A/N: Though reluctant to share her memories and feelings, Chris gives up and tells her teammates what they want to hear about her favorite and less favorite Christmas time.

Chris's worst and best

You really want to know about my worst Christmas? Umpf… You know I don't like opening up. This— this feels weird, but since we're all doing it…

My family values Christmas as one of the most important events of the year, along with the Dia de Los Muertos and Easter. Of course, they don't exactly need an excuse for celebrating. I give them that, but Christmas is quite a special thing for the Alonsos. My aunts, uncles, and the majority of my cousins like to go to church on Christmas Eve, and then we have this dinner altogether. You know how it works then, on Christmas Day we're all so full of food we can barely exchange presents.

Anyway, the year I turned thirteen had been different. My mom, she was already getting worse with the drinking. I knew way too well that the holidays had never been an easy time of the year for her and that that year she would have needed my help more than ever... but I was just a teenager, and I didn't want to already be the responsible one in that relationship.

It's hard to admit now, but I just hated my mom for it. I hated having to take care of her and hated to not know where all my Christmas presents came from.

As I said, that year things started going ugly sooner than usual; by five o'clock on Christmas Eve, she was already unconscious on the couch. As you can expect knowing my family, all my efforts to keep her behavior a secret had been totally useless. Without having to call for her, aunt Helena came to my rescue and freed me from my nursing duties. So at last, I attended the Alonsos' traditional Christmas party, and—

And I loved it.

I enjoyed being with the members of my family that really cared for me. I enjoyed eating too much and playing with all my older and younger primos, just like the kid I was suppose to be but I honestly rarely felt.

That still bothers me. For years after that party, I felt guilty for enjoying it, but I didn't know. I couldn't. Nobody knew that it would have been the last Christmas with my mom.

That's it. My worst memory isn't all that tragic in the end. The day wasn't half as sad as it had been the first Christmas after my mom passed, but it carries with it the weight of the occasion I lost to spend that last holiday with her. That's why for me it had been the worst.

Okay. Can we just move on now? Please?

I have plenty of good Christmas memories; as I already mentioned, my family makes it bigger every year.

If I have to pick just one…

If I have to pick, it would be the year I turned twenty. The eldest cousin among us in the household decided to get married right on Christmas Day that year. I leave to your imagination how crazy the holidays had been with all the preparations and bridezilla Gabriela haunting us in our dreams. You know something about it, Tan, don't you?

The Christmas countdown was rhythmed by chores, and I took all the excuses my job with the K9 unit would give me to avoid being around. Okay, I know it doesn't seem a bright memory, but it was not all that bad. It gave me an excuse to excel at my job at least.

Back at home, the air got more and more electric any day, but I had not felt such an anticipation since I was a very little kid. The only thing I didn't look forward to was putting on the bridesmaid's dress Gabriela had chosen for me. Oh, no, Tan. There isn't any photo I want to share. And, you, Street, you're forbidden from going and pestering my aunt for them. Alright?

Anyway, the weather that day was just perfect. The ceremony, the reception, and everything else couldn't be more special for Gabriela and Luis—Louie, actually, not a drop of Latino blood in his veins. We're all calling him that just because an old uncle had misunderstood his name when he was first introduced, and now he's stuck with it.

I know this memory is not typical Christmas, but the sensations it gives me are pure joy and family warmth. Just like Christmas should be about. And I'm not a typical woman, am I?

Oh, stop staring at me. There's still one more person who hasn't shared yet. Let's move on.