Hall Of Justice

After the first battle was over and the sky above Metropolis had cleared, the eight heroes had a quiet conversation on that rooftop that nobody else heard.

What they decided was simple: if they were going to fight together again — and they all knew they would — they needed a place that belonged to them. Somewhere to gather before the storm. Somewhere to come back to after.

A home.

Building it took three months. Bruce Wayne handled the funding quietly, the way he handled most large things — without needing credit. The Hall of Justice rose above the Potomac River in Washington, cut into the cliffs overlooking the water, white stone walls gleaming in the morning light. Its tall double doors faced a long reflecting pool. A satellite dish on the roof turned slowly, always pointed at something far away.

Inside, the Hall had a council chamber at its heart. And in that chamber — a round table.

Not a table with one important seat at the head. A perfectly round table with eight chairs placed at equal distances, so that no matter where you sat, you were across from someone, not below them. Diana walked in that first day and gave a single nod that meant: yes, exactly right.

Moving in was a gentle sort of beautiful chaos.

Barry Allen arrived first, of course. He had already run every corridor at full speed before the movers finished carrying furniture through the front doors. He found the kitchen, the communications room, and the best spot to watch sunsets over the river — all in about eleven seconds.

Aquaman had one quiet request: a saltwater tank in the lower level. The sound of the sea helped him think. Nobody thought this was strange. Arthur Curry was the King of Atlantis. If he needed the sound of waves, he could have them.

Hal Jordan unpacked a star chart and smoothed it onto the wall of his workspace. Then — ZZAP — he used his power ring to add seventeen planets that didn't appear on the chart at all. The new dots glowed soft green in the dim room. He said it looked right now.

Victor Stone spent two full days with his eyes glowing blue, tracing every wire behind every wall. His own technology merged with the Hall's systems until the building and Victor were something like the same thing. He could feel a flickering light two floors below him. He could hear a distant threat halfway around the world.

J'onn J'onzz moved through the building differently than the others. He simply walked, and felt. His mind reached into the walls the way fingertips touch warm stone — sensing where the structure was strong, where it breathed. By the time he was finished, he had learned the Hall the way you learn a story you already love.

Superman helped hang things and carry boxes and brew coffee. He made a large pot and left it on a counter, and every so often someone came through and poured a cup without saying anything, and Clark felt quietly happy about this.

Diana took the room with the river view. She stood at the window for a long time, watching the afternoon light move across the water. She had left Themyscira — the island of the Amazons — many years ago, and had spent much of that time in borrowed spaces that never quite felt like hers. She reached into her bag, took out her golden tiara, and set it on the windowsill where the light could reach it.

Her shoulders relaxed.

At sunset, someone — no one could quite remember who suggested it first — gathered them all at the round table. No agenda. No emergency. Just eight of them, in the warm evening light, in a place that was theirs.

J'onn spoke eventually, in his careful, unhurried way. "We do not all have the same powers," he said. "But we are bound by the same reason for being here."

Protecting everyone. Every person in every city. Every child asleep in every bed. Every ordinary morning that stays ordinary because someone is watching.

That was enough.

Outside the window, the river caught the last gold of the day. The satellite dish kept turning, faithful and patient, watching the sky.

The Justice League was home.

And so are you. Goodnight.