DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hannah Montana, any of the characters or any of the songs. Anything you recognise isn't mine.

A/N: This is going to be a twoshot. With songs. So it's a twoshot/song fic. The first chapter is set while Miley is only 10 years old. The second will be in the present, when Miley is 14 years. I'm not an expert on cancer so if I get any details wrong, don't hesitate to tell me if I do.

I also know that I cut bits out of I Learned From You. It was to make it less of a duet and more of her own little thing.

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I miss you

I miss your smile

And I still shed a tear,

Every once in a while

And even though it's different now

You're still here somehow

My heart won't let you go

And I need you to know

I miss you

Sha, la, la, la, la

I miss you.

Flashback

A lone tear ran down Miley Stewart's pink-flushed cheek. The hand she was holding so tightly in her own went limp. She leant down and whispered into her mother's ear. "No. Mommy, don't you dare leave me." But it was too late, Tricia Stewart had passed away. "No! Mommy. I need you." Then the rest began to flow.

She hadn't said as much as a word to anyone other than her mother since she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Tricia fought it for months, chemotherapy and radiation treatment. But it was all too much. None of it worked, it just wore away the young mother's immune system until it finally shut down altogether.

Robby Ray Stewart, teary-eyed and choked up, steered the solemn girl by the shoulders, out into the corridor where she ran to some chairs and buried her head amongst her arms. Her father leant against the wall, standing next to her.

"You can't stay silent forever Bud. It's going to be hard. Really hard, I know. But I'm here, and it'll only get easier if you let it out."

Silence.

"I miss hearing your voice, darlin'. I miss your mom's too. Don't waste the talent you have. Your mom wouldn't want you to."

The ten year old didn't speak. She didn't even sing.

"I loved your mom. You know that, right? I still do. And she's not gonna be around us now, but just you know that she's watching over you. And she wants you to be happy. She does." The wistful father sighed and walked away. He knew when his daughter wanted to be alone. She always wanted to be alone. He couldn't remember the last time he saw her smiling, the last time she was truly Miley. The child stared daggers into his back with bloodshot eyes as he left. She didn't want him to go, but she just didn't know how to tell him so.

Pushing open the door to the now seemingly deadly room, Miley's lip quivered. Her brother, Jackson, was sat in the corner, as far away from the bed as possible; he was glaring at his feet and didn't even look up when his sister appeared. Their mother's motionless, cold body still lay there. Miley pulled back the sheet that covered her face, folded it over at her mom's shoulders and then tucked it in under her arms. "Hey. I miss you already, I think it may have only been a couple hours but I couldn't say for sure. I haven't been counting time or anything. In fact, I may have fallen asleep in my chair, but I doubt it. Jackson's here. Has he spoken to you yet?" She shot a glance at the boy who'd looked up at mention of his name. Sitting herself next to her mother on the side of the bed, she sniffled a little, wiped her eyes and stroked her mother's short, lifeless hair. "I miss your hair. It looked like mine didn't it, mommy? Long and curly. But then it all fell out. You wore wigs. You didn't mind, you said it 'added variety' to your life. I don't know what that means." Miley removed the band tying her own hair, shaking it until it all trailed down her back, bushy and bouncy. "I love you." She whispered. Lying down, she placed her head next to her mothers, their locks intertwining, and fell asleep.

Seven days later, the day of the funeral, Miley Stewart silently smoothed out the creases that plagued her skirt. "Miley. It's a funeral. You're supposed to wear black," Jackson scathed. He wore a small black suit, white shirt and black tie. An ensemble that should never have to be worn by one so young. "Hey, son, she can wear what she wants. Maybe Miley doesn't want to wear black. It's okay to wear color, ain't that right Miles?" Bobby Ray Stewart, Miley's uncle, nudged her. She blinked back at him with big, blue eyes. He sighed. "Hope we hear more out of you soon, darlin', it's a shame to let a voice go to waste when some people don't have one at all. I'll be back in a few minutes, I need to talk with your daddy." She feigned apathy. Miley and Jackson stood side by side, alone, outside their Nashville ranch - waiting for the sleek back hearse to arrive. Jackson cleared his throat humbly, "I'm sorry."

Robby Ray's eulogy brought tears to the few dry eyes in the small chapel ten miles from the Stewart home. He made his way back to his seat from the pulpit, the priest walking towards it. Father McAshton halted, however, when he was startled by the brightly dressed little girl that had beaten him to it. "It appears," he turned around and faced the mourning congregation, "that little Miley may have something to say." Returning to his seat, he closed his eyes and wished that somehow, some way, things would get better for the youth who'd been through so much already. Opening them, he perceived another surprise. The girl was nervously walking away from the stand and towards him. His mouth agape, she drew a large, fresh sunflower out of her hair and handed it to him, then took herself back to the stand. "Thank you." He breathed.

The throng of family and friends all knew Miley. They'd all watched her grow up with poise and manners, but still bounds of energy in everything she did. Yet, each and every one was astonished to see her take charge of the service in such a way - she hadn't even spoken yet. Everybody knew that she hadn't mouthed a word for near on a year, apart from to her mom, nobody had expected her to for a while, least of all today of all days. Robbie Ray sat, his breath caught for what seemed like forever. He didn't know what his daughter was doing but whatever it was - he was already more proud than anyone could ever believe.

Miley opened her mouth and then closed it again. Looking out at everyone she'd ever known, she realised that she could do what she'd been planning to for a while; she had to do it. She shut her eyes, near-silently hummed a note and then started to sing.

I didn't wanna listen to what you were sayin'

I thought that I knew all I need to know

I didn't realize that somewhere inside me

I knew you were right but I couldn't say so

I can take care of myself, yeah, you taught me well

I learned from you that I do not crumble

I learned that strength is something you choose

All of the reasons to keep on believin'

There's no question, that's a lesson, that I learned from you

I'm grateful for all of the times

You opened my eyes

I learned from you that I do not crumble

I learned that strength is something you choose

All of the reasons to keep on believin',

There's no question, that's a lesson

I learned from you

You taught me to stand on my own

And I thank you for that

You saved me, you made me,

and now that I'm looking back

I can say I learned from you that

I do not crumble

I learned that strength is something you choose

All of the reasons to keep on believin',

There's no question, that's a lesson that I learned from you

I learned from you

I learned that strength is something you choose

All of the reasons to keep on believin',

There's no question, that's a lesson that I learned from you

I learned from you

Miley took back her place in the mahogany pew in between her father and brother. The chapel stood still until one little girl started to cry.

x-x

In a Californian home, a curly haired brunette rolls around in her sleep, small tear-stains drape her cheeks. Nobody knows that she has the same harrowing dream each and every night. Nor that it haunts her waking moments.

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A/n: So, what do you think? I think it's my best yet. In fact, I'm kind of suprised I could write like that, I didn't know I could. Don't think my head's growing with each word I type, I just... I like it, and I'm proud of myself for it. If that makes sense. Compared to my other stuff, this is amazing.

By your standards, I'm not as sure. But hopefully you'll tell me.

Don't forget to check out my other current fic - Hands Down.

I'll be updating this fic with the final chapter and the next chapter of Hands Down on Friday (13th) when I get back from my trip to Llandudno.

R&R?