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Quentin knows what most people think when they meet Donna Smoak - he knows because he made the same mistake himself when they first met. 

He'd dismissed her as a hot, blonde barfly, and ok, he was right about the first part.  After all, he's got eyes.  

Not so much the second part though, certainly not as much as people thought. Turns out when you spend years working sixty hours a week in six inch heels waiting tables in a Vegas hotspot, the last thing you want to do on your nights off is hit the night club scene.  She'd only been in a bar the night they'd met because she'd made herself scarce when Felicity and Oliver were in the middle of a fight  and, as she'd said to him more than once, just because she didn't want to be there didn't mean she wasn't going to look nice when she was. "I have standards, Quentin," she'd told him, eyes wide, almost offended that anyone would think she hadn't. 

He knew, both from his observations and things she'd told him, that most people didn't think she was too bright. He'd even seen her do it that first night when she had described herself to him with a shrug as, "Just a cocktail waitress from Vegas." 

In one night, he knew there was more to her than that, that there was more to her than some life sized Barbie doll. 

Even without knowing her daughter's name, he'd heard her talk about her, knew how fiercely she loved her. Knew how hard it had been to raise her, how she'd worked all the hours God sent, and a few extra, to give her everything she needed. Quentin knew how much strength, how much dedication that took - raising his two girls had been hard enough and they were both grown, Sara gone, by the time he and Dinah split up. He'd tried to imagine having to bring them up by himself, negotiate the teenage years, and he'd found it impossible, knew he never could have done it. 

But Donna did it and she's still smiling. What's more, and even more amazing, is that Quentin knows that if she had to, she'd do exactly the same thing all over again. 

And not only is she still smiling, she's laughing. Even with a finely tuned bullshit detector that would put half his police force to shame, she doesn't let anything get her down and her love for life is infectious. She even makes him, a grizzled old detective, someone who's seen more, lost more, than anyone should have the right to endure, believe that it's possible for him to be happy. 

Maybe that's the biggest miracle of all right there. 

She makes him happy. 

She makes him happy and he's starting to think, if she gives him a chance, he'd like to spend the rest of his life doing the same thing for her.