Seeing that woman wearing that dress had done something to Detective Weaver. He'd seen a woman dressed like that before. He was sure of that somehow. It was more feelings than memories that were stirred in him. Those feelings were strong, but why? If he had felt so strongly for someone, why couldn't he remember her? He couldn't focus clearly when he tried, but a young girl's voice broke him from his thoughts anyway.

"I'm not going to have to eat a poisoned apple tart to get you to believe the way you did to Grandma Emma, am I?"

The man with the girl, apparently her father, was growing exasperated.

"For the last time, fairy takes aren't real, and I do not have a daughter. Now we're going to the police station, and they can try to find your real parents," he told her. She looked angry at that.

"You are not leaving me with Captain Hook! Are you crazy?"

Captain Hook. Why did hearing that name make him want to rip someone's heart out- literally? He had vague memories of watching Peter Pan as a child. Oddly, he'd never liked Peter Pan any better than Hook. Something about that movie bothered him. Still, the idea of Captain Hook bothered him more than any other book character. He supposed the little girl had an active imagination and meant Officer Rodgers. He did have a fake hand, and Weaver had never liked him. That didn't mean he was a fictional character though. The little girl turned and saw him. She dragged the man she claimed was her father over to him.

"Here! If anyone can help us, he can!"

Weaver had no idea what she was talking about. He'd never seen her before, and he never dressed like a policeman. Why did she think he could help her? Things got even stranger when she grinned at him.

"Hello great grandfather."

"Great grandfather?" Had this girl lost her grip on reality completely? Still- something in him went out to the girl. "I'm sorry, I don't even have any children." That felt so wrong saying that.

"Yes you do!" She insisted. She studied him a moment. "You- you really aren't awake are you? I thought if anybody would know the truth it would be you."

"Look he's awake, ok?" The man with her told her. "He's moving around, out of bed. And don't you know better than to talk to strangers?"

"He isn't a stranger. None of us are strangers. Everyone just needs to remember." The little girl looked back at him. "A name helped you last time. My grandma's name, Emma. It's going to hurt to remember. I'm sorry, but I know you'd never want to forget your family. Maybe another name will help. I know you must have some way to remember." The younger man was pulling her away, and she began to shout "Your first son was Baelfire! I'm his grand daughter, Lucy. You have another son, Gideon, and your wife's name is Belle! I never met them but they're in this book. Just take it and look at it. It's how I know who you are."

Those names. It was as if they created a door in some sort of mental wall.

"Wait a second. Let me see that," he told her. She handed him the book, and he began to look through. There were pictures that were clearly of him. Him at a spinning wheel. Him holding a baby. Him with a woman in a blue dress. The same dress he's seen on that woman earlier that day that had touched something in his mind.

All at once memories whirled through his brain. Bae! His beloved son as a baby, reaching up and touching his nose. Happy times together, then being separated, and losing him forever. Of course he remembered! How could he ever forget him? Belle and Gideon! It seemed like they'd just celebrated Gideon's first birthday. Now he had no idea where they were. More memories returned, and he knew why he'd ended up cursed. He'd tried to help Henry against Tremaine. Now he'd lost his family! Oh, she was going to suffer for that, and he would find them and get them back to matter how long it took! He hadn't even realized his hands were clenched into fists until he felt the girl lightly brush her hand against his.

"Hi, great- grandpa Rumple. I'm Lucy." She squeezed his hand, having broken away from her father. Lucy. He'd never met her. No one had seen Henry for several years while he traveled between alternate versions of their stories. Henry had mentioned a daughter when he'd come to him for help. He hadn't brought her with him, and Rumple remembered being disappointed. She was looking at him with trust now, even knowing who he was. "And we're going to find our family. All of them."

He gave her hand a squeeze in return. She smiled up at him, knowing that he knew the truth.

"Look, sir, I'm sorry if she bothered you," Henry apologized. His grandson, and he had no idea who he was.

"No, it's quite all right. In fact-" He pulled out his badge. "Why don't you let me take things from here? I'll see to it she finds her family." Lucy smiled at those last words. Her great- grandfather would help her. She knew what he really meant.

"Um- ok thanks, but she doesn't like cops, apparently," Henry told him. Lucy rolled her eyes.

"I never said I don't like cops. I said I don't want to be left with Captain Hook."

Henry looked at his daughter in confusion, but nodded.

"OK then. Go with him."

Rumple took Lucy's hand, and started to lead her back to his place. Once they were out of hearing range, she asked "You do remember now, don't you."

"Yes I do, thanks to you. And the others will too. Do you know where anyone else is?"

She shook her head and answered.

"Tremaine wanted us all scattered. But we'll find them. You found Grandpa Bae." It was so strange thinking Bae was a grandfather, but looking at Lucy and seeing her determination, he could see shades of his son in her. "We'll find everyone and help them remember."

"We will indeed, wherever they are. That's a promise."

"And you never break promises. I know." She smiled confidently. "Now we just need one last thing."

"Let me guess, an operation name."

"Yup," Lucy confirmed.

Rumple rolled his eyes. "You are most definitely your father's daughter. I take it you have something in mind?"

She thought a moment.

"Well Dad and Grandma Emma had operation Cobra. We want something like that, something that doesn't give away what we're up to. Why don't we have Operation- Paloma?"

Paloma, Spanish for dove. That worked well enough.

"Operation Paloma it is."

He had no idea where his wife and son were, if they were together, or if they had any memory of him. It was a nightmare, but there was a bright spot in it. He had his great- grandchild with him. She trusted him, and they were working together. They had each other, and they had hope. That would make all the difference.