Title: We'll Be Strong Together
Fandom: Hannah Montana & Camp Rock crossover; ALTERNATE UNIVERSE
Type: One-shot
Length: 2,682 words
Author: Lizzie Lehane
Pairing: Mitchie/Miley
Rating: PG/PG-13
Warnings: Girl/girl kissing, a bit of drama
Summary: You've always been a time-waster (but this was definitely a good waste of time, in more ways than one).
Notes: There will probably be a follow-up/sequel to this at some point in the future. This was originally my first Demi/Miley RPF story, and it turned out way more serious than I intended. It's written in second person from Miley's POV, and it is a high school AU fic. But I hope you enjoy it! :)
Disclaimer: The characters in this story are based on real people, but this is a work of fiction. All the events portrayed in this work are fiction and never actually happened.

Clutching your books to your chest, you stride through the hallway of Franklin Pierce Senior High School. You count thirteen people that nod politely to you, nine that wave (very enthusiastically), eight that smile, five that wink, and two (both boys) who playfully punch your shoulder and call you "hot." You're used to these types of greetings: two past years wearing this sky blue and white cheerleading uniform, the bold letters FPHS emblazoned across the chest, every day for all of football season has put you in a position of popularity and idolization that you've come to accept as part of your daily school life.

You acknowledge all of your "admirers," of course. You weren't raised in a barn. (It was a farmhouse – gosh.) However, you're running late and you don't have time for more than a quickly returned smile and possibly a wave or two. You tug at the edge of your long, brown ponytail and clutch your books closer to you. You make your way through the crowd, white sneakers scuffing unpleasantly against the tile floor until you find her.

"Hey, Mitchie," you say.

Mitchie is leaning against her locker, waiting for you. She smiles when you walk up and leans up, kissing your cheek. "Hey, pretty lady," she smiles. "Ready to get outta here?"

"Totally." You nod and shove your books into her open locker, slamming it shut and spinning the lock for good measure. You grab her hand and tug her toward the back doors. "Let's get out of here before the APs start swarming around the doors."

Getting off campus without being caught really is an art form. You've been practicing since freshmen year, when you first agreed to leave campus for lunch with some of your older friends. For some reason, the administrators at Pierce seem to like keeping their students caged up like animals, instead of allowing them the small freedom of picking their own venue for lunch. It's not like they serve anything that can be classified as "edible" in the cafeteria, so, really, what do they expect the students to do?

Over the years, your group has gotten better at sneaking off campus and, at times, charming their way past the janitors that are assigned to guard the gate. Mitchie leads you to her sister's car, popping the locks and getting quietly into the driver's seat. You follow her lead, silently opening the passenger door, getting into your seat, and silently pulling it shut. Others are leaving around you, and you can see Mitchie visibly relax when she realizes if she gets caught, she won't be going down alone. She tells you to buckle your seat belt and slides on a pair of dark sunglasses before starting up the car and backing out of her parking space.

The drive to the gate takes two minutes. The few cars ahead of you want to get away just as quickly as Mitchie does, afraid they'll be caught at any moment. Soon, you are safe and Mitchie's tense shoulders drop as she lets out a long, relieved sigh.

"I told you it wouldn't be hard," you tease her, gently shoving her shoulder.

"Well, I haven't snuck off campus in months," she says. "So, excuse me for getting a little nervous." You smile and unbuckle your seatbelt, sliding out of your seat and into the small seat between yours and hers. Dallas's car, which you'd been in many times before, is an old Toyota Avalon with a nice bench seat that makes cuddling very easy.

"That's not safe…" Mitchie murmurs, as you bury your face in her neck. "Miles, I'd really rather you stay in your seat. Please." You look up at her and the glance she gives you when she takes her eyes off the road shows what it always does: she's truly concerned that you'll get hurt. You know she doesn't mind the cuddling, because you cuddle with her all the time and she cuddles you right back. She, like you, is super-affectionate, too, which she blames completely on growing up as best friends with Mikayla-the-hugger. You kiss her neck and move back into your seat, buckling your seat belt. She gives you an approving smile and takes one hand off the wheel to squeeze yours.

A cell phone pings and Mitchie reaches into her back pocket. She sighs and quickly types into the device before dropping in on the middle seat.

"Mikayla?" you ask, and she nods. "What'd she say?"

"She wants to know why I'm not at lunch." You roll your eyes. It's not that you don't like Mikayla, but you've see the way she looks at Mitchie. It's not appropriate, especially when you've clearly shown the girl you're interested and Mitchie hasn't hinted at being interested in Mikayla in any way. She says she only has eyes for you, in that cute teasing voice she does.

Mitchie pushes her sunglasses up onto her head and glares at you. "She worries about me; stop that look," she reprimands you, voice firm. "She's my best friend."

You snort but say nothing except, "Your place or mine?" In response, Mitchie takes a right-hand turn toward her house. Her parents are working, Dallas is visiting friends in New York, and Maddie is at school. Your parents are out of town, your younger siblings are at school, and your older siblings are off at college, but you aren't surprised by Mitchie's choice. Though there's a greater chance of getting caught, because sometimes one or both of her parents come home for lunch, Mitchie is always willing to risk it because, for some reason, she never feels truly comfortable at your house. You've always thought it was because of the size. Compared to Mitchie's five-bedroom, your ten-bedroom almost mansion-like home is pretty huge.

Mitchie parks her car in the driveway, hanging the sunglasses on the rearview mirror, and nearly drags you into her house. As soon as she unlocks the door, you turn her around and push her up against it, your lips moving softly against hers. You keep your eyes open, watching as her chocolate eyes drift shut as she melts into the kiss the two of you are sharing, leaning up to deepen it. Her hands find your hips and you cup her cheek in one hand, letting the other drift along her ticklish left side. You tap lightly just below her ribcage and she starts to giggle, tearing her lips away from you and leaning her forehead against your cheek. You smile and cradle her against you, savoring one of the few moments you'll have alone with her.

There's no exact label for your relationship with Mitchie. You're definitely not just her friend, but you're not her girlfriend, either. You don't like saying you're her "friend-with-benefits," but that seems to be the only way to describe it right now. You both want more – a lot more, but school has kept Mitchie in the closet for a long time, and she's afraid to come out of it. And it sounds shallow (because it is), but you don't want to lose this power you have because you're in a relationship with a girl instead of a boy.

You've grown so used to this power you have that you just can't bring yourself to let go. It's not as if you abuse it – you do just the opposite, in fact. You keep things orderly, but you don't discriminate. Since your "rule" began, everyone has been treated equally; you won't tolerate bullying, and you've made that clear. Being a leader is what you were born for. You've been a leader since you were three years old. By taking on the role of Franklin Pierce High School's "queen bee," you've been trying to make things right. You don't like that despite how much change you've brought in your three years of attendance, Mitchie still feels closed in that dang closet. And you can't blame everyone, because it's only a select few people who are continuously going on about how wrong homosexuality is, how it's "sacrilegious" and makes a person "a sinful being." Dang it, you're Christian, and you were always taught sexual orientation didn't make anyone a sinner!

You hate those people, because no matter how often you or anyone else in their right mind tries to reason with them, they just won't give up. You've never asked them to change their beliefs – you just wish they'd be more respectful and stop using it against kids. That kind of talk keeps people in the closet, and you hate that. You want Mitchie and any others locked in the same position to be out and proud and not afraid! You want to be able to really kiss her in the hallways and declare that she's your girlfriend!

You lead Mitchie over to the couch and you kiss her again. You're going to suggest something. You know it could cause trouble, but you hope it will set things right at school and won't bring chaos into your lap.

"Mitch." You reach out and place your fingers under her chin, pulling her forward and pecking her on the lips. "I love you."

"I know," she whispers. She takes your hand off her chin and clutches it in both of hers, tenderly kissing each of your knuckles. "I love you, too."

You nod and smile. You hope that love will open her mind to what you have to say. You take a deep breath and lean a little closer. When your forehead is fully pressed against hers, you whisper, "I want everyone to know."

Mitchie freezes for a moment, eyes boring into yours. You see shock, and maybe a little bit of fear. And you immediately hate yourself for ever bringing it up, even though you really think it's for the best.

"Please, sweetheart," you whisper. "I know it'll be hard for you, but I'll be right there with you. I promise. And anyone who has something to say about… Well, we'll just ignore them. 'Cause I love you, and you love me, and that's all that matters, right?"

"M-Miley," she stammers. She gently pushes you away, so you're leaning back against the cushions. She creeps close and touches your leg, looking right into your eyes. "They'll flock to you. To me. To us. It'll never end. I can't put you through that." Of course, her concern is for you. It always is, and that's one of the reasons you love her so much.

"No, baby," you assure her. "If they pick on you or me or our relationship, they'll catch heck for it. What are we doing wrong? I'm in love with you, and I'm proud of that! I want everyone to know I've got the prettiest girl in school." You wink at her and draw her into your arms. She's a few inches smaller than you, and her body curves just perfectly into yours. She dips her head and presses it against the curve of your throat. Neither of you speak; you just cradle her in your arms.

The two of you sit in silence for what feels like forever. You thought, maybe, Mitchie was crying, but you checked and she's not. She's got her eyes closed but she's not asleep. You leaned in and kissed her at one point and she kissed you right back, then moved her head to your shoulder and closed her eyes again. Her eyebrows did that cute scrunch thing they do when she's thinking. She's just withdrawn into herself. You wonder what's going on in that head of hers. She thinks very intensely sometimes, when something controversial or big, something she needs to consider or have an opinion on has been brought to her attention. You're not surprised that this is one of those times.

Finally, she shifts her head off your shoulder. She looks at you for a second before saying only one word: "Okay."

You feel your eyes widen as you look at her. Yes, this was the answer you were hoping for, but there's a big part of you that thought she would say no. She's been scared to come out since you first found out she was gay; you're not sure what made her want to do this now.

She seems to be reading your mind. "With you, I feel safe and strong. You and me… We can do anything together." Mitchie smiles widely, and that confident girl you know so well is with you again. She reaches forward and taps your nose, getting you grinning to. "I like feeling confident, feeling sure of myself," she continues. "I love my life, and all the people in it. You and Mikayla and Dallas and my whole family… You make my life worth living. Everyone close to me has supported me since I came out, and that's when I'm at my most confident, when I feel the best about myself. I love our school and how accepting it is – mostly because of you. I don't want to hide a part of myself there. It makes me feel like that shy little elementary school kid I used to be. I'm not that girl anymore. I wanna be this me all the time. So…it's time I did this. It's time I took this step."

You've never felt quite like this before. Your heart thumps crazily in your chest, and you don't think you've loved Mitchie quite this much ever before. You lurch forward, cup her face in her hands and kiss her passionately, poking her lips with your tongue and feeling them part before you nearly devour her mouth.

When Mitchie finally pulls away, laughing and smiling and claiming she needs air, she checks her watch and curses under her breath. "We're gonna be late for sixth period if we don't start heading back now," she informs you, when you lift a questioning eyebrow at her. You groan as you realize you've spent your entire hour-long lunch period making out with Mitchie instead of eating. You've always been a time-waster (but this was definitely a good waste of time, in more ways than one).

"We better head back then."

"Yeah." She stands first, offers you her hand and pulls you up when you take it. She heading toward the front door and you're trailing behind her, when she pauses, looks at you and says, "Are we doing this…coming out thing…today?"

You smile and gently shake your head. "Tomorrow," you say. "We'll end the week with a bang." She grins like she likes that idea and leads you out the door to the car, only stopping to lock the front door behind her.

When Mitchie drives back onto campus, two cars are trailing her and it seems like the janitors have forgotten about the gates today, because they're still open ten minutes before the period is supposed to end. Mitchie pulls back into the same parking space and parks, pulling the keys out of the ignition. You reach for the door handle, ready to get out of the car and forgo any more intimacy until the school day's over, but Mitchie stops you.

"After what we just talked about," she says quietly, looking down at her clasped hands, "I think it's time I actually asked you to please be my girlfriend." She looks up, shaking her bangs back so she's giving you a clear view of her hopeful eyes.

Your heart is beating like crazy again and you grin at her and say, "I'd love to. As long as you'll be my girlfriend, too." You make it sound like a deal breaker: she says no, and you won't be her girlfriend.

"Yes, Miley Stewart. I will definitely be your girlfriend."

Then, she kisses you deeply one last time before you get out of the car. You hold her hand through the parking lot and drop it when you head to the cafeteria to meet your friends and she heads in the opposite direction to the quad to meet Mikayla.

You can't wait for tomorrow to come.

END.