Title: Instinct
Author: Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_

Genre: Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle

Rating: PG-13 for now. R eventually for sexual situations, and violence.

Teaser: When a string of assassinations begin to erupt in Los Angeles, the Angels are assigned to the case. But as all evidence begins to point to the Thin Man, Dylan and the Angels find themselves being torn apart, as the truth, the lies, and Anthony himself threaten to overwhelm them all.

--

The magic of the red carpet was always a surprise.

Each premiere, each moment the limousine pulled up, and she waited, a breathless sigh taken in to steady herself before she pushed open the door, she was never quite ready for it.

The blinding flash of the lights, the cheers that erupted behind her as feet stomped with metal clangs on the bleachers, the reporters almost hoarse from calling out her name...

It was invigorating, intoxicating. The smile on her face was practiced, easy and natural. The small blemish on her right shoulder had been carefully covered in make up, her bare back was flawless, smooth.

Perfect.

Her rigid poise was almost painful, but she felt none of it tonight. Her name glittered in lights, billed first, before Jason Gibbons. It was her night.

Her entrance had been timed perfectly, just after Jason made his entrance. Her co-star was already halfway down the carpet, enduring what most called 'the necessary evil', namely: Joan Rivers. Now, the bulbs were on her.

With a graceful sweep of her hand, she turned, arms splayed out in a welcome to her adoring fans, who piled on top of each other on the bleachers to scream her name, beg for just a little bit of her attention.

The broken rib didn't ache. The stiletto heels didn't blister, and she was almost hot in her barely there clingy Valentino original, despite the fifty degree weather.

She was perfect. This was perfect: the one moment where critics, reporters, producers, and image consultants didn't matter.

The new action star. The first female actress to receive twenty five million for a movie. More than Jason Gibbons. More than any woman.

She was an independent, an anomaly, and even if this might be all over tomorrow, even if the movie curdled under the critics, and word of mouth might sink it (which would never happen. Even she knew - it was a good movie), tonight was still her night.

It was always her night.

As she smiled into Jason's eyes, tucked her hands companionably around his waist and posed for the cameras, she only noticed the way the cameras flashed quicker than before.

She never noticed the one that shot off in the distance, different, and louder and harsher than the others.

It was only when the bullet pierced her chest that her smile froze.

It was still her night. The cameras flashed, and Jason screamed hoarsely, but Annabeth Torres only lay on the red carpet, hot flaring pain bleeding from her chest. She realized, in her haze wracked awareness, that Jason had managed to spill something red all over himself. His palms were covered in it, and it was vibrant, more vibrant than the red carpet.

"Annabeth."

She tried to smile, attempted to move, but the pain was too much, entirely too much, and suddenly she was too tired. Entirely too tired.

It was her night.

She still believed that distinctly, even when her eyes closed.

--

It wasn't that Dylan Sanders didn't appreciate Natalie's attempts.

Natalie didn't have an insincere bone in her body. Until Dylan had met the blonde supermodel lookalike, she didn't think those girls you read about in romance novels, the ones who never knew they were beautiful, even when they literally stopped traffic, actually existed.

But Natalie wore a retainer, and her blonde locks were messily pulled into a haphazard pony tale, and the girl still looked gorgeous.

Dylan reordered her bootshod feet, recrossing them over the dresser. She cocked her head, studying Natalie as she unslung the bag from her shoulder and smiled brightly.

"Okay! I got them all. The World News, the Wall Street Journal, and most importantly..." Natalie paused for effect, seconds before she gleefully shook out the latest purchase. "Cosmo!'

Dylan's previous pout somehow magically managed to push upwards, until she displayed a small smirk.

"Natalie, we JUST got back from China. Remember China?"

"Of course, I remember China," she responded, plopping down on Dylan's unmade bed and flipping through the magazine. "Ooh! 'Twenty Ways to Go Down on Your Lover'!"

Dylan sighed. Sliding her boots off the dresser, she leaned forward, palm pushing down the pages to get Natalie's attention. "Do you also remember how we literally fell OFF the Great Wall of China? Remember my bruised ribs?"

"Mmmhmm." Natalie clearly didn't see where this was going. She only grinned happily back, obviously lost in the memory. "Remember getting chased through Beijing and hiding in the Geisha house? Alex really got us through that one."

Dylan blinked. "Yes. But I'm not trying to reminisce. Though that was fun," she admitted. Minutes later, she regained her concentration. "Remember the whole thing about Charlie saying we could take a vacation?"

"We ARE on a vacation!"

Dylan's eyes narrowed. "I don't call running ten miles, then heading through the LAPD obstacle course and coming home to get caught up with current events from ten different magazines and journals a vacation, Nat."

And of course that was when she completely lost Natalie. Natalie was a five time Jeopardy champion. Natalie's idea of a quiet, easy read wasn't Dylan's latest copy of 'Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix', but Alex's wrinkled, well read edition of 'A Brief History of Time'.

Natalie had been having the time of her life.

Still, she seemed to understand. With a gracious smile, she made a show of putting the Cosmo to the side, pulling up her legs to hug them against her chest, rocking back and forth.

"Okay. Well, what do you want to do?"

With a grimace, Dylan fingered her bandaged ribs gently. "Sleep?"

"Not an option! Come on, Dylan! Pete's working all night, Alex is with her dad, and this is the only time it's me and you time. I don't want to spend me and you time sleeping."

Natalie had always made a point to spend what she termed as 'quality time' with her after Dylan's brief abandonment of the group. While she enjoyed the attention immensely, (believe it or not, one could never really have too much Natalie) Dylan had come to suspect that Natalie was slowly attempting to become her own personal baby sitter.

"Fair enough." In the corner, a small yelp was heard before nails clicked on the floorboard and a soft brown fuzz of fur with a moist mouth and a sloppy tongue hurtled into Dylan's arms. Dylan's bungalow at the Chateau Marmont was messy and cluttered, but it was home, and Spike, Natalie and Pete's five month old golden retriever, was never happier than when he was chewing one of Dylan's rock band t-shirts to bits.

She retrieved what appeared to be a remnant of her Judas Priest from his mouth.

Natalie winced. "Sorry?"

Spike gave a happy grin and sloppily licked Dylan's ear. "Eww! Cute, but eww!" she laughed, rubbing at the dog's head. Looking over him to Natalie, she finally made her choice, bruised ribs be damned. "Late night surfing over by Point Dume?"

"Ooh! Totally!" Natalie hopped to her feet, arms held out for her precious Spike, and kissing him messily, finally allowed Dylan to start picking the hairs off her shirt.

Shaking her head in morose amusement, Dylan grinned. "I'll just go get dressed then..."

"Okay!"

Stripping off her shirt with a wince, Dylan pulled open a drawer. "Should we wetsuit it?"

"It's going to be at least forty in the water. I think we should."

"Okay," she said, pulling out a red and white polka dot bikini.

She was debating the use of her orange or red board when the phone rang. Immediately, Natalie picked up, offering a cheery hello as she settled on Dylan's bed and idly picked up the remote.

When her expression immediately grew somber, Dylan paid attention.

"Alex?" Dylan's brow furrowed when Natalie's eyes grew wide. With a frantic wave, she motioned Dylan over. "What? Okay-"

Dylan's mouth was dry as Natalie blindly reached for her hand, squeezing it tight.

"We'll be right there," she finally said.

"What?" Dylan demanded. "What is it?"

Clicking the phone shut, Natalie's expression was worried and grim. "We need to go to Alex's now. It's Jason."

--

"I miss my car," Dylan grumbled, slipping the gearshift of the rented Corvette, and pushing down on the pedal.

Natalie said nothing in return, but Dylan didn't really expect a response. This situation was tense, and her own multisyllabic ramblings were only a byproduct of her worry.

Alex Munday often gave off a very frigid first appearance. Dylan remembered her own impression of Alex had been less than gracious. Stone cold, bitch personified. Dylan had written her off in seconds.

She had since learned to never take anything at face value. Alex was a certified genius. She had experienced more triumph in her lifetime than Dylan had heartbreak, and that was saying a lot. Before her and Natalie, her closest relationship had been with her father, the rest of her life eaten up by the Olympics, then NASA, and everything in between.

The result was a beautiful, distant woman who trusted nothing but her friends and her family. Alex never volunteered information. Things had to be pried. It wasn't that Alex kept secrets, but she was a private person. Dylan hadn't even found out about her and Jason's break up until they were halfway to China.

Even then, Alex insisted she was fine with it. 'He's getting too big', she would say. 'It's too much of a risk being seen with him. What about my secret identity?'.

Natalie had later commented privately, it was really, 'He's getting too close'.

Pounding on the brake, and gritting her teeth as she jerked the wheel, Dylan slid the car into the only available parking space. Hollywood Hills was a bitch for parking.

"What do we know?" she asked as they ran up the steps.

"Attack at the premiere of the new movie," Natalie responded. "That's all I could get out of her."

Dylan nodded mechanically. Natalie, being of longer limbs, reached the door first.

Her hand was not even close to the doorknob when it opened.

Alex's face was pale, her mouth drawn in a thin, closed line. "It's on the television," she said crisply.

She left the door ajar, leaving them to follow her into the main living room, where her father was standing, watching the set with his arms crossed.

At the sight of them, he stiffened considerably, and barely managed a smile. "Hello... uh... girls."

"Mr. Munday," Dylan said, nodding her head before turning her attention back to the television set.

"Officials are still unsure where the sniper hit, or even why he struck, but what can be confirmed is that the world did indeed lose a great celebrity."

"Oh my God," Natalie gasped, hand immediately going for Alex's shoulder.

"It's not him," Alex said quickly, but her own hand tangled with Natalie's, the other reaching for Dylan's as the redhead slid an arm around her waist. "It's-"

"Annabeth Torres, distinctly known for being the highest paid working actress today, after her twenty-five million dollar paycheck for 'Cash Craze', died this evening on the red carpet."

The paparazzi pictures flashed the grim story, and Dylan stood still while Natalie raised a palm to her mouth, eyes wide with shock.

"Didn't we know her?"

Alex didn't say a word, and Dylan knew the reason why. A bloody, grim Jason Gibbons was waving off cameras as he stepped into the limousine, surrounded by security.

"Thus far, the police have not been able to locate a suspect, although they do urge that anyone with any information call the following hotline."

"That could have been Jason," Alex breathed. Her hand was clutching Dylan's forearm so tightly it was painful. "She was standing right next to him. It could have been him-"

"But it wasn't," Dylan said soothingly. Palm gently smoothing over Alex's head, her worried glance met Natalie's, but the other Angel had nothing to say. Her mouth was pursed, and the blonde was shaking her head.

"We should call him," she said finally, letting go of Alex to go to a phone.

"No." Alex's tone was sharp. "No. I just wanted to make sure that he was fine. I don't want..."

"Alex, you should call-"

"I said no." Alex swallowed hard, and immediately, she strode to the television set, flicking it off with a switch of the remote.

Dylan's posture was uncomfortable. The paparazzi pictures lodged themselves into her brain, each snapshot flashing into her vision. Two chest wounds. Dark black stain of blood staining the white dress. Annabeth Torres.

"Damn," she whispered, rubbing at her neck. "This is seriously suck-y."

"Ferret?" Mr. Munday's hands were rubbing at his child's shoulders soothingly. "Perhaps I should call-"

"No. Daddy, thank you, but... Jason isn't my boyfriend anymore. I just wanted to make sure that he was..." With a deep breath in, Alex closed her eyes and attempted to compose herself. "Thank you," she said after a moment. "I guess I just freaked out a little."

"I'll make you a tea," Natalie said finally. Her gaze caught Dylan's, and when she motioned meaningfully towards the kitchen, Dylan immediately nodded.

"I'll help."

--

In the kitchen, Natalie's somber expression suddenly had just a little more grit. "A sniper killing an actress?"

"I know," Dylan agreed, voice low as she peaked into the living room. "I don't know."

"What if he...she-"

"Or it?" Dylan supplied helpfully.

"Thanks. What if he/she/it WAS going after Jason?" Natalie mused openly.

"I can't believe it was Annabeth," Dylan said grimly. "The girl wasn't all there sometimes but she was nice when she was."

The tinny ring of a phone and the vibrating pulse in her jeans no longer startled her the way it used to. In one swift motion, she slipped a palm into her pocket and pulled out the phone, almost in sync with Natalie.

The words were almost verbatim, and immediately she answered flatly, "Be right in," before snapping the phone shut and shrugging toward Natalie. "So much for a vacation."

In the living room, Alex was just slipping on her coat as they moved quickly across the floor.

Mr. Munday looked considerably confused.

"Charlie? Now?"

"It's important, Daddy. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Dylan's steps faltered at the look of utter dismay on Alex's father's face. "But Jason-"

"Duty calls," Natalie said sweetly, tossing the most disarming smile she could muster at the older man.

Dylan flashed her own good-bye grin before shutting the door. She blinked as she trotted down the stairs after them.

"Is it just me or was he ready to cry?"

"Yeah," Natalie replied. "Are you sure he's okay?"

Alex shrugged, opening the driver's side of her vehicle and sliding in. "He's just overprotective. He doesn't like his little girl getting dirty."

--

"Good evening, Angels."

"Good evening, Charlie," was the unanimous greeting. One by one, the girls walked quickly into the office, discarding purses and jackets on the way.

Leaning on the desk, bleary eyed and nursing a huge cup of coffee, was Bosley. "'Sup, Angels," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

"Late night, Bos?" Natalie asked.

"Hell no! I was sleeping until I heard about that actress getting shot up."

"I'm relieved to hear Jason is all right, Alex," Charlie toned from the speaker box.

Alex's response was a small smile and a nod, almost as if Charlie could see her.

"Charlie, is that why we're here?" Dylan queried, sitting back to cross her legs as she rubbed just under her nose. It was a gesture she did when she was nervous, and although she could think of no real reason to do it now, she still felt slightly uncomfortable.

"In part, Angels. Immediately after the assassination of Ms. Torres I received a call."

There was a second of silence before Bosley was jolted awake. "Oh, right! That's me! My bad." Reaching for the remote, he clicked on the high definition monitor that was above them.

A woman with short cropped hair and wearing a no nonsense business suit flickered on the screen .

"Good evening, Angels," she said.

"Good evening," each returned.

"Angels, meet Sergeant Mary Briggs. She's heading the investigation until it's handed over to the FBI."

"Normally, the LAPD doesn't like to hire outside help to solve the case," Mary began. Dylan cast a glance at Alex, but the Angel only had eyes for the screen. "However, with the FBI coming, and quite possibly the CIA, I'm afraid that this may all get tangled up in a battle for jurisdiction."

"So, we find out who shot Torres and catch the bad guy. That's simple, isn't it?" Natalie said, nodding quickly.

"I don't just want a seize and capture. After 9/11 there has been suspicion of terrorist attacks-"

"You think this is a terrorist threat?" Dylan asked the sergeant.

"It's not that hard a reach, Dylan," Charles said smoothly.

"That's right," Alex agreed. "There were threats against the major studios even after the war with Iraq."

"So killing a celebrity-" Natalie inserted.

"-would logically be the next step," finished Dylan.

"I want discreetness, Angels," Mary said crisply. "I want whoever behind this caught, I want their affiliation, and I want why. We can't take the risk that this was a one-shot deal."

Alex seemed unnaturally stiff. Her eyes flickered from the screen and to her hands. Immediately, Natalie's fingers tangled in hers.

"We'll catch them before they have a chance to shoot anyone else down."

"Good. Just make sure no one knows you're involved," Mary said crisply. "The last thing we need is the media thinking the LAPD can't handle it's own."

"You have nothing to worry about, Mary," Charlie said assuredly. "My Angels are the best there is."

She gave only a hint of a smile before she nodded at the Angels. "So I've heard. Good luck, ladies."

The screen blinked out.

Bosley shuddered. "Killing fine ass stars. Damn. That's just cold."

Dylan's eyes narrowed. "So we have to not only navigate through the LAPD, but the FBI and the CIA?"

"Piece of cake," Alex said crisply.

"We have to get this guy-"

"Could be a girl."

"Guy or Girl before he goes after anyone else," Natalie finished. When her eyes flashed meaningfully over the top of Alex's head to Dylan, the redhead nodded.

Jason.

"We should get to work," Alex said, uncrossing her legs, and straightening out the sleeves of her shirt.

"It's important to get started now before the trail goes cold," Charlie counseled.

Dylan gave a grim smirk. "Then I know just where to start."

"I have some scoping out to do myself," Natalie said, pushing up from the sofa and grabbing her purse.

"I'll drive," Alex said crisply.

Bosley took a chug of his coffee and launched from the desk, trailing after them. "Hey, where are you going?"

Dylan shrugged. "Where else? The morgue."

--