Ten year old Emma Swan took a seat outside the group home, staring up into the cold, inky blackness above, the winter stars twinkling back down at her. She could hear the sounds of the Christmas party in the group home, but she couldn't stand to be in there another moment, even if Santa was there bringing joy to her housemates.

It hadn't taken long for Emma to realize that "Santa" was a codeword for parents to buy things for their children, as every year, when Emma had wished for 'what she really wanted' for Christmas… she never got it.

Sure, she'd get one present a year sometimes – a doll, a stuffed animal, a cassette recorder, but Emma would be happy with getting nothing for Christmas if it meant she had a family. But Santa couldn't bring that to her.

Slumping down in the chair, Emma watched as the snow fell across the lawn, dancing in the streetlights and off the Christmas lights of the houses in the neighborhood.

"Emma?"

She pulled her jacket tighter around her, not looking at the woman who ran the group home. "What is it?"

"You didn't sit on Santa's lap…" Mrs. Morris said with a small frown. "What are you doing out here?"

Emma chanced a glance up at the woman, spotting the man in the Santa costume hovering in the doorway behind her. "I don't want to sit on Santa's lap," Emma replied bluntly. "It never worked in the past."

"That's not true… last year you got a tape recorder, didn't you?"

Emma knew Mrs. Morris was trying to play into the magic of Santa, of the time of year, but she wasn't sure if she could believe in it anymore, and the ten year old narrowed her eyes slightly. "But that wasn't what I asked for."

Mrs. Morris frowned a little. "Emma, please… you know Santa does his best…"

"You told me Santa would bring anything I wanted. He didn't. You lied."

"Emma, please – "

The sound of a man clearing his throat broke the awkward tension that had filled the air. Emma turned in surprise to find the man playing Santa was still there, watching and listening to the conversation.

"Mrs. Morris, I'd like to apologize to Emma for neglecting to give her what she wanted last year," he said with a gentle smile.

Mrs. Morris let out a flustered noise, before waving her hand and going back in the house, leaving Emma alone in the cold, December night with Santa Claus.

"Are you going to tell me I've been naughty and I'm getting coal in my stocking?" Emma sniped, turning her eyes back up to the sky.

The man sat next to her, heaving out a sigh. "No, Emma. Not at all. You're right. I haven't given you what you really want for Christmas. And I'm sorry for that. So tell me… what is it you want for Christmas?"

"I want a family. One that won't return me," Emma said bluntly. "But you should've remembered that from last year. Or are you not the same guy?"

There was a strange twinkle in the man's eyes. "I'm not the same man from last year, no."

"I didn't think so. You have a much more realistic beard."

The man let out a soft, rumbling laugh. "Do I now? Well, unlike some others who play Santa Claus, I don't shave my beard."

"Probably smarter that way, to use a real beard and not a fake one."

He chuckled softly under his breath, nodding in agreement. "Yes, I would say so, Emma. Besides, the fake beards are itchy. Well, I think I'll take my leave now, Emma. I appreciate you agreeing to talk to me, even if you don't really believe in me."

"I never said I didn't – "

But the man simply waved his hand and disappeared down the walkway, before disappearing behind the trees at the front of the house, and Emma slumped back against the bench, baffled at the strange man, before deciding he wasn't worth anymore stress or concern and heading back inside the warm, crowded home, unaware of just how wrong she was.

Oh yes, Nicholas Claus knew of Emma Swan. He knew her quite well. He had tried his best over the years to get her into a family, just as she requested, but somehow, despite his pulling the strings, things always seemed to fall through with these humans.

This time however, he knew of a couple, in a small town far from the crowds of Minneapolis, that had been unlucky in having children. A couple that would be more than happy to take in and work with Emma Swan.

Vanishing back to the North Pole, Nicholas took a seat in front of his desk, rolled his shoulders, and began to work his magic.

Yes, a file, a note, and an email sent to one Aiden Gold, attorney at law and Thomas Glass, adoption agent.

Nicholas planted the seeds. Now all he had to do was make sure a tree sprouted.