Nauseating Ethics
A/N: I had posted this before but had to remove it to make some edits.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but the love of writing! Enjoy!
Warning: There is vomiting in this story!
Out of all the really stupid mistakes, this was Frasier's worst one of all. He had been trying to cut open a package on his father's favorite armchair, when the sharp knife went too far. It cut into the armchairs cushion, leaving a gaping hole with stuffing sticking out. Frasier used a few colorful words as he removed the package and assessed the damage. It didn't look too bad, but he knew his father would be peeved if he saw it. So, Frasier quickly grabbed Eddie the dog and put him on the armchair, where the gaping hole was.
A few minutes later Martin entered the apartment with Daphne in tow.
"Oh, hello Dr. Crane! Your father and I just went to do his physical therapy, it was a success!" Daphne smiled, closing the door behind herself.
"That's great, do you feel better dad?" Frasier asked, praying his father would avoid his armchair until later.
"Oh, it was just dandy!" Martin sarcastically said, walking over to his armchair.
Frasier's heart stopped for a split second. His father was about to see the gaping hole!
Martin shooed the dog off of his armchair and gasped at what he saw before him. There was a hole in his beloved chair!
"Frasier, who did this to my armchair!?" Martin seethed, looking over at Frasier's stiff body.
"Uh, Eddie did! He was digging too hard, and the couch got a hole in it! I told him you'd be mad!" Frasier babbled out watching his father's eyes narrow in suspicion.
"Right…Eddie, bad boy! Stay off my chair!" Martin grumbled, heading into the kitchen.
Later that afternoon the guilt started and then the nausea followed thereafter. Frasier tried to ignore it by reading a book, but it was becoming too unbearable. He soon found himself rushing into his bathroom and crashing down in front of the toilet.
Martin had been passing by his son's room when he heard the telltale noise of someone vomiting up their guilt. He entered the bedroom and walked into the adjoining bathroom to find Frasier on his knees hunched over the toilet.
"Frasier you know you can't lie; it's in your ethics. We've been through this before, when you were little and stole that dollar bill out of your mothers' purse." Martin smiled sadly at his poor son's gaging form.
"I'm sorry I lied about the chair. I thought I could handle a little lie, but obviously I can't manage that." Frasier croaked out before vomiting one last time.
"Heh, you always had a weak stomach. Come on, let's get you up and to the couch, you need some fluids after all that." Martin grimaced, bending over and flushing the toilet.
Frasier shakily stood up off the floor and followed his father into the living room. He took a seat on the couch and waited, as his father made him a cup of water.
"Here you go. Drink slowly or you'll have a rerun of vomiting." Martin smiled, sitting down in his now fixed armchair.
Frasier relaxed as he watched TV with his father for the rest of the afternoon.