TITLE: The Quality of Darkness
SPOILERS: Anything from the series is fair game.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Drake & Josh. All are owned by Dan Schneider, et al. I am not profiting in any way except creatively.

A/N: I usually like to post chapters in pairs, but I'm not quite finished with the next (present) chapter and I didn't want to keep the loyal readers waiting. I promise to have the next chapter up ASAP, but next week is a hectic work week for me, so please be patient!

Chapter 6: Point of No Return

"I think you're making a big mistake," Mr. Bradford said evenly, focusing his light blue eyes on Drake. "With just a little more work, you could be getting an A."

Drake was getting a B – a very low, almost-not-a-B, but still a B – and was happy with it. But he was having a difficult time getting Mr. Bradford to understand that he just didn't care about getting an A. To Drake, a B was an A. "All I really wanted to do was pass, Mr. Bradford," he patiently explained. "I'm doing more than that thanks to you." He thought he'd add that last part to try to smooth Mr. Bradford's ruffled feathers.

They were standing in Mr. Bradford's classroom. It was the Tuesday before the Thanksgiving holiday and Drake had unequivocally decided that this was going to be the last tutoring session even though there was technically one left. Sure, he was doing better in this class than in any other. And that had a lot to do with Mr. Bradford. But he figured that even if he slacked off like usual and only turned in his usual mediocre work, he'd still end up with a low C. And that was enough to graduate.

Mr. Bradford took a step closer to Drake, closing the space between them to about a foot and a half. "Mr. Parker," he said quietly, resting his hand on Drake's shoulder. "I really feel like I've failed you." He squeezed Drake's shoulder and Drake was suddenly acutely aware of Mr. Bradford's fingers pressing into his skin.

"Mr. Bradford, look…" Drake said, stepping out from the teacher's grasp. "I appreciate all you've done for me. Really. All my other teachers would have given up on me by now." He smiled lopsidedly. "But I think you're taking this whole thing a little too personally."

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Mr. Bradford's eyes darkened. "I take my job very personally, Mr. Parker. I don't appreciate it when someone makes a joke of it." His voice was low.

"I'm sorry," Drake said softly, his heart starting to beat faster. There was something about the way Mr. Bradford was looking at him that made him uncomfortable. "I didn't mean…"

"Hey," Mr. Bradford said. "Don't worry about it." He laughed lightly. "Sometimes I get a little defensive." He slapped Drake lightly on the arm, let his hand linger there for a couple seconds. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I do take it a little too personally."

"Yeah," Drake said softly, still slightly confused about Mr. Bradford's sudden change in mood. But he let it pass. Smiling again, he said, "What is it they say? 'It's not you, it's me.'"

Mr. Bradford tilted his head slightly, an amused expression on his face. His blond hair nearly fell into his eyes. Crossing his arms over his chest, he asked, "So I guess this means you're breaking up with me."

Drake was struck by the weirdness of that statement. "Uh…" he began, fumbling, trying to smile. The rapidly changing dynamic in the room was throwing him off balance. "I just don't think more tutoring is going to do any good. No matter what you think, I've hit the ceiling when it comes to quality of work," he added self-deprecatingly. "You'd just be wasting your time."

"On the contrary, Mr. Parker," the teacher said and this time he was right in front of Drake – so close, Drake could feel his body heat. "I don't find you to be a waste of time in the least." He smiled in a way that was more than just friendly. "In fact, I've rather enjoyed our time together. Haven't you?"

Drake's eyes automatically sought the door. Over Mr. Bradford's shoulder, he could see that the hallway was empty; it had emptied even faster than usual because of the holiday. "Yeah," he said, turning his eyes back towards Mr. Bradford, "it's been swell. But," he continued, looking quickly at the clock, "I really gotta get going. I have to pick my sister up from oboe practice." It was a lie; Megan didn't play the oboe anymore. But Mr. Bradford didn't know that. He was suddenly very thankful that he had the car today; Josh had caught a ride home with Eric.

The look Mr. Bradford gave him was a mixture of skepticism and amusement. A funny little half-smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Oboe, huh? I've heard that's a tough instrument."

Drake could tell Mr. Bradford was stalling; for what reason he didn't know. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly was bothering him, but something…something was different. "Yeah, well," he muttered, readjusting his backpack on his shoulder, "she's a tough girl." Mr. Bradford was blocking him in the aisle and he had no space to go around him. "And she gets really mad when she's kept waiting, so…" He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Mr. Bradford said mockingly, taking a couple steps back and allowing Drake to pass.

Drake let the comment pass, opting to make a beeline to the door. "Have a nice holiday, Mr. Bradford," he mumbled over his shoulder just as he reached the door.

"You do the same, Mr. Parker," Mr. Bradford replied.

Heading down the empty hallway, his footsteps echoed softly on the polished cement floor. When he reached the front door, Drake pushed it open. The late afternoon sunshine threw long shadows across the sidewalk, dry leaves skittered across the cement in the light breeze. Drake stopped, holding the door open with his left hand as he dug in his right pocket for his keys. They weren't there. He tried his left pocket, propping the door open with his foot. Nothing. Quickly he riffled the pockets of his backpack, hoping to find them. When he came up empty, he closed his eyes.

Where did he have them last? He retraced the afternoon's timeline in his head. School had gotten out. Josh had met him by their lockers to tell him that he could keep the car, that he was getting a ride home from Eric. He had told Josh that he didn't have his keys with him, that he had forgotten them at home. Josh had rolled his eyes in exasperation and had reached into his pocket for his set, handing them to Drake. Drake had them in his hand and was jingling them when he sauntered five minutes late into Mr. Bradford's classroom, having already decided to call the tutoring quits. Mr. Bradford had been waiting for him; he had looked meaningfully at the clock – a subtle reminder that Drake was late – and had beckoned Drake over to his desk.

Drake suddenly looked up. Crap. They were on Mr. Bradford's desk, where he had set them down when he reached for the paper the teacher handed him.

He'd have to go back. Reluctantly, he turned on his heels and headed back in the direction of Mr. Bradford's classroom, the sound of the front door latch clicking shut echoing down the empty hallway. Just as he was walking through the door he said in a voice he tried to make as light as possible, "Hey, Mr. Bradford –" but the sentence was cut short when Drake saw the teacher.

He was standing next to his desk in a state of undress that could very nearly be called naked – shirtless, pants-less, shoeless, Drake noticed, as his eyes traveled quickly from Mr. Bradford's face to his bare feet, where they stayed. All that separated them from absolute embarrassment was a thin layer of gray cotton.

"I was just changing into my jogging clothes," Mr. Bradford said. "Since there was no one around, I figured I was safe." He laughed lightly. "I guess I was wrong."

"I-I'm sorry," Drake stuttered awkwardly, refusing to look up. He could see Mr. Bradford slip a pair of dark blue nylon running shorts over his feet.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Mr. Parker," the teacher said. "If anyone should be, it's me. And I'm not. So you can stop staring at my feet." He laughed again.

Drake forced himself to drag his eyes upwards to the man's face. He still hadn't put a shirt on, but there was a white shirt dangling from his right hand. His light blue eyes were intently studying Drake's expression, his own face passive.

"Did you change your mind about ending the tutoring?" he asked evenly, his eyes searching Drake's hopefully.

Drake was having a hard time concentrating. The weirdness of seeing Mr. Bradford standing there bare-chested and barefoot in his own classroom was rather discomfiting. "N-No, sir," he answered after a moment, shifting his weight and hitching his backpack into a more comfortable position on his shoulder. "I forgot my keys."

Mr. Bradford waited a moment before responding, a tiny smile drawing up one corner of his mouth as his eyes scanned Drake from head to toe. "Too bad," he finally said, grasping the shirt tightly in his right fingers, the knuckles turning white. "I was hoping you'd come to your senses." His voice was soft, but held an undercurrent of malice that caused the hairs on Drake's arms to stand on end.

"I think I left them on your desk," Drake replied, ignoring Mr. Bradford's comment. His eyes flicked to the door, then quickly back to the teacher, who noticed the look and asked wryly, "In a hurry, Mr. Parker?"

Drake shrugged. "My sister, remember?" he said, recalling the story he had given the teacher before. He had a strong desire to leave; but he couldn't go anywhere without his keys. "I'm already late."

Mr. Bradford smiled again and the gesture seemed reptilian. "Can't wait to get away from this place for a few days, huh?" he asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "I can relate." He pulled his shirt on – an old Minnesota Vikings t-shirt with the sleeves cut off – and Drake felt a wave of relief wash over him that he couldn't explain. When the teacher turned towards his desk to look for the keys, Drake let out his breath slowly and once again eyed the empty hallway.

"Ah," he heard Mr. Bradford say. "Here they are." Drake could hear the jingle of keys and the sound drew his attention back. Mr. Bradford met his eyes as he held the keys out to Drake.

Taking a step closer, Drake held out his hand to grab the keys, which were dangling from Mr. Bradford's left index finger and thumb. But just as he was about to close his own fingers around them, Mr. Bradford jerked them away.

"You'll get these back on one condition," he said teasingly.

Drake fought to keep the annoyance from his face and voice. "What's that?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That you seriously reconsider your decision to end our sessions."

Was this guy serious? For the life of him, Drake couldn't understand why the guy was taking it so hard. But if he had to promise in order to get out of there, then fine. It wouldn't be the first time he'd told a lie to get his way.

"Fine," he said and wished he sounded more sincere. But I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.

Drake's response made Mr. Bradford smirk. "I would've liked a little more conviction behind that response, but I'll take what I can get." He held out the keys again.

Reaching for them, Drake almost screamed when the teacher jerked them away again. But then the teacher dropped them into Drake's still-open palm a second later, chuckling. "A little joke, Mr. Parker."

Drake clutched the keys tightly in his fist and headed towards the door. "Happy Thanksgiving," he heard the teacher say, but didn't reply back as he walked quickly down the hall and burst through the front door into the growing late afternoon shadows.

By the time Drake reached his car, sitting by itself in the student parking lot, he felt a little better. By the time he got in and closed the door, securing his seatbelt around him, he was actually smiling, the freedom of the upcoming long weekend wiping out the strangeness of the last few minutes. Everything else that had happened that afternoon – all the weird moments – had already begun to fade away.

He fished out his cell phone and speed-dialed his brother. Drake didn't want to start his holiday by simply going home, so he thought he'd ask Josh if he wanted to hang out. The phone rang twice, then he heard Josh say hurriedly through the phone, "Can't talk now. Crazy Steve's having a…LOOK OUT!"

The line went dead. Drake stared at his phone, then shrugged. So Josh was at work; Helen must've called him in. He slid the phone back into his pocket and turned the ignition. As the car roared to life, he decided he would pop in at The Premiere. He didn't feel like going home. Besides, he could always go for a (free) movie.

As he pulled out of the parking lot, he saw Mr. Bradford heading for his vehicle. He subconsciously accelerated as he headed south towards the movie theater, putting as much distance between him and the teacher as he could.

He never got a chance to talk to Josh. From the minute he stepped foot into the movie theater, Josh, wearing his coveted gold vest, was averting one crisis after another, never getting the chance to talk. Drake had waited for him for over an hour, helping himself to a soda and a large popcorn in the meantime. But he had quickly gotten bored – he had already seen all the movies and there hadn't even been any pretty girls to flirt with, surprisingly enough. Apparently it was Family Night at the theater; the place was full of frazzled parents and screaming kids. So, waving bye to Josh when he had managed to catch his brother's eye, he left. He stopped off at Inside Out Burger, ordered the #2 value meal with cheese, and ate it slowly, savoring the fact that he had five whole days off to do whatever he wanted. Not to mention that it was Thanksgiving in two days and his mom would make her "famous" cheddar mashed potatoes. His mouth was watering just thinking about it.

Dusk was approaching by the time Drake was finished with his meal and he decided to head home before his mom got worried. She never expected him home right after school – she wasn't home then herself most of the time – but she did want them home for dinner, if possible. He looked guiltily down at the remnants of his value meal, but shook the feeling off. He'd eat a few bites of dinner just to make his mom happy; he could always eat something.

He'd just about forgotten the thing with Mr. Bradford until he turned on his street and saw what looked like Mr. Bradford's Suburban parked next to the curb in front of his house. Suddenly, he was annoyed. What the heck was he doing here? Parking his car behind Walter's Camry, he got out, slamming the door with more force than was necessary to close it. Stalking up the front walk, he opened the front door.

Laughter greeted his entrance. He closed the door behind him and the sound must have caught his mom's attention because he heard her call out, "Drake, is that you?"

"Yeah, Mom," he answered, stepping to the edge of the foyer. Looking into the living room, he saw his mom and Walter sitting on the couch. Mr. Bradford was sitting on the chair closest to the fireplace, facing him, wearing a gray and black warm-up suit over his clothes. They were all smiling back at him like they had something bad to tell him.

"What's wrong?" he asked warily, and he could feel his pulse quicken.

"Nothing's wrong, son," Walter said genially. "Mr. Bradford was just telling us how well you're doing in history."

"Was he, now?" His eyes locked with Mr. Bradford's. The teacher looked guilelessly back at him. "Couldn't he just send a note home or something?"

"I think it's nice that he's taken a personal interest in you," Audrey said. "If you had more teachers like him –"

"I'd never have any free time. All my days would be filled with tutoring," he interrupted, the words coming out more sarcastic than he intended. He wasn't sure why he was bothered so much by Mr. Bradford being there; it wasn't like this was the first time one of his teachers had been to his house. It was just that…well, it was starting to feel like the guy was stalking him. It made him a little uncomfortable.

"Now, son. Mr. Bradford is only trying to help you," Walter said. "That's why he's here, in fact. He told us you've decided to stop the tutoring."

"That's right," Drake said, a little defensively. He moved into the living room, dropping his backpack into the empty chair across from Mr. Bradford and standing at the end of the sofa, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Why?" his mom asked.

"Because I don't need it," he said quickly, looking at her. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mr. Bradford watching him. "I'm doing fine."

"He could do better," Mr. Bradford said.

"I'm getting a B!" Drake protested, not looking at him.

Audrey's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?" She turned to look at the teacher. "Is that true?"

Mr. Bradford paused a moment before answering. "Yes," he said patiently. "But barely." He flicked his gaze back to Drake for a second, before settling it once again on Audrey. He set his coffee mug down on the table in front of him and leaned forward, his face set in a serious, pedantic expression. "Your son is a lot smarter than he lets on. I believe he has a high capacity for learning if he'd just put his mind to it. He's shown a real aptitude for history." He smiled, looking at Drake. "I think he actually likes it, but I don't think he'd ever admit it."

"How would continuing with the tutoring benefit Drake? I mean, if he's passing…" Walter said and Drake wanted to hug him.

"I want my students to succeed, Mr. Nichols, not just get by. Based on his academic history, your stepson is not a self-starter. He's not internally motivated to do well in his schoolwork. I think he has the potential to be a great student. And while I can't help him with all his studies, I can help him with history. I'm afraid," he said, concentrating his argument on Audrey, "that without a little guidance, that B will quickly turn into a C. Or lower." He looked pointedly at Drake. "And I, for one, would hate to see that."

Drake was fuming. "That's not fair," he said heatedly, gesturing wildly with his hands. He looked at his mom. "Mom," he pleaded, "don't listen to him."

"Drake," she said. "He only wants what's best for you. We all do."

"And you think that's getting an A in history?" he asked incredulously. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Audrey remained calm in the face of his anger. "It's not the A, Drake. It's the sense of accomplishment that goes with it. You haven't brought home an A since grade school. I think it would be nice to see an A on your report card for once, don't you? I think you'd be surprised how good it'd make you feel."

She was talking about how much he'd like it, but he knew she was really talking about how much she'd like it. And suddenly he knew that he'd lost. He stared back at her sullenly.

"Mr. Bradford is willing to continue tutoring you after school. He thinks it's a good idea," she continued. "And so do we." She motioned between Walter and herself, although Drake suspected that Walter was just going along with what his mom wanted.

The subject was closed. Drake nodded. "Fine."

"Good," she said, brightening. "You'll see," she assured him. "It won't be as bad you think."

Sure. But he didn't say anything. He flashed a look that could melt steel at Mr. Bradford, who was looking back at him with a tiny smirk of self-satisfaction.

Audrey stood. "Well, dinner's ready," she said. She turned to the teacher. "You're welcome to join us, if you'd like."

"No!" Drake exclaimed, startling everyone with his vehemence. He was still looking at Mr. Bradford when he said, "Mr. Bradford can't stay for dinner. Can you."

Mr. Bradford held Drake's gaze for a long moment before standing, saying, "No, no, I'm afraid I can't. I'm meeting a friend. But thank you for your kind offer," he added, smiling at Audrey and Walter.

"Oh well," Audrey replied. "Maybe some other time."

"Certainly," Mr. Bradford said. "I look forward to it."

Walter stepped forward. "Let me show you out," he said cheerfully, ushering the teacher to the door.

"I'll do it," Drake said suddenly. "I need to ask him something anyway." He forced a smile. "Be right back."

Teacher and student walked in silence down the front walk, towards the blue Suburban. When they were on the sidewalk, Drake turned on him. "Why are you doing this?" he asked hotly, his blood burning in his cheeks.

Mr. Bradford looked calmly back at him, his light eyes dark in the dim light of the street lamps. "Like I told your parents, I just want to see you succeed," he said evenly.

"Bullshit." The word spilled from Drake's mouth before he could stop it, borne of anger and propelled by frustration.

Mr. Bradford seemed unfazed by the profanity. He just smiled his little smile.

"What's the real reason?" Drake demanded.

The teacher paused before answering, studying Drake closely. "You really want to know?" he finally asked.

Suddenly, Drake didn't think he wanted to know. But he nodded anyway, prompting Mr. Bradford to answer.

Mr. Bradford leaned in a little, speaking so softly that his voice was almost carried away on the breeze. "I like you, Drake," he whispered and the use of his first name was not lost on Drake. "And I want us to be friends."

The tiny hairs on the back of Drake's neck stood at attention at the words.

Drake stood frozen, staring dumbly back at him. "Mr. Bradford, I…" he managed, but couldn't say anything else.

"I'd like it if you'd call me Nathan," Mr. Bradford said. "Just not in class," he added. "We wouldn't want the other students getting jealous, would we?" He laughed.

"Well, goodnight Drake," Nathan said. "I'll see you on Monday. Have a happy Thanksgiving."

Nathan was rounding the front of the Suburban when he suddenly stopped and turned around, giving Drake a hard look. "Your sister doesn't play the oboe anymore, Drake," he said, seeming to savor the taste of Drake's first name on his tongue. "You lied to me." The ice in his voice froze the blood in Drake's veins and he watched, barely breathing, as Nathan climbed into his vehicle and started the engine.

Drake watched in silence, his mind swirling, as the SUV's taillights disappeared around the corner, continuing to stare long after they were gone.

"Drake!" Walter was calling him. "Time for dinner!"

When he walked into the house, he must have been wearing a look like he had just seen a ghost because his mom asked him, "Are you alright?"

"What?" he asked.

"You look strange. Did something happen with Mr. Bradford?" she asked.

Drake looked at his mother. Now was his chance to tell her. Guess what, Mom? I don't think it's my grade he's interested in. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. The timing was wrong, he decided. She'd think he was just making it up to get out of the tutoring. She'd never believe him, anyway, not with his track record for lying. Besides, it was just a feeling; nothing had actually happened.

So he shook his head. "Everything's fine, Mom. Let's eat; I'm starving." See? Another lie.

As he sat down at his place at the table, he suddenly got the feeling that he was standing on the edge of a canyon, staring down into the abyss.

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