1Something Better

A/N: Hey, so I was wrong, a lot more people are tolerant of the EkoAna thing than I thought. Yay! Consider this a sequel to Tears for the Living, though I'm just going to add it as a chapter since they're both so short. Hey, is there any other EkoAna stuff around? Also, really wanted to thank my reviewers on the first installment, here's to you, nykky, Illyria, xlostangelx, AmazinglyMe, Coolio02, nikki-da-latina, Jade, bobcat 22, Dione, and Syrinx. Know that my spellchecker has angry red lines drawn under all of you. Remember, I am desperately starved for attention, review even if you hate it and you'll find the love of your life and your hair will grow back and you'll get your dream job! Ok...maybe not. Summary: When Goodwin had been alive he slept beside her.

Warnings: None to speak of.

When Goodwin had been alive he slept beside her.

She wasn't sure how or why that had happened, but from the beginning he had been there, casting a faint warmth on her left side. She had gotten used to it, just like she had gotten used to his easy smiles, and the way of smooth capableness he had. She wasn't, honestly, sure which she would miss the most. For forty days she had been lulled to sleep by the sound of his breathing, and relied on him in the waking hours to do the things that she didn't think to do. Which seemed to be many and varied.

When Goodwin had been alive he slept beside her.

He's dead now, though, and as the sun sinks and she lowers herself to the ground she finds herself staring at the place that had been his. She wonders, fleetingly, how cold she would be this night. There is a creeping sadness low in her belly, making her nauseous, but there are no tears. She's spent all of her tears now. Her companions settle into their usual places, and she grits her teeth and curses the fact that the one thing she regrets about killing him is that she will miss the sound of his breathing as he sleeps.

She stretches out onto her back, closes her eyes, and opens them again when she hears someone exhale beside her.

Eko is stretched out beside her, his long body dark as the night that surrounds them. He lays flat on his back, staring up into the night sky, and she watches his chest rise and fall for a long moment, remembering the warmth of his arms around her this afternoon by the stream. She growls out, "What do you think you're doing?" And at first he doesn't answer her. When he does turn towards her the whites of his eyes are almost luminescent, as is the flash of his teeth when his lips twist up into a smile.

"I am preparing to sleep..." he pauses, stretches as if to prove it, "How are you feeling?"

She shrugs, lets her eyes slip closed again. She is suddenly bone tired, and the warmth radiating off of Eko's big frame is almost certainly to blame for that. She has always slept so much easier when warm. With a sigh, she lets her mind go quiet, till the only things she's aware of are the jungle sounds and the whisper of his breath by her side.

Eko puts off much more heat than Goodwin ever did.

She sleeps.

When she wakes it is still dark, and the air embracing her is chilled, the wind is blowing off of the water, moist and cool and raising gooseflesh on her arms. She hates the cold. It takes her a moment, as she struggles with lucidity, to realize that there is a band of warmth around her waist. Confused, sleep still hanging heavily on the corners of her mind, she stares down at her waist, trying to make out the cause of the unfamiliar weight on her skin. It's only when she slides a hand down, probing, that she realizes.

Eko's arm is draped over her, although he is still separated from her by several inches. It makes her smirk, as she wonders if he slung his arm over her while he was awake or if it was done in his dreams. And then, as she always does, she pushes past the less important trappings of the action, past the motivation if there was one, past everything till only the crux of the matter is left: He is warm. She is cold. To her, everything is always simple, and so she doesn't hesitate to slide up against him. His skin is velvet smooth, and smells like salt and sweat and man. He is, also, deliciously warm.

She snuggles closer, till her back is melded against his chest, and his breath is dancing against the back of her neck, and she feels blessedly warm. She sleeps.

When Goodwin had been alive he had slept beside her.

God, this is better.