The apartment glowed softly in the evening light, the city outside Gotham’s windows humming low and distant. The dining table was already set, plates warm, food steaming, the quiet comfort of home settled into every corner of the room.

Dick sat at one end of the table, spinning his fork absentmindedly between his fingers while he checked the clock for the third time in five minutes. “Any second now,” he said, hopeful.

Barbara, seated across from him, smiled as she reached for her glass. “You say that every night,” she teased gently. Her gaze flicked toward the staircase, listening. “They’re probably just finishing something up.”

Dick leaned back in his chair, calling out toward the hall, “Hey! Dinner’s ready! If it gets cold, I’m blaming you!”

Barbara laughed softly and shook her head. “You could at least pretend to be patient.” Then, a little louder, warm and steady, “Come eat before your dad decides to start without you.”