Author's Notes: This little drabble came about mainly because I've had a crappy week (month, really), which hasn't gotten better on account of missing my family. So, that gave me the inspiration to write a short fic on Flint's feelings for his mother. MAJOR fluff and sugar warning ahead- may cause cavities! : )

Again, a BIG "thank you" to everyone for their kind comments and messages- I'm so glad that you enjoy my stories!

Disclaimer: I don't own Flint Lockwood and Sam Sparks; they belong to Sony Pictures.

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There were some days that Flint, despite being thirty (man, was he that old already?), still felt the weight and grief of his mother's death. They came over him less and less often over the years, but some days his memories would catch him off guard, and a wave of grief would sweep over him. On those days, Flint locked himself in his lab and refused to come out for hours. Sam knew to leave him alone, although she never failed to bring food, coffee, or extra blankets and leave them outside of the lab's door. It was just one more reason why Flint adored his wife so much.

He had just turned ten when his mom had suddenly, unexpectedly died from pneumonia. Flint had sobbed for days afterwards, refusing to eat or to accept any comfort from his father.

Tim had tried to comfort his stricken son, but he had never been able to articulate his feelings well. So he had built a wall around himself, unable to express his true feelings for Flint until he had thought he had lost his son for good.

Flint sighed as he exited his lab; it was one of those days when the memories of his mother were upon him, making his heart ache. What was worse, Sam was in New York visiting her parents for the week; she wouldn't be back for another three days.

Perhaps that was a good thing, thought Flint as he entered the house. He knew Sam worried over him when he disappeared into his lab for days on end. She never pressed him, which he was grateful for. Flint hated to make Sam worry.

"Daddy!" Flint's thoughts were interrupted by his daughter, who ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his knees. Fran, only six years old, was still too small to reach her tall father's waist.

Flint smiled and patted his daughter's back. "Hey there, it looks like you're feeling better." Fran had been sent home from school earlier that day with a mild fever. Flint had immediately put her to bed, and was relieved to see that she seemed better.

His smile faded when he realized that Fran was shaking, her arms wrapped tightly around his legs. Flint gently pulled Fran away so that he could look at her. "Honey, are you okay? Do you feel sick again?" The little girl shook her head, wiping her eyes.

"Oh," Flint thought for a minute, and then asked, "Did you have a nightmare?" Fran nodded solemnly. Like Flint, Fran's eyes were wide and deep set in a fine-boned face. Unlike her father, who had clear blue eyes, Fran's were a deep green, and now they were red and puffy.

"In m-my dream you and mommy were g-gone and I couldn't find you!" she sobbed. Flint pulled his daughter close to him, stroking her hair. "Shh- it's okay, Fran. Everything's okay now," he murmured gently, slowly rocking back and forth (something his mom used to do when he was little and upset).

"You won't leave?" said Fran in a small voice.

"What?" Flint frowned and knelt in front of his daughter, brushing her dark hair away from her face. "Fran, sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere. Okay?"

Fran wiped her eyes, taking in several gulps of air. "P-promise?"

"Yes, I promise." said Flint. He hugged his daughter tightly, holding her as he stood up and made his way to the kitchen. He should start dinner soon; Fran needed to eat something if she was going to get better. Maybe chicken soup? Yeah, that sounded good.

Humming softly, Flint held his daughter while he pulled out dishes. Fran wrapped her arms around her father's neck, resting her head against his shoulder. She didn't seem like she was going to let go anytime soon, which was fine with Flint. Holding his daughter helped eased the ache of his memories of his mother.

"Daddy?" said Fran after a few minutes.

"Hm-hmm?" murmured Flint, trying to juggle carrots in one arm and not drop Fran.

"Are you sad?"

The grave, serious question made Flint pause and look at his daughter. Fran's green eyes were wide and solemn as she studied her father. The inventor blinked in surprise. "Honey, I'm not sad."

"But you look sad," she said with the persistence that all six-year olds possess. "Why?"

Flint hesitated; he didn't want to upset his daughter, but he didn't want her to worry, either. He finally decided on the truth.

"I was thinking about my mom, Fran. I still miss her."

"You miss grandma?"

"Yeah, Frannie, a lot."

"Oh," said Fran, falling silent again. She didn't want her dad to be sad; that made her sad.

Fran suddenly smiled and kissed her father on the cheek. "Grandma and me have the same name, so I can give you kisses from her!" She said happily, pleased with her reasoning.

Flint felt his eyes water, and he suddenly hugged his daughter fiercely. "Yes, baby girl, you can." He kissed Fran's hair, sighing happily. "I love you."

"Me too, but 'bout you!" Fran chirped, repeating her parents' phrase for each other.

Flint smiled. He would always miss him mom, but his daughter would be a reminder of his mother's love for him.