"Master Wayne?"

The room was extremely dark, only partially lit by the hall light. Alfred could tell where Bruce was because of the orange glow of the cigarette peeking out through the shadows.

"What is it, Alfred?"

"The signal, sir. I believe you are being beckoned."

The orange light suddenly became more intense as Bruce took a drag off the cigarette. His recent foray into smoking worried Alfred, who found this and a few other of his master's new habits troubling.

"Time again for the Batman, old friend?" Bruce ground his cigarette into the ashtray and walked toward the hall. "Isn't it always?"

The hall light was not kind to Bruce Wayne. He looked haggard, having dark bags under his eyes and a day's worth of stubble on his chin. His was a face that would have terribly distressed Alfred to see, if he hadn't become so accustomed to seeing it these past few weeks.

"Care for a spot of tea before work, sir?" Alfred was carrying a silver tray containing a teapot and cup. Before Bruce could nod, Alfred had already poured him a cup. "They say tea is good for the reflexes, I believe."

"Really? And how is that, Alfred?" Bruce smiled as he took the cup and drank from it.

"Well sir, several cups of tea will help you go very far, very quickly," Alfred nods.

"I suppose I'd better stick to one cup tonight, then," Bruce laughed.

Alfred smiled. That was the first time in days that he heard Bruce laugh. It had become so difficult lately to see his master show anything other than brooding or melancholy that he had begun to wonder if perhaps he was under the influence of some kind of attack from one of Batman's enemies.

Bruce drained the cup and then saw the look of worry on Alfred's face.

"I'm sorry, Alfred," Bruce placed a hand on his butler's shoulder. "I don't mean to worry you. I'm just not quite feeling myself lately."

"Perhaps it is time for the Batman to take a vacation, sir?"

Bruce shook his head and frowned.

"That's the problem, my friend. As long as this city needs him, Batman doesn't take a vacation." Bruce then turned toward the Batcave. "As long as there is a need for Batman, there appears to be no need for Bruce Wayne."

Alfred watched his master walk away and shook his head.

"Oh dear," he sighed.

Bruce Wayne was not happy. He believed in Batman and the principles which that identity stood for. However, in the past few weeks Bruce had come to realize that the Batman persona was taking over his life completely. Bruce Wayne never made plans anymore – Batman did. Bruce Wayne never left the manor anymore – Batman did. Bruce Wayne never ate anymore – Batman did.

Whenever he looked in the mirror, he saw the mask. He didn't feel right without it on. Something terrible seemed to come over him whenever he was not in uniform, like some sense of displacement. It came to be that the night couldn't last long enough. One battle, one mystery solved, a family saved and then the sun would rise and Batman would have to retreat back into Bruce Wayne. Nothing of value seemed to happen until he could again go back into the night.

The cave was cool and silent save for the slow drip of water in some remote alcove. Bruce Wayne stood alone in the Batcave, staring at the armor and the mask. He looked down and saw himself shaking. He could feel the sweat on his brow and the clenching of his teeth. Frustration turned to fury as he saw himself in his mind's eye as some street junkie itching for a fix.

The mask stared back at him - eyeless, mute, but still seeming to have an identity all of its own. Batman was calm and powerful. Batman had his act together.

Bruce Wayne obviously did not.

"I hate you!" Bruce yelled as his right hand roughly grasped the mask. His fingers worked around it as if to crush it, but the fury quickly subsided into resignation.

Within minutes the clothes of Bruce Wayne were piled on the cold stone floor.

"I hate that I have to be you," Batman calmly uttered.

The sound of footsteps came from the stairway.

"Is there anything you will be needing before work, sir?" Alfred asked.

"Yes. A razor," Batman scratched his chin. "I could use a quick shave."

"Certainly, sir," Alfred nodded and turned back toward the manor.

"Oh, and Alfred," Batman called out.

"Yes, sir?"

"Could you throw away those cigarettes?"