Charles sits next to him on the low pew, staring ahead at the bare altar. "Hello, Sebastian."

"Hello, Charles." His voice is rough, from drink or disuse, Charles cannot tell.

"You've come home."

This is where my family lives. He can hear Sebastian's words from long ago so well, he almost doesn't hear his response.

"Is this home, do you think?"

"As close as I've ever come." He glances at Sebastian's hands, clutched around a prayer book. "What brings you back?"

"Brideshead is where the Flytes all come to die."

"Are you dying, Sebastian?"

"I've been dying since you met me, Charles." He doesn't turn his head or smile, but there's something in his tone that almost curls Charles's lip into a smile. "Hadn't you noticed?"

"It was true, what you said, you know." Charles stares at the book as Sebastian opens it, the words swimming in his vision. "I should never have met your family."

"Whose charm has captured you most?" His voice grows weak, tired. There is resignation in it and, if nothing else, that proves to Charles that he is not the same man anymore. Charles wonders if Sebastian ever really was that man. "My mother? Cordelia? Julia?"

Charles laughs softly, the sound frightfully like a sob. "Can't you guess?"

A slight smile splits his beard, his face offering a glimpse of the young man. "Me?"

"Always you, Sebastian."

He closes the book and sighs, bowing his head as though in prayer. "I'm so very tired, Charles."

"Come to the house. Nanny is there."

"Is she?" He sighs again and places the book on the pew between them, his hands falling to his thighs. "Dear Nanny. She would despair of me, I think."

Charles reaches over and rests his hand on Sebastian's. "Let me take you to the house, Sebastian."

"Do you know the most amazing thing about Catholicism, Charles?" He looks up, his eyes bright with something that could be tears or the strange fanaticism that religion brings over them all. "You can commit any sin and God will forgive you, so long as you are contrite. Isn't that the loveliest thing?"

"It seems quite a way to live, Sebastian. Do anything you like."

"Yes. And you would think contrition really isn't all that much to ask."

"Not so much, no." Charles stands, helping Sebastian to his feet. Sebastian's arm is thin and frail, enough like his father's that Charles suddenly believes that Sebastian spoke the truth about dying.

Sebastian laughs softly, though there's no humour in it. "You'd be wrong, you see. That's what they don't tell you. That's the grand secret to it all."

"What is, Sebastian?" The men are away, no doubt released to other duties by Hooper's incompetence. Charles guides Sebastian through the pallets scattered on the once polished floor to the stairs, helping him in the climb, refusing to think how close they are to the Chinese drawing room. "What is the grand secret?"

"Contrition. I can't be sorry, Charles. Not for all of it." His voice falters and then recovers. "How am I to be sorry for you?"

"Am I a sin, Sebastian?"

"Oh, Charles. You are my greatest sin." His steps falter and he leans into Charles. Charles slides an arm easily around Sebastian's waist, feeling bone where there was once solid flesh. "Did you not know that?"

His voice is rough. "Was what we shared a sin, Sebastian? Loving is a sin?"

Sebastian doesn't answer as they reach the second floor, the trip slow and measured out in Sebastian's unsteady breaths. They pause at the landing and Charles watches as Sebastian's gaze wanders, lingers.

"I must look a fright," he whispers, his hand stroking the hair at his chin. "Perhaps my rooms…if they are still that? A shave at least. Don't want to frighten Nanny."

"Of course." Charles guides him down the hallway, though Sebastian knows the path just as well. The dark door is closed. Their last farewell behind this door had been painful and, in so many ways, final.

The room is much as Charles had last seen it. He'd been careful to avoid it when he was at Brideshead without Sebastian, and the tell-tale signs of that Christmas long ago remained. The crystal decanters of port were missing though, the silver trays bereft without the weight of them.

Charles lets Sebastian lead the way to the adjoining bath, watching his hands as he turns on the dim light. For a moment, Charles sees the reflection of summers past in Sebastian's eyes, dressing for dinner, undressing for other appetites.

"Sit," Charles says softly, the hand on Sebastian's arm guiding him down. He drapes a towel around Sebastian's neck and runs the water, letting the steam gather around them like memory. Sebastian's things remain and Charles easily finds the pot of shaving cream and the thick bristled brush. Beside it lies an ivory backed hairbrush and Charles pauses to run his fingers over Aloysius's elegantly engraved name.

"He is gone, you know. Like everyone else." Sebastian sighs quietly, sadly. "Gone."

Charles mixes the cream with water, stirring it to a lightly scented lather before applying it liberally to Sebastian's face. Sebastian had always eschewed the newer razors, preferring to slide the clean open blade against his skin. Charles fits a new blade into the straight razor and grips the smooth handle, using his other hand to tilt Sebastian's head to the side.

The razor scrapes loudly in the silence, cutting a swath through the thick growth. Charles works slowly, methodically, just the lightest touch of his fingers turning Sebastian's head. Sebastian's eyes are closed, his breathing steady and even as the razor bares his face, the skin pale as the hair falls away.

Charles steps back to survey his handiwork before wiping Sebastian's face with the corner of the towel. "Not quite finished," he murmurs as Sebastian stirs. "That just got us started."

The corner of Sebastian's mouth curves upward in a faint smile and Charles looks away so that Sebastian can't see the pain, the loss in Charles's eyes. Sebastian was never half-measures, and this man before him seems nothing but.

Rinsing the razor first, Charles sets it down and lathers the shaving brush again. This time Sebastian automatically tilts his head, trembling at the touch of the bristles. Charles splays his fingers along the length of Sebastian's neck as his other hand shaves him. This time the blade slides over skin, and Charles stops as Sebastian shivers.

"Are you all right?"

Sebastian opens his eyes and Charles catches his breath in his chest, lost in the piercing gaze as he has been so many times before. Sebastian's lips curve into an honest smile and he nods, turning his head into Charles's hand as it slides up to cup Sebastian's newly shaved cheek. "Oh, yes, Charles. Better than I've been in a long time."

They remain like that for a moment until Sebastian's eyes start to drift closed. Charles clears his throat and wipes the last remaining hints of shaving cream away. "Come on, perhaps you should rest before we go see Nanny."

"Yes," Sebastian sighs, and lets Charles help him to his feet. He seems more tired, drained, though he's done nothing at all except sit. He leans against Charles on the short walk to the bed. The sheets are crisp and clean, as if Sebastian has only been gone a short while. Charles eases him down and slips off Sebastian's shoes, tucking him under the covers easily. Sebastian shivers despite the heavy covers and his clothes. "Don't go."

Charles sits beside him on the bed, his hand against Sebastian's cheek, his thumb stroking the curve of it. "I'm right here."

He closes his eyes and moves his head, rubbing against Charles's palm. "I do not think I would like Heaven," Sebastian says quietly. "No one I truly love will be there."

"Cordelia shall be in heaven."

There's a soft laugh and Sebastian shakes his head. "Cordelia will be the one God sends to preach to those of us in Hell. I imagine I'll see her far more often there than I would in Heaven."

Charles laughs as well, though his face grows serious as pain flickers across Sebastian's eyes. He closes them for a long moment, his breathing somewhat laboured. "I have been truly horrible, you know. Decadent and debauched, which could not be helped, but horrible to you."

"It doesn't matter."

"No. It matters."

"Sebastian…"

"God…it does not matter that God does, Charles, not really. Not so long as you do. You forgive me," he gasps softly, his breath catching, "don't you, Charles?"

Charles fights the sting of tears that cloud his eyes and nods, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Sebastian's forehead, resting there against him. He feels the last slow exhalation of breath that leaves the raspy lungs and chokes back the threat of a sob. "Yes. Yes, Sebastian. I forgive you." He leans back and presses his thumb to where he'd kissed him then slowly traces the sign of the cross over his beloved Sebastian. "And God…God does as well."