It's not really about the manna, he thinks, and he doesn't really mind. When he slips his arm out of her grasp, it's only so he can wrap it around her shoulders and pull her a little closer. He's already inclined toward touch as a general rule - blame a chilly early life, maybe, a dad who believed in handshakes over hugs - and if Scully needs the closeness, then closeness is what she's getting.

Somehow, it makes him feel more like himself, too. He can't explain it. He's just here, and when he's capable of typing on a keyboard again, his field journal is getting a major workout.

"Better?" he asks, after a bit, glancing down at her.