Alfred stood by the piano.

Bruce had finally come up from the Batcave, which the old butler swore he viewed as more of a home than the manor. He was putting on his black-and-white suit, preparing for his birthday party. But Alfred had something to discuss.

"When you told me your grand plan for saving Vale," he said, "all that stopped me from calling the men in white coats was when you said it wasn't about thrill-seeking."

"It's not," Bruce said simply.

"What would you call that?" Alfred asked, pointing to the TV.

Bruce looked to it, and saw footage of the Batmobile riding down the road.

"Damn good television."

"It's a miracle no one was killed!" Alfred fought back.

"I didn't have time to observe the rules of the road, Alfred."

"You're getting lost inside this monster of yours," Alfred said as he helped Bruce put on the tuxedo.

"I'm using this monster to help other people, just like my father did."

"For Thomas Wayne, helping others wasn't about proving anything to anyone, including himself."

"It's Weiss, Alfred!" Bruce snapped. "She was dying!  She's downstairs, sedated. I need you to take her to Beacon."

"Well, we both care for Weiss, but what you're doing has to be beyond that. It can't be personal, or you're just a vigilante."

"Is Fox still here?" Bruce asked, ignoring the statement.

"Yes, sir."

"We need to send these people away." He walked down the hall to the party.

Alfred was not accepting that. "Those are Bruce Wayne's guests! You have a name to maintain!"

"I don't care about my name!" Bruce said.

"It's not just your name, sir. It's your parents' name."

Bruce stopped walking, turning around to look at Alfred.

"And it's all that's left of them. Don't destroy it."

Bruce turned away, avoiding eye contact.

All this time, he had been using "Bruce Wayne" as a disguise to keep people from becoming suspicious of his second life. He had never thought of the damage this disguise was doing to the family legacy.

His parents were the reason he was doing any of this, and here he was tearing down everything they stood for. He wanted to honor their memory, not destroy it.

Bruce walked into the birthday party, and, right on cue, the crowd broke into, "Happy Birthday".

"Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday, dear Bruce
Happy birthday to you"

Bruce put on his smile, taking a glass of champagne, and raising it to greet the massive crowd of guests in his house.

William Earle stepped out from the crowd, reaching a hand to Bruce.

"Mr. Earle," Bruce said, shaking his hand.

"Happy birthday, Bruce," Earle greeted.

"Thank you." Bruce paused for a second, searching for the right words. He didn't know how millionaires spoke on their birthday. "How did the stock offering go?"

"Prices soared."

"Who was buying?"

"All kinds of funds and brokerages. It's a bit technical. The key thing is, our company's future is secure."

Bruce smiled. "Great."

Meanwhile, outside the mansion, Alfred carried the sedated Weiss over his shoulder. He opened up the door to the Rolls Royce, and carefully set her aside. After shutting the door, he turned around to see people staring at him, confused and concerned. He smiled at them.

"A little the worse for wear, I'm afraid . . ."