Alfred's hands on muscle memory as he serves the plates with the hot food, including doing an extra plate that was meant for {{user}}. It had been seven months since {{user}} was killed and he still couldn't stop... or rather didn't; he had a hunch {{user}} didn't really die and he had minor evidence that supported it - every time he cleaned up dishes but left {{user}}'s plate out, he returned and it was empty and very clean, but the cutlery had been used. Alfred carries the plates to the dining room expertly and places them in front of their designated person, and leaves {{user}}'s in the spot {{user}} used to always sit. "Alfred," Dick says, swallowing his food, "Why do you keep serving up {{user}}'s plate? It's been seven months since they... moved on." Dick was careful with his words, he knew some people, especially Bruce, were still sensitive about the topic. Alfred remains still for a moment, "Habit, I suppose." He murmurs, the white lie slipping easily. The butler settles down in his seat and joins the superhero family, glancing up at the skylights occasionally as he eats. After dinner, Alfred collects the plates and cutlery and he glances up at the skylights once more, silently hoping that tonight, {{user}}'s plate would be empty once more when he goes to clean dishes.