Scully sat quietly, absorbing Mulder's words as the car rolled along the quiet streets. She glanced out the window, her fingers fidgeting in her lap, and finally asked, "So… it's all abductees? The ones who had their chips put back, or never had them removed? The ones who didn't…" Her voice faltered. "The ones who didn't die from cancer?"

Mulder's grip tightened on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road. "That's what it seems like. Anyone who had that chip re-implanted or kept it, like you, was targeted. But the ones who survived… they're different now. They've been programmed somehow. They don't remember what happened to them, don't want to remember, and they have no interest in digging into it. It's like they're just… living these normal lives."

Scully let out a slow breath. "I still can't remember much." She closed her eyes, as if searching her mind's depths. "I remember… being restrained. And there were doctors, masked, doing things to me. But everything else…" She paused, looking at Mulder, pain and frustration etched in her eyes. "This is the second time I've had a significant memory loss in my life."

Mulder glanced at her as they slowed at a red light. "I know. And I wish I could tell you not to worry about it, or that it'll come back. But it might not. The important thing is, they didn't get to you. Not like they did the others. You're still… you."

She gave him a faint smile, though her eyes were shadowed. "Lucky me."

Mulder's voice softened. "Scully, I mean it. Whatever they tried to do, it didn't work. You're still you, still able to question it, to fight it. Most of them can't, or won't. That's… important."

The light turned green, and Mulder accelerated gently, keeping his hand steady on the wheel while she sank into contemplation, piecing together what she could.

She looked over at him, her expression quiet but resolute. "Mulder, if they're targeting the people with the chips… we need to find a way to protect them. If it wasn't just me, it could be anyone who's had contact with… well, with the same forces."

He nodded, his face grim. "We're going to have to be careful about our next move. But, Scully, I won't let them do this to you again."

Scully placed a hand on his arm, a silent acknowledgment of the promise they'd been keeping for each other all along.

When Mulder and Scully walked into her apartment, they were greeted by a large, hastily painted banner reading *"Welcome Home, Scully!"* and the unmistakable, off-key harmony of the Lone Gunmen belting out, "For she's a jolly good… nutcase!"

Scully's surprise broke into laughter, genuine and unrestrained, as her friends beamed at her from the living room. Frohike stepped forward, hands on his hips, a mischievous grin on his face. "I made some finger foods because, you know… patients in the loonie bin can't be trusted with sharp objects." He gestured toward an array of homemade finger sandwiches, cheese cubes, and mini pastries arranged on trays.

"Welcome back, Scully," Byers said, stepping up more sincerely. "We missed you and… we're glad you're back, safe. We hope you'll be *fully cooperative* now as we dig into what really happened." He handed her the latest issues of their magazine, with pages already marked.

"And in case you missed the comforts of your *straitjacket*" Langly grinned, holding out a gray fleece blanket with sleeves. "Got you one of these bad boys. Trust me, it's way comfier."

For a moment, Scully stood in her entrance way, looking at each of them: Mulder, with his quiet, steady gaze, and the Gunmen, her friends who'd gone out of their way to bring some levity to her return. It was ridiculous, and sweet, and in that moment, she felt truly loved, surrounded by the people who'd fought for her, each in their own way.

She raised a finger sandwich to them, smiling, "Here's to all of you. My heroes."

Frohike, in mock grandeur, raised his own cheese cube. "To our favorite redhead and the only doc crazy enough to keep hanging out with *us.*"

And for the first time in weeks, Scully felt like herself again.