This is a sequel to my oneshot Promise Me. I've tried to set it up so it's not necessary to have read Promise Me in order to understand it, but I would recommend doing so. Don't worry, it's short.
Disclaimer: Okay, let's get this out of the way. Show of hands: is there anyone here who truly and honestly believes that I am Akira Toriyama?
...
Put your hand down, smartass.
Anyone else? No? Okay then, on to the fun stuff.
It was raining.
This was not a downpour, but a misty spring drizzle. The dampness in the air was palpable, and the gentle droplets moistened the ground just enough to bring the heady scent of earth strong into her nostrils.
On any other day, Pan would have found the weather refreshing.
She tried not to look at the raw wound in the earth, or the wooden box that lay inside, or the neatly carved block of stone. She tried not to think about the voice she would never hear again as she raised her own to murmur a few words, soft, unthinking, mechanical. She tried not to cry as she finished.
She wished it would rain harder.
Beside her, Uncle Goten bowed his head. He had been the first to speak, and she was the last. There would be no more speeches after this.
A sense of crushing finality fell over her as she stepped forward, letting the handful of dirt that she held trickle slowly into the hole. Uncle Goten was next, and then the others came forward, one by one.
Pan stepped back to give them space. Unable to bear the sight any longer, she looked away, weakness be damned, instead allowing her gaze to rove around the edge of the cemetery. As her eyes settled on a small stand of trees, she caught a flash of white.
He came! Even though Pan did not think she was capable of happiness right now, would not be again for a very long time, she nevertheless felt some of the weight lift from her heart.
He stood perfectly still, his back against a tree, his green skin one with the backdrop of leaves. His black eyes were fixed on the scene from which she had just looked away. She could not read his expression.
Slowly, tentatively, Pan gave him the smallest of smiles. Ever so slightly, Piccolo nodded in return. For an instant, an understanding passed between them, an acknowledgement of shared loss.
Son Gohan would never be part of their lives again.
A/N: Well, I got a sufficient response, and by "sufficient" I mean that at least one person left a review that definitively said, "Yes, I would like to see a sequel." So, anyone who's reading this, you have StarcraftWOOT (and, to some extent, Wulfeh) to thank.