Title: Breaking News
Chapter: 1
Word Count: 1606

Notes: Hey, guys! Happy New Year! It's been a long couple of months—sorry to keep you waiting. It's been kind of nuts around here; I've been working quite a few hours at work recently, and I've been sick over the new year.

I've had this idea hanging around since before I did Fic Bang, but I hadn't finished it. Recently I went back and started working with it again. It was supposed to be a one-shot (but then again, so was Technical Assistance), but it's spiraled into 20,000 words and not really into the meat of it yet. That being said, I'm going to post each scene as a separate chapter because there aren't really any good breaking points.

To get the ball rolling, I'm going to post the first two chapters today. ;)

Special thanks to Kim, Lexi, MysteriousTwinkie, and bushlaboo, who were all freakishly excited over this fic. Thanks for your support—I love you all! :)

Thanks for reading! And, if you choose to write a review, thank you again. :)

Chapter 1
(Or: "That Time Laurel was Searching for Heroes and Found Fugitives")

With a start, Laurel bolts awake and stretches her sore back. That's what she gets for falling asleep at her desk. She glances over at her clock—two a.m., which means she hasn't lost more than thirty minutes. Good. The ancient banker's lamp over her desk flickers, but when she thumps it, the light stays steady again. That's what she gets for taking a job at the Starling Gazette; newspaper journalism is a dying breed, and half their equipment is older than she is. Her computer probably hasn't seen an update since the eighties, which is why she's resorted to the paper files strewn about her desk.

But this feels like the kind of story for file folders. It makes her feel like a private detective in one of those thirties film noir tales. Ever since Iris, her best friend, went to Russia on a story and never came home, she's been investigating enough to qualify for a private eye. The paper is barely getting by as it is, and both her father and Iris' are throwing their weight around as concerned cops, but have received nothing for their troubles. Even the Russian consulate insists that Iris West never entered the country.

Last week, she was at her wit's end, but her sister, Sara, gave her a lead. Laurel pulls up the set of files again; one read was not enough, and she doubts a second will quench her thirst any further. It's... unconventional, to say the least, but her daredevil of a sister told her—bluntly—that it was better than nothing. And with firsthand knowledge as a Marine Corps bomb tech, she also gave a glowing recommendation about the squad she sometimes worked with.

Despite that, Laurel wanted to do a little research herself. Getting her hands on the file required a few expensive bottles of scotch, but as she opens up the mostly-redacted file, she decides that maybe it was worth it. The file alone is enough research for an article about the rise and fall of the so-called "A-Team," a small spec ops task force that operated out of Iraq and... She turns the page. ...Other places that are redacted, apparently. Some unnamed, shadow government agency suggested a small group of elite soldiers to carry out nearly impossible missions, and it became Task Force Alpha.

And they were damn good at it, too, Sara had told her, along with wild tales that sounded like the stuff of legend. Stories of helicopter chases and desert rescue missions. Just when you thought they were trapped, Sara had said, they'd break out and catch the enemy unawares. What had surprised Laurel was that the stories seemed to be true. Between the pages of the thick file, stories are told of a unit that could raid a highly-protected compound to rescue prisoners of war or escape from prison cells around the world.

And there are only three of them.

Flipping to the last page, Laurel frowns. The tale is an unsatisfying conclusion to an impressive file. Over a year ago, they supposedly robbed the Central Bank of Iraq under orders from their CO, and in the process pulled off the largest bank heist in recorded history. When their CO was killed in a bombing that same night, no one could corroborate the story, and they were all court marshaled. They'd been sentenced to twenty years in maximum security prison. But, being the A-Team and specializing in the impossible, they'd managed to escape within the first week there. And for a year, they've been on the run from the government with a dogged team of MPs that manage to show up right after they've left.

According to Sara, they survive now by taking odd jobs, specializing in the impossible. They're daredevils, Sara had said. Coming from her, that meant something. They like the thrill of danger, so they help people with no one else to turn to—like you. But you better pack some cash because they don't come cheap.

But the problem with hiring wanted criminals—even ones who try to help solve problems—is that they can't be traced or tracked. After going through every database she can get her hands on, she's found nothing. Truthfully, it would probably help if she had more than last names, first initials, and ranks. The files might be helpful for the military because of background, but Laurel doesn't care about profiling their skills and backgrounds. Still, the files on her desk intrigue the reporter side of her.

Opening the first one, she roams through it again: Major O. Queen, U.S.M.C., former team leader for Task Force Alpha. Sara served with him prior to the A-Team, and so she provided her sister with a first name. Oliver Queen, according to her, is a dark horse, intimately acquainted with most women he meets—including Sara. Clever as the devil and twice as pretty, she had said of him with a wry grin.

His file paints a story of contradictions, however. Commendations for bravery mix with disciplinary actions. Various COs give performance remarks of varying degree—calling him both a liability and a valuable asset, often in the same sentence. The only thing everyone seems to agree on is a brilliant tactical mind and quick thinking in dire situations. His discharge was as a major, but he probably could have been a colonel under different circumstances: busted down several times, only to get promoted again.

Apparently, Oliver Queen's hobbies include punching out ranking officers.

Pushing the file to the side, she picks up another, this one on Sergeant J. Diggle of the U.S. Army. Unlike his CO, Diggle's file is full of accolades and praise, ending on the sour note of the mishap in Baghdad. He's the proud recipient of multiple medals, all of which indicate varying proficiency with weapons of all sorts.

It's a thin read, but even shorter is the file on Private First Class R. Harper, also Marine Corps. According to the date of birth on the records, he's barely twenty-one with nothing noteworthy about his career. There must be something about Harper, or else he never would have made the spec ops team. Laurel can't help but feel a little sorry for him and his poor fortune.

Though not officially listed as a member of the team, every spec ops mission needs a pilot, and it looks like they only worked with one: Captain F. Smoak, U.S.A.F. His record is entirely other and twice the size of Queen's, creating a baffling mix of files. Between references to psychological evaluations (redacted again), there are a wide array of formal reprimands about dangerous risks and a few medals awarded for bravery. It's also documented that he's been a Mensa member most of his life, along with IQ results of 158. A spotless ROTC career mixes with a Master's degree from MIT—both earned before he joined the military at nineteen. Flight records show he's capable of anything and everything, from helicopters to fighter jets, and—on one interesting occasion—a rig made from a parachute, a lawnmower engine, and some pipe. According to his record, an incident left him with vision less than 20/20, so he spent a brief period grounded as aviation repair. After that, the A-Team appears on his file, and suddenly he's got his wings again.

The court marshal hearing in his file, however, is crossed out with black bars. Whatever happened there, Laurel doesn't know, but it ends in an early release and an honorable discharge. Either way, Smoak is her in—the only free citizen among them. There's little else she can do until her military contact sends her the actual, uncensored file, but for the moment, it's all she has.

While technically a free citizen, he's proving to be as elusive as the rest of the team. Everything Laurel has searches is a dead end. Whoever Smoak is, he's a ghost: no credit cards, rental agreements, or bank accounts. Hell, she'd settle for a bicycle rental at this point. But no matter what she tries, Smoak isn't there. Even his military ID number is blocked on her copies, and that's viewable only with a federal warrant.

A ringing phone jolts Laurel out of her reading. The caller ID shows it as her dad, and she breathes a sigh of relief. A federal warrant her father could manage, with a judge that owes him a favor. "You have a name for me," she breathes without preamble.

"Good to hear from you, too, kiddo," Captain Lance retorts, with a slight hint of humor. "That name you needed for Iris?" Laurel grabs her pen as he chuckles. "You're not gonna believe this one."

She frowns. "Believe what?" she asks, a note of dread in her voice.

He chuckles again. "I have the uncensored file in my hands right now, Laurel, and I don't think it's gonna be of much use to you," he responds. Her stomach drops. "Your Captain Smoak is one Felicity M. Smoak." She blinks twice. "And her file is a disaster." The sound of a page flipping goes through the line. "Did you read the part about her flying that homemade rig?" Laurel makes a noise of assent. "She's at the Starling City VA Hospital."

Frowning, Laurel flips through the file on F. Smoak. "There's nothing mentioned here about injuries after their last mission," she counters, studying the last page again. "Maybe some cuts and bruises, but nothing serious enough to warrant a stay this long. They'd record something like that."

Her father snorts. "She's not injured, Laurel. She's in the psych ward."