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Diggle finds him first. He's hidden away in the lair, almost invisible behind the salmon ladder and array of picked apart computer pieces that Felicity always manages to add to every day. He's just sitting there, back hard and firm against the wall, and for a second Diggle thinks he's asleep, but then Oliver's eyes shoot up and all Diggle can see is the red that lines them.
He knows he wants to be left alone – he knows that if Oliver wanted anything right now, it would be to switch places with their favorite blond in the hospital bed.
But he can't do that, Diggle knows that, as does Oliver. It still sends a crack down his heart when he hears Oliver sniffle, though.
Both heads quickly turn when they hear the snap of heels echoing through the base, and for a second Oliver feels like he can breathe again because it's Felicity, it has to be Felicity.
But then it's Donna's small hands that are brushing against Oliver's face – her arms that Oliver collapses into as he finally lets himself fall apart. He doesn't care that she's marched right into room that housed the parts of him that were laced in darkness – doesn't care that the hood that protects his identity night after night is now completely exposed to Donna's wondering eyes. He doesn't care about anything – nothing at all – because they took his baby.
"Sweetie, listen to me. Oliver, honey - ,"
He can feel her trying to grab a hold of his hand, and it's then that he looks down and sees the small, pink unicorn mitten crumpled within his fist. His hands start to shake then, but Donna's grasp is stronger, and she's able to pull him up and into a chair and it's in the light that she sees just how much Oliver is falling apart.
"Oliver, baby, we're gonna find her." She whispers it, and it sounds so much like Felicity that Oliver can't help it – God, he can't help it – and he's sobbing uncontrollably in the arms of his best girl's mother.
Any other time, he'd have been in the green hood within seconds, scouring the town for his daughter and seeking revenge on the men that had left his wife beaten so badly she had to be placed in a medically induced coma. Any other time he would have been driving arrows so deep and harsh into every heart that deserved it, enjoying the way the light would slowly leave their eyes.
But Lance had warned him against donning the hood. He had it on good authority that the FBI would interfere the minute he stepped out into the night, but Oliver was far past caring about jailtime because they took his little girl
But when he had come from the hospital to the lair earlier that night, his hands had shaken far too much for the arrows to hit their target.
"She's my baby," is the only thing Oliver can choke out, and he repeats it like a mantra again and again– like it's the only thing left in the world that makes sense – but Donna's hands brush through his hair the same way Felicity's do when she pulls him from his worst nightmares and, soon enough, his breathing evens out and his vision clears.
"Felicity - ,"
"Is just fine. She's going to want her baby at her side when she wakes up, though."
Oliver can see the insistence in her eyes, and he knows exactly what she's asking him to do. He squeezes her hand tight, and when he grabs his bow once again, his hands are stone still.
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He sees her the minute he stalks into the old warehouse and his heart shatters.
She's so small, she's so small, she's so small.
Oliver knows he only has a few minutes before the FBI shows up, it had taken them hours to track his daughter down, and he swallows back bile when he thinks about how they care more about capturing him than they do about saving his baby.
There's a man coming at him – three of them now – but all Oliver can see is his baby's girl's bright blue eyes, so identical to his own. They're filled with tears, and there's a bruise forming just under her left cheek-bone, and even though he's clad in his leathers and mask she knows exactly who he is. It's her guttural, sob of "Daddy" that makes Oliver see red and want to cry at the same time.
"Close your eyes, baby."
The words echo through the night just like they did when his mother had sacrifice herself for him and Thea, and the memory of her and his daughter's small cries and the wedding band that sits firm around his left ring finger give Oliver the fuel he needs to get his child out of there.
There's blood on him as they are leaving, and he's careful to hold her against the hip that was spared in his fight. He can hear the FBI vans squealing in – he can hear Diggle in his ear telling him to move – but his stride is powerful and unwavering and time seems to stand still as he stalks slowly past the armed guard.
The two agents stand with their guns aimed at him, but they lower them when they see the way the small toddler cowers into his hold – when they see how firm his grip is and the way his lips press into her baby soft hair.
It's a miracle they don't recognize him for who he really is – especially with the way his daughter continues to cry daddy into his neck – but he doesn't really care.
He takes her home, he bathes her, he wraps her tight in her favorite pajamas and once more in the hoodie of his that Felicity wears so often her smell is permanently woven into its fabric. He brushes her hair back with his fingers, he presses his lips again and again to her forehead, he tends to the small bruise on her cheek as Lyla medically assesses her.
He holds her tightly against his chest on the way to the hospital, and it's only Donna that he lets pry her from his grasp so that he can go and give a statement to the police.
She's back in his arms immediately after, and he doesn't even have to glare at the reporters that are waiting for his mayoral statement because they can see the way his eyes are stained red and the way his hands tremble as they smooth across his daughter's blonde hair. They can see the way he presses his face into her hair and the way he takes a shaky breath and they are gone before Lance can even try to kick them out.
Oliver settles into the chair next to Felicity's bed, their daughter snuggled tight against his chest, but it's when Felicity's eyes open and she offers him a tired smile that he can finally breathe again. She's asleep again in an instant, but her hand his curled around his and that's all that really matters. Donna sits across from him, smiling fondly at the three of them.
"I thought we were gonna lose them."
"Not gonna be that easy, Queen. Us Smoaks are made of steel."
Oliver smiles softly before leaning down and breathing in the scent of his baby.
"I killed those men," he whispers, a frown settling back over his features.
"You protected your family, Oliver. There was no choice. You protected your family."
There's a ghost of an argument on the tip of his tongue, but it's chased back the minute his daughter starts to snuggle further into him, burying her face into the crook of his neck. He hates that his eyes are watering again – hates that Donna's seen him cry not once, but twice and in the same day. But the way he feels now with his baby wrapped tight against him and two of the most important people in his world only a few feet away – this is the best part of his life.
And he'll make damn sure to protect every single thing about it.
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