A/N: Title taken from Paul Simon's 'Father and Daughter.' So...a while ago an anon on tumblr asked me to write an Olicity baby fic which surprisingly sparked a bit of inspiration that I've been missing for a LONG time. So here we are! Just a VERY fluffy one shot. Seriously. Super fluffy. I hope you like it. Thanks for reading! :D
Outside, beyond the hospital windows, the buttery morning light crests over the tops of the surrounding buildings and skyscrapers, skimming down the glass in a dancing shimmer.
Oliver doesn't usually get to appreciate moments like this — the slow unfolding of a new day. At this time he's usually halfway through his morning workout before work or he's just fallen into bed after a night on the streets. Even though the team is bigger and there's more help than ever before, it's rare that he gets the chance to stand and appreciate and just...be.
Breathe.
He takes a breath now, deeper than he has for the last twenty minutes or so, and it's enough to nudge the bundle sleeping so quiet in his arms.
He looks down at her again, like he has every couple of minutes, watches as she wriggles slightly and yawns the tiniest of yawns, and feels the smile tug at his mouth; the movement pinching at his cheeks because he hasn't been able to stop since she arrived only a few hours ago.
He still can't believe she's here.
It feels like a lifetime since Felicity turned up at City Hall one Thursday morning, barreling into his office in a frantic wide-eyed sort of rush and unable to say or do anything but place the white plastic stick on his desk when he asked what was wrong. He'd stared at it for what felt like forever, held his breath as he read the word "Pregnant" over and over, and his whole body had tensed with a dizzying mix of shock and joy and absolute want.
It was staggering, how much he wanted it.
"Are you...Is this—? Felicity?" he'd somehow managed, clutching desperately at the back of his chair, and Felicity's eyes had brimmed with tears, her fingers drifting up to catch a nervous sort of laugh as she nodded in confirmation and disbelief and so much joy because god, she wanted it too and maybe she wasn't even aware how much until that very moment.
He'd rushed around his desk; her name a whisper of awe as he tugged her close and cradled her face in his hands, dusted her skin with kisses and little breathy laughs because he couldn't believe it was happening.
They were having a baby.
And even though he's had months to prepare; seven months of watching his wife's tummy swell with their child, feeling their baby kick beneath his hand, listening to the speedy thud and flutter of its heartbeat; nothing has felt as real and startling — life changing — as this moment, standing in the dawn of a new day in the city he tries to save, with his baby girl so warm and solid in his arms.
It's perfect.
"You're perfect," Oliver whispers, presses his lips to her forehead, inhaling the powdery scent of her skin as he pulls away.
He traces a fingertip around the soft spiral of her ear, down the slope of her tiny nose and along the delicate pout of her little pink mouth just as it starts to smack together, like she's getting ready to feed.
"Whatcha doing?"
Oliver's smile deepens the creases around his eyes and he turns to Felicity struggling to shift herself upright in bed. She winces slightly every time she moves and he yearns to help her in any way he can but right now his arms are full and he's just not ready to let go yet.
He'll never be ready.
"Hey," he says quietly, moving closer. "How are you feeling?"
Her hair is a bit of a frizzy mess now, falling loose from the ponytail he'd haphazardly done himself a few hours into her labor, and her make-up wore off in a sweat long ago, but he doesn't think he's ever seen her look more beautiful. She'd laugh and roll her eyes at the cliché if he told her but he can't help it if it's true.
She looks magical to him now, after watching her bring their child into the world. The way she'd just gritted her teeth and pushed with as much strength and determination as he'd ever seen... He'd honestly worship at her feet if he could.
"A little sore and tired but wonderful," Felicity says, beaming as she looks up at him. "You know, I didn't think you could get any more handsome but after watching you with her? I was wrong."
"Yeah?" Oliver asks with a grin, feeling his cheeks warm as he ducks his head slightly.
"Oh yeah," she says with a nod, and bites her lower lip. "The playground moms will love you. You're going to be a total DILF. I mean, you already are because of William, duh. But it's extra somehow, with the baby. Whoa boy."
Oliver chuckles as she fans at her face for added effect.
"Well, you're the only playground mom I care about."
"I—I could be a playground mom now." Felicity clutches at her hospital gown for a moment. "I'm a mom. Oliver," she breathes, as if the thought only just occurred to her.
"Yeah you are, honey," Oliver says, carefully shifting the baby so he can reach out and push the hair away from Felicity's face, tucking the strands behind one ear. "How'd you feel about that?"
"I feel...I feel so good about it." She grasps his hand now, plays with his fingers; a softer dance in contrast to the desperate way she gripped them earlier.
"I'm so in love with her. I'm so in love with you. I just feel a lot of love right now. Oh, and now I'm crying!" she says with a sniffle but then huffs a laugh and shakes her head at herself, rolling her eyes like she feels silly somehow.
"Hey, it's okay," he soothes, knows that she's completely overwhelmed right now, and squeezes her hand. "I feel like crying too and I'm not the one who just gave birth and has barely slept."
"That's because you're a giant teddy bear inside," Felicity laughs again, the sound croaky and wet. "And you've barely slept either," she adds, shooting him a pointed look, as if she knows he's spent the last four hours unable to do anything but stare at their child.
"No, it's because you're amazing and you've made me the happiest man alive and I can't believe she's— She's here."
He shakes his head in awe at their daughter again, the little spit bubbles popping out of her mouth as she breathes, the way one hand curls up against her chubby rosy cheek. Her tiny fingers flex every now and then, and he wonders if she's dreaming already.
He hopes they're good dreams.
"She's so beautiful, Felicity," he says, whisper soft, the emotion of it all catching thick in his throat. "I can't...I'm."
He blinks rapidly against the sting of tears.
"Oh, Oliver," Felicity breathes, her own eyes filling with tears, enough to start a slow watery slide down one cheek. She quickly wipes them away with the back of her hand and pats the edge of the bed. "Come here, please."
Oliver does what he's told, slowly lowering himself to the bed, watching their daughter all the while. She hasn't cried since the moment she first arrived, wailing as much as her little lungs would allow as the nurse cleaned and weighed her, and Oliver would really like to keep it that way, for as long as possible.
Felicity palms at his thigh once he's settled, squeezing the muscle solid beneath his jeans, because she knows just her touch can soothe him like nothing else. Her other hand comes up to rest against the gray knitted blanket Thea had made for her niece, and she can't help but smile as she traces the pink thread of "Baby Queen" embroidered into the corner of the material.
They still haven't settled on a name and Thea has been finding increasingly inventive ways of making fun of them for it.
"It's okay to be overwhelmed, you know," Felicity says then. "I am. I know we have William but—"
"It's different."
"Of course. You missed these moments with him and I know that hurts a lot. Plus Will is a teenager. We have a lot to learn with a baby. It's a whole new world. It's kinda scary, right?"
"Is this supposed to be a pep talk?" Oliver asks, though he's smiling now because how could he not?
"Maybe. If you let me finish," Felicity teases, jabbing at his side, though there's no force behind it. "All I'm saying is that we didn't know what we were doing with Will at first, some days I still feel at a loss and I know you do, too. But the point is we got through it, together. And that's what we'll do now."
Oliver lets his gaze linger on his wife for a long moment, follows the fall of her eyes to their baby girl, watches the smile light her whole face and the lift and scrunch of her shoulders the way she always does when she finds something too cute for words, and he thanks the stars that she's his — that she came back to him, that they came back to each other.
Because no matter what happens, she always has a way with words, always knows how to settle the fear that forever dwells in the deepest part of him and probably always will.
"Together," he repeats, mostly to himself, and then adds, "I think we're really good at this marriage thing now."
"I know," Felicity agrees, still captivated by the bundle in his arms, like it's impossible to look away, and it's a feeling he knows all too well. "Are we a high-five kind of couple because we could do that if you want?"
Oliver tilts his head slightly, considering. "What about a kiss instead?"
"Mmm," she hums, and finally looks up at him again. "I'd like that."
It's slow and quiet as their mouths draw together and they smile through a couple of soft kisses, their foreheads meeting once they pull away. They both take a simultaneous breath of absolute contentment, the joy of the moment settling warm around them, and they sit there nestled together until their daughter starts to stir between them.
"Oh, hi, baby girl. Did we squish you? That's not good, is it?" Felicity murmurs as she bops her nose, and her voice is softer than Oliver's ever heard it before.
His smile only grows.
He loves that he gets to witness Felicity like this—to see this new side of her unfold around him. He's already been lucky enough to watch her with his son, to see the slow build and deepening of affection and love, but this is new and different and he wants to be there for every second of it, memorize everything she says, everything she does.
"I actually think she wants a feed," Oliver admits. "She was moving her mouth around before, like she wanted to latch on or something."
"See? You're already great at this," Felicity says with a dreamy kind of smile, and holds out her hands. "Come to mama."
She settles back against the pillows and Oliver carefully places the baby in the crook of her arms. It's a little bit of an awkward fumble of hands at first because handling a baby is not something either of them is used to, but eventually they get the hang of it.
Once he's satisfied that they're both comfortable, Oliver reaches for the tie of Felicity's hospital gown and loosens the bow holding the back together. He pushes one side down beneath her breast, skimming the tips of his fingers gently down her arm, and he can't resist dropping a kiss to the slope of her shoulder, lingering, breathing against her skin for a moment.
Felicity shudders and smiles.
"Here goes," she whispers a second later, and there's a stiffness to her posture now as she settles the baby at her bare breast, trying to find the best angle for her mouth.
She'd struggled with that first feed earlier and Oliver could tell that it had frustrated her, despite the nurse insisting that it happened all the time, and so he holds his breath now, palming at her shoulder in reassurance and support, feeling at a loss that he can't do anything more to help.
"Come on, baby girl," Felicity sing-songs quietly. "Do this for mommy."
She's definitely alert, squirming more and more, and Oliver gently cups the back of her tiny head, her dark blonde hair wispy soft beneath his palm.
"Maybe we should remove the blanket?" he suggests after a minute or so of restlessness, thinking back to the baby books he read over the last few months. "I think the swaddle might be too tight to feed?"
"Good idea. Okay. Let's try that. Can you—?" she starts but doesn't need to finish as Oliver works to loosen the blanket on one side.
Their daughter is wearing a white onesie with thin stripes of gray and pink—to match her blanket, according to Thea—and her little covered feet kick out in a jerk of freedom before curling up near her tummy, and Oliver feels his heart jump and stutter all over the place as he catalogues every movement she makes and burns it to his memory.
Once they're both resettled, it takes a few minutes of Felicity whispering soft little coos and Oliver smoothing his thumb across her forehead before her mouth smacks together again and her tongue peeks out in a tentative lick as she finally latches on.
"She's doing it, Oliver," Felicity says in a cry of delight, her shoulders sagging in relief, eyes wide in astonishment as she experiences the sensation for the first time. "Oh, wow."
"You did it," he adds, ducking down to kiss her temple, smiling even more as Felicity leans into him.
"I'm just letting you know that I might start crying again," she says, but by the watery sound of her voice, the warning is too late.
Oliver looks down at his two girls snuggled together and tries to swallow against the lump in his throat.
"That makes two of us."
"I suppose we should really talk about names again," Felicity says later that day, cradling their girl close to her chest.
She's barely had a couple hours of sleep but she managed to wash and change into some clean pajamas, as well as run a brush through her hair, so she's feeling a lot more together and a little less emotional than before, which makes Oliver happy.
He's on the bed with them now; tucked behind Felicity like her favorite kind of pillow, his cheek resting on the top of her head as he watches her play with the tiniest fingers he's ever seen. The gesture almost seems absentminded, like she's completely unaware that she can't stop touching her.
"I don't think we can keep calling her baby girl," he agrees in amusement, and hums in a sleepy sort of contentment as he mouths a couple of kisses to her hair.
"I just thought it might happen like everyone says. That we'd look at her and instantly know what to call her but I still have no clue."
He shifts at that. "Well, I—"
"You have a name?" Felicity interrupts, and apparently her ability to mind read has not been dulled by 18 hours of labor. "Why didn't you say?"
"It's just one from our shortlist," Oliver says with a half-hearted shrug. "I don't know. As soon as I held her, it was the first name that entered my head."
"Aw. Let's hear it then."
"Elizabeth," he continues, smiling through the word as he strokes the back of her hand. "Elizabeth Moira Queen. It just—it sounded right."
At that moment, their daughter stirs and opens her eyes, so blue in the daylight, and stares up at them, almost as if she knows and—
"Yes, oh," Felicity breathes in a rush. "That's her name. Oliver..."
The emotion swells in his chest again and he's struck by this desperate yearning for his mother to be here, so much so he's overwhelmed by it and doesn't quite know what to do with himself.
He takes a deep shuddery breath.
As if she knows what he's thinking about, Felicity shifts and stretches back to nuzzle against his jawline and press a kiss there, trying to comfort him as much as she can, and he squeezes her closer and whispers her name in a mix of thanks and pure emotion, unable to say or do anything else.
"Knock, knock," Thea calls suddenly from the doorway, peeking her head into the room, and Oliver's never been more grateful for the interruption.
He doesn't want to dwell on regrets or sadness, not today.
"Are you up for some visitors?"
"Always," Felicity says, and the brightness in her voice belies her lack of sleep. "Did you bring Will?"
"Nah," Thea teases, placing a large floral arrangement on the table by the bed. "I just left him at home by himself."
"Don't joke! You know I've been worrying about him."
"Really? Your thirty text messages didn't make that clear."
"Thea," Oliver warns around a breathy chuckle, because he loves seeing his sister like this, full of sass and looking as happy as he feels.
"You know I love you guys but boy do you have that overbearing parents thing going on," she says, her grin on the side of wicked, and she rolls her eyes when he glares at her, though there's no heat behind it.
"Relax," she carries on. "He just wanted to make a quick stop at the gift shop and oh my god, she's beautiful. Please tell me you have a name."
She presses both hands against her mouth as she finally gets a good look, transfixed by her niece now.
"Elizabeth," Oliver says with more than a hint of pride. "Elizabeth Moira."
"Ollie," Thea murmurs, clearly choked, her mouth opening and closing, like she doesn't know what else to say, and there's so much weight in the words left unsaid between them.
"I know," is all he can manage in reply, and reaches for her hand.
William walks into the room then, still dressed in his school uniform, though his tie is missing and probably stuffed in his backpack, as usual. He's carrying a couple of pink and white balloons in one hand, one that says, "Baby girl!" and another that's shaped like an old-fashioned stroller. They bob behind him as moves, his steps hesitant as he eyes the baby in Felicity's arms.
It's life changing for him too—this moment.
"Hey there, buddy," Oliver says, getting up from the bed to give his son a one-armed hug. "How was school?"
"Okay, I guess. I—I wish I didn't have that test so I could've been here instead."
"Me too," Felicity admits, rocking Elizabeth gently now. "We've been waiting for you."
"She's been waiting for you," Oliver adds with a smile, because he's been waiting for this moment, too.
"She has?" Will asks, turning to him in surprise.
"Of course," Thea joins in, nudging his arm with her own. "All babies can't wait to meet their big brother."
Will grins at that, his smile as wide as it's ever been, his cheeks all flushed, and for that split-second he looks so unbelievably young; so much like that little boy Oliver saw in Central City only a couple of years ago.
"Can I hold her?" Will asks, eager now.
"Sure. Go sit down and I'll bring her to you."
Dropping the balloons at the end of the bed, Will moves to the chair in front of the window, sliding his backpack down his arms and letting it fall at his feet. He wipes his hands on his trousers a couple of times, his legs bouncing in a jig of impatience or nervous excitement—Oliver's not quite sure but it has him grinning either way.
He remembers being the same when he first held Thea all those years ago, just a few hours after she was born. It warms him to know that history is repeating itself—in the best possible way this time.
Will's eyes are wide as Oliver eventually places the baby in his arms; her head nestles in the crook of his elbow and her little bottom rests on his lap. He huffs out a laugh at the sight and feel of this tiny human in his hands, and then freezes as she squirms and flails her legs for a moment.
"What's she doing?" he wonders out loud, apprehension coloring his tone. "Am I—am I doing it wrong?"
"No way!" Felicity stresses, and she's sitting on the edge of the bed now, eager to watch the two of them together. "She just moves around sometimes, like she's getting used to being outside. You're doing great."
"Okay. Okay, cool," he says, like he's reassuring himself. "What's her name?"
"Elizabeth."
It's silent in the room for a long time, nothing but the distant muted noise of the hospital beyond, and they all stay hushed as they give him a moment to absorb everything.
"Can I—can I call her Lizzie, for short?" he asks eventually, fingering one tiny foot, dumbstruck, like he can't believe how small it is.
"Of course you can," Felicity says, beaming at him brightly, eyes shiny again.
"Yeah, bud. I bet she'd like that."
"Oh, yeah. It's way better than Speedy, too," Thea adds, throwing Oliver a pointed look, though she's smiling, too.
She wanders over to join Will by the window, leaning over to tickle Lizzie's pudgy cheek, whispering something about it being her turn for cuddles next, and Oliver drifts back to Felicity, perches on the edge of the bed and presses a kiss to the back of her hand.
Her grin widens when he does it again.
"Aunt Thea, can you open my backpack for me?" Will says suddenly. "There's a present for Lizzie in there."
Thea looks over at Oliver who simply shrugs, clueless, but she obliges, unzipping his backpack and pulling out a ragged old brown bear that's seen better days. The stitching on its nose is starting to unravel and one of the eyes has been replaced with a simple black button, and it looks like it's been hugged a thousand times.
Cherished, Oliver thinks.
"Aw. Is this it?" Thea asks, holding it aloft and thumbing at one crumpled ear, the fur all bobbly.
"Um, yeah," Will says, shyly, his cheeks coloring again. "Um, my mom gave me this bear when I was a baby. I know it's old and needs some repairs but I thought...I thought my little sister could have it now."
Oliver swallows the sob caught in his throat as Felicity makes a little "Eeep!" beside him, not quite catching the noise in her hand, and Thea ruffles Will's hair in an affectionate caress because sometimes this kid still surprises them, even now.
"That's perfect, buddy," Oliver says then, his voice cracking slightly. "She'll love it."
"Yeah," Felicity agrees, her voice trembling, her grip so tight against him. "Thank you, Will. That's the most thoughtful gift."
"I don't know about that," Will says with a shrug, trying to downplay it, seeming embarrassed. "It's just an old bear."
"No, it's not," she insists, sounding pretty damn adamant about it. "It's everything because it was yours. She's gonna love you so much."
He beams back at her then, delighted, and then finds his gaze drifting back to his sister in his lap, thrilled that she seems comfortable enough to have fallen asleep against him.
"Hi, Lizzie," he whispers, sounding as amazed as everyone feels. "I'm Will. I'm your big brother."
Oliver presses a fist to his mouth, inhales a deep steadying breath through his nose. He sits frozen on the bed, absolutely spellbound by the sight of his children and his sister bathed in sunlight through the window. He feels Felicity nudge herself closer, aware of the weight of her head on his shoulder and the strength of her hand in his own, and he can't help but think back to everything that led him to this moment.
In all those years of death and despair and torture and nothing good ever happening, he never once thought something so pure and wonderful would be possible. Even when he finally made it home and the years passed and the light and hope slowly began to cut through the darkness and the murkiness of everything left behind, he still never quite let himself believe he deserved a moment like this.
He shakes his head, barely, completely unraveled by it all, at a loss for words.
"Thank you," he manages quietly, a few minutes later.
"For what?" Felicity asks, her brow furrows as she looks up at him.
"Giving me my family," he says, leaning down to nuzzle her nose with his own, and he feels the stretch of her smile.
"That's funny," she murmurs, and presses up for a kiss that probably tastes like the salt of his tears, though she doesn't care. Never has. "I was gonna say the same thing to you."