Bruce has always been strong. Too strong for his own good, maybe. It's not just his physical strength, either. Sure, it takes a certain type of body to knock down criminals left and right, but it takes so much more mental strength to handle everything he's been through and seen.

He prides himself on being strong like that, in a way. Bruce has never been one to ask for help, not since he was a small child and his parents were still around. Even when he first took Dick in, he didn't ask for help.

You really have to wonder if it's out of pure ignorance, sometimes.

It's questionable if this is the same kind of logic he uses when he sits in the cave for days on end and doesn't move to sleep or eat. In a way, it's almost what makes Bruce Bruce. And you've never seen him as anything less than perfect, even with bags under his eyes and his body covered in more bruises than skin.

But today was different.

It's been hours since he's moved from that rolling chair in front of the vast moniters of the Batcomputer. To be fair, this was a huge case that none of you could afford to mess up on. Bruce hasn't spoken a word since he came down.

That's normal.

What wasn't normal was the slight shake in his hands, the shudder in his shoulders as he sat still. Even his breathing was just a little bit off, just enough to be noticable. A slight panic attack, maybe. Bruce has had severe anxiety from a very young age- probably since his parents died.

But not once did he do anything about it. He dismissed every docter that diagnosed him and refused any medication. You really have to wonder if it's out of neglect or if he feels the need to suffer.

You know better than to ask if he's okay; he'll mutter a simple 'I'm fine' and be on with his life. But you also know that Bruce adores you. Maybe, just maybe, you could do something else to get him to just breathe.