When he sits down, it's just a little further from her than usual - a matter of fractions of an inch, something easy to wave away as concern for her. Pregnant women have a terrible time standing up, don't they? He doesn't want to crowd her. (And that's the true part, the part at the end: She and the baby are an island unto themselves. He doesn't want to make himself too much at home, not when it appears he's been downgraded to doting work partner.)
She looks so small, despite the fact that she's the size of a house right now, and it's impossible not to be drawn closer to her when she's there beside him. Her body is its own comfort, even with the little stranger inside it. Instincts tell him that he needs to be close to her, and then his arm's around her before he realizes it. He doesn't let himself slump into her side the way he'd like to, but her narrow shoulders and the nape of her neck are all his now.
"I don't know," he admits. TV in the hospital had been solitary tedium; TV with Scully feels like a way to make it easier to talk. All the distractions in the world focus around the idiot box, and his attention can settle on her. "Whatever's on, I guess."
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She looks so small, despite the fact that she's the size of a house right now, and it's impossible not to be drawn closer to her when she's there beside him. Her body is its own comfort, even with the little stranger inside it. Instincts tell him that he needs to be close to her, and then his arm's around her before he realizes it. He doesn't let himself slump into her side the way he'd like to, but her narrow shoulders and the nape of her neck are all his now.
"I don't know," he admits. TV in the hospital had been solitary tedium; TV with Scully feels like a way to make it easier to talk. All the distractions in the world focus around the idiot box, and his attention can settle on her. "Whatever's on, I guess."