AN: And now the Death Trio!

"God, Patty, again?" Liz enthused, rubbing her temples in distress. This was the third time today that she'd been confronted with managing an accidental mess, and she was hardly happy about it. Patty squirmed, giggling despite the potential amount of trouble she found herself in.

"Sowwy," she apologized with a saccharine smile, reaching to hug Liz tightly about the waist. "Patty loves her sis, though! Yes she does!" She looked up at her sister, putting on her dearest, most irresistible face.

"Yeah, yeah," Liz sighed, patting her sister on the head affectionately. She didn't stand a chance against the 'big-blue-eyes' look, the one that was reserved especially for dire situations; she'd always been a sucker for that sweet, innocent face. "You're lucky I'm in mom-mode right now, chica." She gave her fellow gun an affectionate clap on the back, smiling. "Go play; I'll clean this up."

Patty giggled and planted a kiss on Liz's cheek, scurrying off into the adjacent room to entertain herself. The obscene amount of crumbs that had piled up on their meister's beloved carpet stared Liz in the face, taunting her; this little mess was hardly a daunting task, but she didn't particularly enjoy picking up after her sister every time Kid left the house. In fact, she was usually the one to clean things up when Patty decided to go crazy, because if Kid so much as knew the type of things they did to his furniture, the mental damage would be so great that he would lose his ability to speak and go through the rest of his life communicating via sign language.

She sighed dramatically, nudging the crumbs into the dust pan with her hand; the brush to the set had gone missing, and she didn't want to go looking for it. That would only waste time: If Kid decided to come home early, this mess would be dancing before his fragile little mind the moment he came into the room, and it would trigger the worst obsessive compulsive eruption of his young life - and that was saying something.

Liz bit her lip in frustration, dumping the refuse into one of two identical trash bins. It certainly was tiring having to look after two complete basket cases 24 hours a day and 7 days a week. Neither of them ever said 'thank you' either. Well, that was a lie; they said 'thank you' more times than she could count, but it's easy to say things and infinitely harder to mean them. As far as she was concerned, she was completely underappreciated. Who kissed Patty's boo-boos better when she ran on the concrete after she'd been warned against it? Who dried Kid's tears when he threw a tantrum about things he was advised to ignore? Who patted both of their backs and forced them to 'make nice' when they argued about stupid things? Liz Thompson did. And Liz Thompson would until she was a weathered old husk, because they were never going to grow up.

Oh, to think about her housewife lifestyle made her blood pressure skyrocket. They had such entitlement issues - always saying thank you and never meaning it. The most frustrating thing about it was that there was no way to make them mean it; they had to mean it by themselves. She hung the dust pan on the wall, across from its twin, and ran a hand through her hair, thoroughly exasperated. When would she be offered a day off from this hectic, dysfunctional family? When was this dog going to get her day? It really did make her angry - no, not angry, it made her furious! Absolutely livid!

"Liz," Kid called from the doorway. "I'm home."

"Great," she mumbled under her breath, plucking the brush from the other dust pan and throwing it into the garbage. It wasn't like the other brush would ever show itself again - why wait to reestablish the symmetry?

"I have something I wish to speak with you about," he said in his typical no-nonsense tone, pacing over to her with his hands resting in his pockets. "It's about today, specifically."

"Go for it," Liz said, glancing over the carpet to ensure that she hadn't missed any offending crumbs. What was this going to be about? Did she miss a spot when she'd cleaned the table? Had she not folded her sheets properly? Had she put a fork in with the spoons when she'd washed the dishes for him?

"I wanted to say that I appreciate you," he stated blandly.

Liz froze.

"You work hard," he continued. "You comfort me when I'm upset. You help me in life-threatening situations, and you treat me like your own. I suppose..." His eyes darted up to meet hers. "I suppose you could say that you're the only mother I've ever had." He swallowed nervously. "... Thank you, Liz. And... Happy Mother's day, though I assume Patty has already--"

"You ungrateful bastard!" Liz shrieked, enveloping him in the largest, most spine-crushing hug she could muster. She sobbed into his shoulder, unaware of his choked request for an eventual (and preferably immediate) release.

So maybe he meant it when he said thank you. Maybe they both did. Liz was only completely sure about one thing: For these two psychotic rejects, she would clean all the carpets in the world.