The clink of silverware echoes warmly through the dining room, like windchimes on a perfect summer day. Laughter chases it's heels, bright and bubbly. The nice ceramics Alfred cherishes tap gingerly against the mahogany table, ever shifting and passed from work-worn hands along with witty quips.

It's not really traditional, not here. The Wayne family is such a melting pot of people that anything less would be impossible, but the spread across the grand dining room table wafts wonderfully into the gleeful air.

Pozole, tamales, tabbouleh, dolma, baklava, ciorbă de perișoare, sarmale, stuffing, Martha Wayne's personal macaroni recipe, devilled eggs, Dark Chocolate Chess Pie, candied peacans, homemade dressing.

And sitting perfectly on the center of the table, stood proudly, was the turkey Alfred spent (probably more than) half the day on. It was glorious, crisp skin and juicy flesh.

Jason barks a laugh, reveling in the fond way Bruce grimaces from the head of the table. Jokes are tossed haphazardly across the table with grins, light and happy. For once, in their busy lives. Richard cackles from besides Bruce, if for nothing else than the way Duke's nose scrunched at the barrage of morbid jokes Jason's been tormenting their father with.

Tim sighs, more so puffs a giggle, into his mug. Coffee, only because Alfred has a rule against Monster Energy at the table. Next to him, Stephanie giggles loudly, nudging her elbow purposely into his side.

Cass sits serenely on Stephanie's opposite side, their hands laced together under the table. She gives a small smile at the general chaos, quietly amused.

Richard grins, blue eyes twinkling gleefully as he gladly passes the plate of tabbouleh across to Damian, who sits on Bruce's other side. Next to Alfred. The youngest takes it with a sharp nod, adding to his collection of vegetarian food Alfred had set aside for him.

On the opposite end of the table, Barbara sits. She smiles behind her well-placed sip of water.