troubled grace, the slimy, itchy feeling of his wings when he became too distraught to care for them. They became dead weight, just like the memories he carried, just like his fallen brothers. So, he left. And he vowed to never return. "Welcome to Heavenly Sins, Molly. What can I get you on this fine day?" The little girl gazed up at him lovingly, pure adoration behind her eyes. It made him think of times come to past, and of deeds already done. It was bittersweet, he thought, until she grinned, proudly displaying her five little teeth, and tugged on her mother's purse. "'Nana muffun, mama. Gab-ril nana muffun?" Hannah--one of his favorite customers--pulled her daughter up to his eye level, and Gabriel offered her a welcoming smile. "Can you ask Gabriel what you want, Molly?" Molly sent him a wide-eyed stare. "Nana muffun? You make some nana muffuns, gab?" Gabriel grinned at her. "Just your luck, sugar. I finished a batch not five minutes ago." "Yay!" She clapped her hands giddily. "Muffun! Nana muffun!" "What's the magic word?" He teased. "Please!" "That's better." As he pulled the banana muffin from behind his back, Gabriel thought that this might make everything worthwhile. All those lessons he'd learned, and he'd finally discovered how to be happy.