A/N

I wrote this because I came to think about how everyone grows old and many lose track of time in the process. How important it is to have been happy in your life so you have somewhere good to retreat to when the present is escaping you. And how love ages with you, if you're lucky. I decided our ladies were lucky in that aspect.

It had started only a couple of years ago – Andrea Sachs Priestly remembered the day her wife had forgotten to button her Chanel blouse all the way up. She had made a playful comment about it, and Miranda had given her one of her old snarky remarks in return – but for a few moments, there had been a fleeting look of confusion in her eyes, as if she didn't remember who Andy was.

It should come as no surprise; the fashion icon had recently turned 81, but her mind had been sharp as a razor all her life and her sudden absent-mindedness was reason for alarm. They had seen several doctors on the matter, but they had only confirmed what they both feared and suspected; it was Alzheimer's, early stage but would grow worse with time. And it gone faster than they thought; within two years, Miranda spent most of her time in a mental haze. Andy had in a way become her assistant once again, as if time was a wheel turning, always coming back to where it started. She didn't mind. Miranda had retreated to those days, and could sometimes be a pain in the ass, frankly put, but she was still Miranda and she was the love of Andy's life.

One day, Miranda had stared at her for a long, long time, and then silent tears started to fall from her eyes.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Andy asked.

"All of it. You're not my assistant and I'm not editor-in-chief of Runway magazine, right? I feel like I'm walking around in a mist, years keep evading me and I'm not sure where I am, or when I am. We did get married, didn't we?"

"We did. It was the happiest day of my life."

Miranda was quiet, fiddling with the collar of her blouse, and suddenly smiled.

"Oh, yes. I remember your dress."

Andy rolled her eyes. Leave it to Miranda to remember that part.

"You wore Valentino. Long sleeves, open in the back. Diamonds."

"And you wore a white Oscar de La Renta and pearls. I had to be angry with you to make you wear white."

Miranda sighed.

"It wasn't quite suitable for a woman my age, three times divorced."

"I'm glad I convinced you. You looked like a queen in that dress."

Miranda smiled, but it was a vague smile, almost sad.

"Andrea, tell me the truth, do you regret this?"

"What? This?" Andy made a sweeping gesture towards her wife. "You and me? Our marriage? Our long, beautiful, intense years together? Our grandchildren?"

She kissed Miranda's cheek. The wrinkles and lines were fine, but they were there. As they should be. At sixty, Miranda had been looking for plastic surgeons and Andy had nearly thrown a fit in her attempts to stop her. She was glad she had convinced the fashion empress on that occasion as well. She wouldn't have wanted Miranda to look like a plastic doll half-melted in the sun. She wanted Miranda to look simply like Miranda further down the road of life.

"I have no regrets whatsoever. Living with you is the only thing I ever wanted. And please don't talk like it's over. It's not over yet, love. You're still here, I'm still here, and I know that even when you confuse me for your assistant, you love me. You told me. You loved me from the first moment we met. So don't worry. I know you love me no matter where you are in time. And I love you. Always."

"Growing old is hell."

"Well, it's not so bad if you think about the alternative", Andy replied and was rewarded with a soft chuckle.

"I do love you, Andrea. Whatever happens, whatever I say when I… when my thoughts wander astray… never doubt that."

"I don't. I won't."

Miranda closed her eyes and motioned for her wife to lean in closer. As Andy obeyed, Miranda whispered:

"The pains of growing old put aside… everybody should want this life, isn't that right?"

Andy could only agree.