AN: So basically, I plugged every character into a random pairing generator, and then wrote down the first ten pairings it came up with. Then I added an adjective onto each pairing. What I'm going to do is for each pairing, ten in all, I'm going to write approx. 1000 word chapter on that pairing-it might not be a shipping chapter, it may just be an interaction between the two-and each one will be themed around the adjective I rolled for it.

I know what pairing each chapter will be, but each will be a wonderful surprise for you guys ;) If this works out, I might try other challenges like it in the future! Please do let me know in the comments what you think of the fills, especially for the rarer characters (although there aren't a whole lot of them this time around). Your feedback means a lot to me, especially when I'm doing odd things like this!

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Roll One: Wrathful

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"Can I help you?" He kept his voice deliberately smooth. Slimy his mother would have called it. Deliberately antagonistic. He could tell it would have the intended effect.

The agent across from him was a hot-head, it was obvious. From the tremor that worked its minute, thready way along his forearms, to the tense set of his jaw, to the thin-lipped stare the man was trying to intimidate him with.

But Ian Doyle wasn't easily intimidated.

"Do you know who I am?" the agent asked coldly. Ian leaned forward and examined those dark, angry eyes. Saw grief within. Fury. Passionate abhorrence. Oh, this one would kill him if given half a chance.

"Hmm, perhaps," Ian said, and made a move as if to spread his hands in wonder. The cuffs on the table clacked and groaned, slamming his hands back down to the tabletop. "Ow. Bother."

A smirk. Almost.

This one hated him.

"Oops," the agent said, and leaned back in the chair. Feigning relaxation. "Bet you'd love those off, wouldn't you?"

Ian said nothing.

"You know what I'd like?" the agent kept pushing, something wicked simmering below that dark, smooth countenance. "I'd like to see you on the ground, Ian."

Ian looked to the camera, which looked back blankly. Not a single light blinked.

Switched off.

He was truly alone here.

Never mind. He'd been alone before. After her.

"I'd like to see you dying in the hands of someone who loves you." More pushing. This time, there was bitter pain laced in the words, and Ian winced because he knew where this was going. "No… I want you holding someone you love as they die. Are you capable of love? You're not, are you?"

"Don't presume to know my heart," Ian spat, the man working under his skin despite his determination to remain sedate. "I think this interview is over. Where is my son? Why aren't you looking for him?"

"I think the biggest danger to your son is sitting right here, chained nicely to this table, having a chat with me." The agent folded his arm, and the smirk was back. Catlike cocky, and Ian knew that smirk. Knew where this man had learnt it. "After all, you killed the woman you loved. Branded her, you sick fuck, and killed her. Except I don't think you loved her."

Ian stared. His turn to hate.

How dare he.

"I know you didn't love her," the man pushed and pushed, standing up now. Towering over him. Muscle bound and thick skulled. Ian wondered if he'd fucked her. If this was why he was so furious. If he'd lusted after the woman Lauren Reynolds had pretended to be and taken her to his painfully modern apartment, shown off his gym set, his Egyptian cotton sheets. "I know you didn't, because we did. For who she was, the woman you never knew."

"If you're talking about Prentiss—" Ian began, saying her name like another man would talk of a festering sore.

"Damn right I'm talking about Emily!" the man roared, slamming his palms on the table—crack! Ian jumped. He couldn't help it. And he despised this man for making him twitch. "My friend! Do you know what that is, Ian? A friend? A lover? Anything? My friend, who you killed! She died in my arms while I begged her to live! Does that please you?"

Yes, he almost spat. Yes, I loved it. Loved watching her bleed. I hope it hurt. I hope it hurt you to say goodbye; hope you felt even one iota of what I did when Lauren left me!

But what he actually said was, "No," in a slow cowardly mumble, because he did know how to love.

So, so much.

He'd loved Lauren, he still loved Declan. Two great loves.

Both gone.

The man whirled, his chair clattering back. Paced in a tight circle, scrubbing his hand over his mouth, and Ian wondered what her blood would have looked like painted on those wide hands.

"We're going to find your son," the man said finally, without looking at Ian. "We're going to find him because he's innocent, you haven't tainted him, and he deserves so much more than you. But we're not doing it for you. We're doing it for Declan and… for Emily. And you're going to rot in hell without ever seeing either of them again."

He turned to stride out.

"Wait," Ian said, and hated his voice. Hated the weakness more than he hated this man. "I'm… I'm sorry for Lau—for Emily."

Silence. Heavy, thick silence. The shoulders in front of him bowed forward, dragged down by the memory of the scent of a friend.

"No, you're not," the agent said finally. "But you will be."

He left without saying his name, but Ian found it out anyway. Asked his lawyer. And he memorised it, because the man was angry enough that Ian knew he'd never be content with letting Ian rot in jail. A name to be wary of, a man to fear perhaps.

Two words to add to his list of those he'd wronged.

Derek Morgan.