Very Necessary Chapter 1, a csi: miami fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to CSI: Miami. Title and lyrics come from the Salt-n-Pepa song "None of Your Business" from the album Very Necessary. If you were born after 1993, I recommend a listen because in the nineties it was still okay to be successful, sexy and a feminist, but of course that was before The Hills destroyed our culture and women's chances.

A/N: This is a prequel of sorts to my other story, still in progress, "Evenings with Lenny". You don't have to read Evenings to get this, but I'd like it if you did. This story is set just after Speed's death when Ryan first joined the team. I think he and Valera would have been particularly hot together then. And, I think the CSI: Miami fanfic world needs more Valera centric pieces in general, so here goes.

Very Necessary

Prologue: None of Your Business

Are we simply romantically challenged, or are we sluts?

-Carrie Bradshaw, Sex in the City

You should go through life like I do-not expecting men to fill you up, except for when, well, you know.

-Samantha Jones, Sex in the City-and heroine to loose women everywhere.

What's the matter with your life?
Why you gotta mess with mine?
Don't keep sweatin' what I do
Cause I'm gonna be just fine - check it out

If I wanna take a guy home with me tonight
It's none of your business
And she wanna be a freak and sell it on the weekend
It's none of your business
Now you shouldn't even get into who I'm givin' skins to
It's none of your business
So don't try to change my mind, I'll tell you one more time
It's none of your business

Now who do you think you are
Puttin' your cheap two cents in?
Don't you got nothin' to do
Than worry 'bout my friends? Check it...

It's not like I meant for this to happen.

I know that people have a lot of misguided opinions about me. It comes with the territory when you're the only former model with an eccentric life story in your work place. It's not every day that a girl retires from the catwalk to be a DNA analyst for the Miami Dade Crime Lab. Active, and former, models are a dime a dozen in this city, but for some reason I'm still a bit of a novelty around the office, and the water cooler gossip is not always very flattering.

For the most part I try to ignore it, and sometimes just for badness I play along. For instance, I allow people to believe the rumor, started much to my regret by Tim Speedle, that I own a sizable pornography collection. The truth is, there are a lot of adult movies housed in my DVD cupboard, but none of them belong to me. They are the treasured property of my roommate Daniel who is a hairdresser, and in keeping with tradition, a homosexual. And let me tell you, you do not come between a gay man and his porn, even if he insists on displaying it proudly in your mutual DVD collection. So, the porn collection is real okay? But it's not mine.

I suppose I should have set the record straight at work when Tim started running his mouth, but, well, I figured he just misconstrued my meaning that day in lab when I told him about the square footage of Daniel's collection. I never thought Tim would assume the porn was mine, or that he'd tell our co-workers about his deductions. Once it became apparent that my colleagues were more than willing to believe I was an avid porn collector I decided to let them persist in their delusions. If you're going to be infamous, you may as well live up to your reputation whether it's deserved or not.

The whole porn thing was just so typical of my interactions with Tim, and our, for lack of a better word, relationship. It's not like we were ever a real item. Whatever we had, it consisted of a series of confusing run ins, and baffling conversations, during which I acted like a love sick fool, and he came off like an older James Dean. Let me just state for the record, crushes are totally not my style, and the whole situation with Tim was constantly embarrassing, even when he wasn't insinuating to people that I have a predilection for porn. Then, as if things couldn't get any worse, he died. Turns out Tim didn't just take a devil may care attitude towards love. He was also reckless when it came to gun maintenance, and the damn thing jammed on him during a robbery leaving him fatally vulnerable to a criminal's bullet.

But, I digress. None of this is relevant just at the moment.

All you need to know right now is this; I didn't mean to end up attempting to have anonymous sex, with what would turn out to be future co-worker in the bathroom of Miami's hottest new club. Honestly, no matter what anyone says about me, this was not a typical night out for Maxine Valera, at least not since I was seventeen, and still living in Paris. There were extenuating circumstances at play.

First of all, I had no idea I would ever see the man I was wrapped around again, let alone at work. Secondly, I was in mourning. Tim had died only a few months prior, and I was still unable to deal with my grief. Some people wear black and mope around the house when a loved one dies. I had chosen to wear black, but not much of it, and rely on alcohol and dance floors to get me over my sadness. So, in my defense, I was not in control of my actions, or my emotions when I decided to drag my random drinking partner for the night into a bathroom, and rock his world.

Normally, I wouldn't care what anyone thought of me, at work, or anywhere else. But, in the wake of Tim's death I had decided to turn over a new leaf, in my professional and personal life. I was going to be efficient, aloof and respectable at work, and avoid any actions that would give the water cooler crowd any more fodder. There would be no more chasing after unattainable men in my private life either. It's a bad habit, and ladies trust me, they aren't worth it. I've walked the Victoria Secret show several times, and even I couldn't make a bad boy love me. Mere mortals shouldn't presume to succeed were angels fail, and I recommend cutting your losses if you're in a similar situation.

So, I've been trying to change my life for the better, sort of a grief induced self-help program if you will. You're probably wondering why then, did I go out and get off with someone in a bathroom if I really wanted to overcome my reputation at work, and my poor taste in men, well, there's two answers to that question;

Number one comes from the most esteemed Salt-n-Pepa, Daniel's favorite musical sluts;

It's the anthem he lives his life by. I'm not quite that cavalier when it comes to sex. I get my share, but generally I know more about the person I'm sleeping with, than say just their first name. Generally, but not always, so the song still fits, and the message is on point; Mind your business trick, and I'll keep being my fabulous self.

The second explanation about why I was in a bathroom, on the brink of sex with a stranger, first name: Ryan, last name: I didn't care enough to ask at the time, takes a little longer than a rap song to explain, so bear with me, if you're interested. One piece of advice though; you're going to have to check any and all judgmental attitudes at the door, or we're not going to have any fun.

How many rules am I to break before you understand
That your double-standards don't mean shit to me?
I know exactly what you say when I turn and walk away
But that's OK cause I don't let it get it to me
Now every move I make somebody's clockin'
Don't ask me nothin', will you just leave me alone?
Never mind who's the guy that I took home...to bone

So the moral of this story is: Who are you to judge?
There's only one true judge, and that's God
So chill, and let my Father do His job

TBC….yeah this one's not gonna be PG. Act accordingly.