Marcus Montague's quarters were stark and utilitarian, reflecting the personality of a man who kept his private life meticulously controlled. The room only held bare essentials: a bed with crisp, military-style sheets, a simple desk, and a lone chair. There was no clutter, no sign of personal comfort—just a pile of books stacked neatly on the desk.

As Sam entered, her eyes were drawn to the books. They weren't the usual mix of military manuals or scientific texts she might expect from someone stationed at the SGC. Instead, they were classics of English literature. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, and Moby-Dick by Herman Melville. Each was worn with use, suggesting that these weren't just for show. Montague was a man who appreciated the depth and complexity of these works, or perhaps he identified with their darker themes.

No other personal objects were in sight—no photos, no mementos from home, nothing that offered a glimpse into the man behind the uniform. The barrenness of the room made Sam uneasy. It was as if he had deliberately stripped away any trace of individuality, leaving behind only what was necessary to function within the military machine.

Montague was taller than her, his presence commanding the small space. His hair was black as a crow's wing, contrasting sharply with his pale skin. His eyes, a startlingly vivid blue, were almost the exact shade of her own, but where hers held warmth and intelligence, his seemed cold and calculating. He stared at her with a small, lingering smile as though he were admiring a piece of art rather than engaging with a colleague and superior officer. How he looked at her made Sam's skin crawl, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time.

Though every instinct screamed at her to escape that room, she forced herself to remain composed.

"Major Montague," she began, her voice firm. "The questions I have will take some time. I think it's best to reschedule our discussion to the briefing room in half an hour. I'll be expecting you."

Montague's smile didn't waver as he replied, "Of course, Colonel. I'll be there."

Without further delay, Sam turned on her heel and left the room, her heart pounding. Once outside, she let out a shaky breath, finally releasing the tension she had been holding in. Sam Carter wasn't a woman who was easily intimidated, especially by men, but something about Marcus Montague was deeply unsettling.

As she walked briskly down the corridor toward the briefing room, a flash of memory struck her like a lightning bolt. She almost stopped in her tracks. Hanson. Montague reminded her of Jonas Hanson—her former fiancé, a man who had descended into madness and darkness, someone she had once trusted implicitly until his true nature was revealed. The same smile, the same unsettling look that seemed to strip her down to her core, as if he were checking her out, assessing her like a predator would its prey.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath, trying to gather herself. She couldn't afford to show weakness, not with a man like Montague. Too much was at stake, and she needed to stay focused. But the memory of Hanson had rattled her more than she cared to admit.

She decided to make a quick detour and headed to the gym. There, she found Teal'c lifting weights with his usual calm precision.

"Colonel Carter," Teal'c greeted, setting down the weights and wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel. "Do you require my assistance?"

Sam hesitated for a moment, swallowing the unease that still lingered.

"No. Yes. I don't know, Teal'c," she admitted, uncharacteristically unsure of herself.

Teal'c immediately stood up from the bench, his expression serious.

"You seem troubled, Colonel."

Sam bit her lip, feeling the weight of her following words.

"I'm questioning someone who had contact with the toxin—a member of SG-16. He makes me... uncomfortable," she admitted, her voice trailing off.

Teal'c raised an eyebrow, a gesture that conveyed both concern and readiness.

"Do you wish for me to be present during this questioning? He will not harm you, Samantha. He will not even breathe without your permission," he said, his tone leaving no doubt that he meant every word.

Sam cleared her throat, appreciating Teal'c's protective nature. He had probably only addressed her by her given name as many times as Sam had fingers on one hand.

"If you're present, I know he won't, but he might refuse to speak, and I need him to speak. I just wanted to let you know I'll be in the briefing room with him. Just in case," she added in a low voice.

Teal'c nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Very well. I will remain in the control room nearby. Should you need me, I will be there within seconds."

Sam smiled in relief, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. "Thank you, Teal'c."

He bowed his head slightly, his expression softening.

"It is my honor to assist you, Colonel Carter. And O'Neill would kill me if any harm befell you. I do not wish to be killed by him," he added with a hint of a smile, lightening the mood just enough to make Sam chuckle.

"Okay. I'll go now," she said, feeling more grounded.

As she left the gym and made her way to the briefing room, Sam felt a renewed sense of determination. Montague might be unsettling, but she wouldn't let him shake her. With Teal'c close by and her resolve firmly in place, she was ready to face whatever came next.

Marcus Montague stared at the closed door, his mind replaying the brief but charged encounter with Samantha Carter. The way she had commanded the room, even in those moments, had surprised and intrigued him. She had been quicker than he anticipated, but then again, she was a genius. Something that turned him on even more. He could feel the anticipation building inside him; the thrill of the chase was as exciting as the endgame.

So, she wanted to talk to him about the toxin. He knew it was only a matter of time before she connected the dots. And he wanted to talk to her too, to see exactly how far she had gone in her investigation. He had been informed that she had made significant progress, but Marcus always preferred to see things firsthand. Especially when it came to someone like Samantha Carter. In fact, he insisted on it.

Actually, he wanted to check her with his hands, but that was another story. The idea of Carter, brilliant and fierce, brought to heel under his control, had occupied his thoughts for longer than he cared to admit. It was an itch he intended to scratch. But that would come later. His side project, as he liked to think of it now that the fucking annoying Jack O'Neill had departed SGC for good.

First, he had to deal with this so-called investigation. After all, that was what he was being handsomely paid for, to ensure that certain truths remained buried while others were bent to suit the needs of his benefactors.

He composed himself, smoothing down the creases in his BDUs, making sure every detail was perfect. Appearance mattered, especially when dealing with someone like Carter. She would be watching him, analyzing every movement, every word. And he would be ready, playing his part to perfection.

Leaving his quarters, he headed toward the briefing room. The corridors of the SGC felt more oppressive today, the weight of what was coming pressing down on him. But that pressure also excited him. An interrogation by the most brilliant and beautiful woman in the SGC? He wouldn't miss it for the world.

Or any off-world he had visited, for that matter.

As he walked, he considered his approach. He had always been good at manipulating situations to his advantage, and this would be no different. Samantha Carter was known for her intelligence and intuition, but he was confident handling her. He had faced more challenging adversaries before and came out on top.

But this was different. There was a personal element to it that he found intoxicating. The challenge of matching wits with Carter, of seeing that spark of realization in her eyes when she figured something out—it was a game he was eager to play. He imagined the two of them locked in a battle of minds, each trying to outmaneuver the other.

It was almost arousing.

Reaching the briefing room, Marcus took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The empty room allowed him to settle his thoughts and prepare his strategy. He took a seat, reclining comfortably as he waited. He could almost hear the clock ticking on the wall, counting the moments until she arrived.

He imagined her walking in, her presence commanding and authoritative. She would have that determined look in her eyes, the one that said she was ready to uncover the truth, no matter what. Marcus smiled to himself. Let her try, he thought. He was prepared for her.

When the door finally opened and Samantha Carter walked in, Marcus felt a thrill of anticipation. This was going to be interesting. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving her as she sat across from him.

The briefing room was imposing, the environment that could make even the most seasoned soldier feel on edge. Sam sat with a stack of files neatly arranged before her, and across from her sat Marcus Montague, his demeanor as composed and impenetrable as ever. The room was quiet, and the hum of the air conditioning was the only sound, amplifying the tension between them.

"Colonel Carter," he greeted with a small, enigmatic smile. "I've been looking forward to our conversation."

Her expression was unreadable and professional.

"Major Montague, thank you for coming. We have some important matters to discuss."

Marcus nodded, his smile never wavering.

"Of course. I'm here to help with whatever you need."

As the interrogation began, Marcus kept his cool, his answers measured and deliberate. But underneath his calm exterior, his mind raced, analyzing every question, gesture, and nuance. He was playing chess with one of the brightest minds in the SGC, and he intended to win.

But as the minutes ticked by, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a game. Something about Samantha Carter drew him in, made him want to push her buttons, to see how far he could go. It was dangerous and exhilarating, and he couldn't get enough of it.

This would be a long, intricate dance, and Marcus Montague was ready to step in time with her every move.

Sam leaned forward slightly, her eyes locked onto Montague's, searching for any sign of discomfort that might indicate he was hiding something.

"Major, you were part of the SG-16 mission that discovered the toxin known as Zyntar, correct?" Her tone was professional, but there was an edge, a subtle pressure meant to provoke.

Montague nodded slowly, his gaze steady.

"That's correct, Colonel. I was a member of SG-16 during that mission. We discovered the substance off-world, and after determining its potentially hazardous nature, we followed protocol and delivered it to the SGC for further analysis. It was years ago, as you know."

Sam kept her face neutral, but inside, she scrutinized every word. His response was textbook, precisely what she expected, but that didn't mean there wasn't more beneath the surface.

"You say you followed protocol. Can you walk me through how the substance was handled once it was in your team's possession?"

Marcus's eyes flickered with amusement as if he found her persistence entertaining.

"Of course. Once we discovered the substance, the scientists on the team immediately took samples. The substance wasn't something we had encountered before, so we handled it with extreme caution. The samples were secured and returned to the SGC, where they were handed over to the lab for analysis. The entire process was documented, and the substance was stored under lock and key, per standard procedure."

Sam nodded, but she wasn't ready to let him off the hook.

"And after that, did you have any further contact with the toxin? Any involvement in its study or any other missions related to it?"

Montague shook his head, his expression still unreadable.

"No, Colonel. After we delivered the substance to the lab, my involvement ended. I was reassigned to another mission shortly after, and eventually, I moved to my current team, SG-13. I haven't had any further dealings with that toxin since."

Sam paused, letting the silence hang between them for a moment before she leaned back in her chair, adopting a more casual posture as she shifted gears.

"Major, given the sensitive nature of what you discovered, were you ever approached by anyone from foreign intelligence forces, or did you notice any unusual interest in your team's findings from parties outside the SGC?"

She watched him closely, searching for even the slightest flicker of unease or hesitation. But Montague's demeanor remained calm, his answer quick and concise.

"No, Colonel. No one outside the SGC ever approached me, and I'm unaware of any foreign intelligence involvement with our findings. We followed all the necessary security protocols to keep the substance secure and confidential."

His response was delivered so quickly that Sam couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration. She was fishing, and he knew it, but he wasn't taking the bait. Instead, he sat there, answering her questions with measured precision that only heightened her suspicion.

"Did you ever feel that there was something... off about the mission? Anything that struck you as unusual in hindsight?" Sam pressed, trying to poke at any potential inconsistencies.

Montague met her gaze, his blue eyes steady and steadfast.

"No, Colonel. We conducted the mission by the book. We discovered something unusual, took the necessary precautions, and reported it. It wasn't apparent to me or my team at the time if anything was off."

Sam exhaled softly, tapping her pen against the file before her. His answers were frustratingly consistent, offering little to work with. Still, something about his calmness didn't sit right with her. It was too smooth, too controlled.

"One last question, Major," Sam said, her tone sharp with focus. "Do you know anyone within the SGC who might have had a particular interest in this substance? Someone who might have tried to access it after it was stored?"

Marcus's expression shifted ever so slightly for the first time, a flicker of something that might have been annoyance or perhaps calculation. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same calm demeanor.

"No, Colonel. I don't know of anyone who would have an interest in that substance. As far as I know, it was classified and secured immediately. If someone accessed it without authorization, that's news to me. Besides, I'm a soldier, not a scientist."

Sam nodded, closing the file before her, signaling the end of the questioning.

"Thank you, Major. That will be all for now."

Montague inclined his head slightly, that small, almost mocking smile returning to his lips.

"My pleasure, Colonel. You know where to find me if you have any further questions."

Sam felt a knot of tension in her chest as he stood and left the room. She had been trying to catch him in a lie, to find a crack in his story, but he had been too careful, too controlled. There was nothing she could pin down, nothing solid she could use to push further.

But as she watched him leave, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had missed something, that there was more to Marcus Montague than he was letting on. And whatever it was, she was determined to uncover it.

Marcus Montague left the briefing room slowly and deliberately, a faint whistle escaping his lips. The smile on his face was one of quiet satisfaction. He knew Carter had been trying to corner him, to catch him in a lie or extract some hidden truth, but she had nothing—just suspicions and half-formed ideas—no solid evidence, nothing that could touch him or his employers. For now, he was safe, which meant business could continue as usual.

For all her brilliance, he found her efforts disappointingly futile. But that didn't diminish his interest in her; it only intensified it. He was fascinated by her—her mind, strength, and beauty. She was a challenge, and he relished challenges. She was going to be his; of that, he was sure. The thought of her, with all her fire and intelligence, only added to the pleasure he felt at having outmaneuvered her in that room.

As he walked through the corridors of the SGC, heading toward the gym, he felt a surge of energy pulsing through him. He needed to release it, to let it go before it consumed him. He would have preferred to spend that energy with her in another situation, but that wasn't an option right now. Not yet. So, the gym would have to suffice.

SG-13 didn't have any missions scheduled for the foreseeable future, which meant there would be no outlet for his more violent tendencies. No Ori to kill, no alien enemies to take down. The gym would be his battleground today and his opponent's punching bag. He could visualize her face, not with anger, but with a dark, twisted sense of desire. The thought stirred his lower regions with anticipation, and he smirked at the sensation.

The gym was empty when he arrived, just as he had hoped. He preferred to work out alone, where he could let loose without an audience. He stripped off his jacket and hung it on a nearby hook, rolling up his shirt sleeves and putting on gloves as he approached the punching bag. His muscles tensed in anticipation, his mind already conjuring images of her—of Samantha Carter, with all her resolve and determination, challenging him, pushing against him.

"You are going to be mine," he whispered as he threw the first punch.

He started slow, throwing a few light punches to warm up. But soon, the rhythm quickened, and the blows landed with increasing force. Each hit was a release, a way to channel the frustration and desire that had been building since their encounter. He imagined her in front of him, not in a violent way, but as an opponent in a dance, a dance of power and control.

The thought of dominating her, of bending that fierce will to his own, drove him on. His punches became more challenging and more focused. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, his breath coming in controlled, even bursts. The gym echoed with the sound of his gloves striking the heavy bag, a rhythmic thud that matched the pounding in his chest.

His mind wandered back to the briefing room, replaying their conversation, analyzing her every word and expression. She was close, but not close enough. He'd been careful, too careful to let anything slip. But the thought of her persistence and determination to uncover the truth only made him want her more. She was a challenge, and he would enjoy every moment of breaking her down, of making her his.

As the session wore on, Marcus felt the tension in his body slowly start to release. The punching bag swayed back and forth, absorbing the impact of his blows. He was losing himself in the rhythm, in the fantasy of what could be, and for a moment, he let himself believe it was real.

Finally, when his muscles began to burn, and his breath came in heavy gasps, he slowed his pace, letting the punching bag come to a stop. He stood there momentarily, his hands resting on his hips, his chest heaving with exertion. The smile on his face was one of satisfaction, but beneath it, there was a hunger that had not yet been sated.

"You are going to be mine," he told himself again, more convinced than ever.

It was only a matter of time. And when that time came, he would savor every moment of it. But for now, he would bide his time and continue to play the game. He had all the patience in the world when it came to something—or someone—he wanted. And Samantha Carter was worth the wait.

With that thought, Marcus left the gym, feeling more composed and in control. He had work to do and plans to make. The investigation might be ongoing, but he wasn't worried. He was playing a different game with different rules, and he was confident that, in the end, he would come out on top.

Sam remained in the briefing room, staring at the file on Marcus Montague, but her thoughts were far from the pages before her. The answers he had given during their conversation replayed in her mind, unsatisfying and incomplete. Something about him gnawed at her, an uneasy feeling she couldn't shake. There was more to Marcus Montague than the surface-level responses he offered. She knew it instinctively, like a sixth sense honed from years of navigating the murky waters of interstellar diplomacy and endless operations with all kinds of alien races. And humans.

Montague was a control freak; she could see that. His measured, almost detached demeanor during their conversation had been a mask that hid his true intentions and nature. But he couldn't hide his eyes. She had seen how he looked at her, and his gaze lingered just a fraction too long. There was lust there, dark and unsettling, barely concealed behind the veneer of professionalism. It made her skin crawl, and the memory of it now sent a shiver down her spine.

Sam let out a deep breath, trying to calm the anxiety that was slowly creeping up on her. She couldn't afford to lose her composure now—not when so much was at stake. But the truth was, she was starting to freak out. The pressure of the investigation, combined with the unsettling encounter with Montague, pushed her to the edge. She felt ill-equipped to deal with another man like Jonas Hanson, especially when her life was already in turmoil.

She closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts to center herself. But even with her eyes shut, she couldn't escape the feeling of being watched, scrutinized, and evaluated. Montague had gotten under her skin in a way she hadn't expected, which unnerved her.

She barely noticed when Teal'c entered the room, his silent presence filling the space with a quiet, reassuring strength. He stood there momentarily, watching her, sensing the turmoil she was trying to hide. Sam didn't open her eyes, didn't acknowledge his presence. She was too wrapped up in her thoughts, too focused on keeping herself from falling apart.

Right now, Sam felt unable to handle a Marcus Montague who brought all of Jonas Hanson back with him—everything she thought she had dealt with and buried along with him. It was becoming clear she hadn't dealt with it at all.

After a few minutes, Teal'c quietly left the room as silently as he had entered. He knew Samantha Carter well enough to understand that she wouldn't want to show any sign of weakness, especially in front of him. But he also knew that she needed help, whether she admitted it or not. His mind was made up—he would do what he believed was necessary to protect her, even if she didn't ask for it.

Teal'c retrieved his phone and dialed O'Neill's number, his large fingers moving with deliberate precision. The phone rang twice before Jack picked up.

"Teal'c? What's wrong?" Jack's voice was immediately tense, filled with concern.

"O'Neill, I believe your presence is needed here at SGC," Teal'c said, his voice steady and calm. "Colonel Carter is dealing with a disturbing individual."

Jack's heart skipped a beat.

"Who? What happened?" His voice had a hard edge to it, steel laced with worry.

"One of the suspects in her investigation. He unnerves her," Teal'c replied, keeping his explanation brief but clear.

A brief silence was on the other end of the line as Jack processed the information.

"Right. I'll talk to the President and get clearance to come down. Don't tell her I'm coming, Teal'c. But I'll be there as soon as I can. Keep an eye on her; don't let her be alone with this guy."

"You have my word, O'Neill. I will not leave her side," Teal'c assured him, his voice firm with the weight of his promise.

They hung up, and Teal'c stood momentarily, the phone still in his hand. He knew that O'Neill's presence would give Colonel Carter the support she needed, even if she hadn't realized it. But until then, Teal'c would remain vigilant. He would watch over her and protect her from any threat, whether from an enemy or within her fears.

As he returned to the briefing room, he steeled himself for whatever might come. He wouldn't let anything happen to Colonel Carter while he was around. And if that meant calling in reinforcements, so be it. He only hoped that O'Neill would arrive soon because something told him that the situation with Marcus Montague was far from over.