A/N: I was really not intending to start this just yet but I was inspired. A huge thank you to those of you who are staying with me for part two and if you are someone who just stumbled across this, if you haven't read part one, Order with a Prefix, you will be quite confused.

I will try and keep my updates timely but once school starts up I have some pretty homework-heavy classes as well as a new job staring in August.

Circumfix- In morphology, circumfix is the combination of a prefix and a suffix that attach to a base simultaneously to express a single meaning.

Part Two

Chapter One

Change had never really garnered the chance to be something Emma openly welcomed into her life. Instead it seemed to take some sort of sweet satisfaction in creeping through the little crevices too porous to be unforgivably airtight.

Change inevitably brought uncertainty and uncertainty only served to coddle further into existence the nagging, persistent worry that all bets regarding stability were off the instant something changed, and more than that, strong enough to cause hesitation at even the slightest of divergences such as an envelope with an address she didn't recognize or a phone number that came across as unavailable, was the foreboding, overwhelming, often paralyzing sensation that at some point, somewhere, someone was going to waltz into her life in some unexpected format and expose her as the expert illusionist she had become, where her culminating act was always to convince the world, and worse, herself, that she knew exactly what she was doing, and in doing so bring to light every insecurity she had ever entertained. She could fool everyone, everyone except that mental construct that ricocheted around in her mind, that one day, someone would confirm her worst fear; that she was doing everything wrong.

Avoiding change, staying sparingly in the tracks of the familiar, in her mind, significantly lessened the chance that this fear she had never been able to name, would shine a spotlight on all her mistakes and cast her successes to the shadows. All of this, the constant anxiety that she had fueled for so long is what made the changes that had taken place in her life recently so revolutionary and terrifying, and wonderful.

She had now officially been a married woman for six months. Committed to a man who had never once thought of giving up on her. Her apartment had been discarded; upgraded to a quaint townhouse within walking distance of the school and perhaps the least noticeable to the people who had only now entered her life, was that for five of those six months she had successfully maintained a healthy weight and bottles of Strawberry Ensure now seemed a far and faded memory that belonged to some past life that she was content to let haunt a former self she no longer cared to know as intimately as she once had.

Change had swept in and crept away with small pieces of what had once been the most important thing only to replace it with the foundation for shared experiences and firsts that she couldn't imagine being without.

It had taken a while, for her muscles to remember that the name she had penned for so many years no longer ended in 'Pillsbury' but 'Schuester' and that experience, the first time she had signed her name, her new identity, her new life, was like the piece of chocolate she allowed to melt in her mouth every evening before bed; indulgent, thrilling, and hers.

Change had done what she had always known it was capable of. It had redefined her life but instead of watching that life fade away she had watched it gently take shape, mold itself into the future that seemed to beckon her closer every day. The one she and Will were working on, together.

The old-fashioned buzzer sliced through the aroma-heavy air around her, bringing her back into the present and reminding her with its dull, jarring tone that the first batch of oatmeal cookies were done.

These cookies were something Emma hadn't ever attempted to make in her adult life. She had stolen the recipe from her mother once, sneaking behind her back as a little girl, shoving with all her might so that she could climb atop the worn kitchen chair and rifle through the recipe box that now resided on the counter just to her left. She hadn't been able to read the cursive hand-writing but she had recognized the stains on the index card, having mimicked her mother as the woman had pursed her lips and re-read the ingredients she thought should have been memorized.

Her mother had of course discovered the family tradition missing and Emma had reluctantly pulled it from the box beneath her bed, explaining through tears that she had been trying to read it for weeks. That was how she came into possession of another index card, one that was written in her mother's out of practice blocky print, with capital letters where lower-cased ones should have been and vice versa. All of this was of course, before her mother had stopped cooking, a small designated section of her life she wished occupied more of the time that seemed destined to slip away, unnoticed until it was countable in years.

The card looked new, out of place amongst the older, colored-with-time recipes. That was what had made Emma decide to bake them today, for the first time. This was a first on many levels. This was the first time she was baking these cookies, the first time she would willingly eat one since the night she had dug them out of the trash after they had been delivered in a snow storm by a dedicated UPS worker, the first time she had ever attempted to make anything on her own in their new house.

Often, when they cooked, they did so together but Emma had never gone out of her way to start making a meal on her own. She always waited for Will as if taking the initiative to do something that had for so long been a sign of weakness would somehow topple everything she had accomplished.

She stared at the cookies inside the oven before dawning the mitt that had been her grandmother's, the one that had rested unused for months on end in her apartment, often called upon for a coaster for a cup of tea on an empty stomach rather than what it was actually intended for, and slowly pulled them out.

The smell instantly took her back to that night and she cursed olfaction and its prerogative to be the strongest sense tied to memory as she carefully set the tray down atop the table to let the cookies cool.

Small things about the way she interacted with food had changed without her really being conscious of it. The cookies, warm and golden, their sweet aroma filling the cozy kitchen of light pastels did not put her on edge as they once would have and she did not feel the desire to either throw them away or tear into them, content to return to dropping the batter that had remained in the mixing bowl onto a lightly greased pan.

She heard the door open before she heard his customary greeting followed by the sound of a few sturdy pats to the flank of the retriever that always knew when Will was about to walk in. In the past she would have been nervous about his finding her cooking but this evening she was excited, anxious in the most foreign, wonderful way for him to see her doing this, being normal.

Soon he had come up behind her, his stocking feet silent on the faux wood floor, his hands resting first on her waist before sliding up her forearms, pausing to work at the knots that had formed at her shoulders. She could feel his wedding band through the material of her shirt and she smiled for reasons she wasn't altogether sure of, perhaps because she was making something that had scared her for so long, perhaps because his fingers felt like magic, perhaps because instead of saying hello he kissed the back of her neck.

"Can I have one?" He whispered, against her ear, far more seductively than the moment called for and Emma shivered as goose bumps lingered where his breath had been.

"They are still hot." She countered, leaning back so that he was supporting more of her weight than she was.

A hand danced across her abdomen and she laughed at the sensation, bending over slightly at the waist in an attempt to protect her body from another onslaught of tickling.

"I don't want one of those." He clarified with a chuckle as she watched the fingers that had just brushed her skin close around an over-sized table spoon of cookie dough.

Seeing him so freely take the treat she had so often devoured in her childhood filled her with a longing that was so intense she didn't think she would be able to ignore it. And what's more, she realized with a determined movement that matched the one he had just executed, she didn't want to ignore it.

He didn't say anything about her grabbing her own piece of cookie dough, contentedly finishing off the mound in one bite before reaching for another. Emma only laughed again, finding his affinity for sweet food endearing and allowed the transgression to pass, after all the cookies were for them.

Returning her attention to her own morsel of food Emma closed her eyes as she took a bite, flooded with relief that it didn't taste sick like oatmeal did anymore. It tasted good. Better than good, it tasted like freedom.

Will assisted with the rest of the cookies, most of them ending up in his mouth before ever making it to the pan but she didn't mind as they both swayed along to the music softly playing across the radio.

"I'll be right back." He commented and disappeared almost faster than her mind could register. She did, however, register the mixing bowl that had suddenly gone missing.

"Will!" She called out, his name diluted by the smile that refused to leave her face as she stepped into the living room, dim in the evening light, her purple fuzzy socks sinking comfortably into the pale blue carpet.

For a moment she stood completely still, her head down to minimize visual input that might interfere with any sounds he might accidently make but it was the dog, or more accurately the tags on the dogs' collar that gave him away. She could tell by the distinctive clanking that Moritz had just jumped up on the bed, something he wasn't allowed to do unless given permission. Mystery solved.

With a sly grin Emma tip-toed down the long hallway Will had fallen in love with from the moment they had looked at the house. He had been a veritable ball of excitement saying that hallways such as that were perfect for practicing recall exercises and retrieves. Out of all the houses they had considered this was the only one that had a hallway and she would never tell him but it had been a deciding factor for her, aside from that she loved the color palette, light and cheery with well-positioned windows that let in just the right amount of light to read in the mornings over a cup of tea or coffee.

Twisting her body sideways she slipped through the door, determined to not touch the wood because the creak Will had yet to fix would give her away, as if the dog that now stood at the edge of the bed with his tail wagging, eyes expectantly trained on her as his face broke out into a trade-mark Moritz grin wasn't doing that already.

Will was leaning against the headboard, the mixing bowl sitting in his lap, spoon raised to his open mouth but she could tell he had simply been sitting that way until she had walked in.

"Hey!" Emma crossed the medium-sized room as quickly as she could, crawling onto the king-sized bed and over to Will, only stopping when her face was inches from his.

"Problems?" He questioned, feigning innocence as he smirked and finished off a bite of cookie dough.

Emma sat back, a plan forming in her mind and she laughed to herself as she slowly began to remove her shirt, sliding her hands across her stomach as she did so. As she had anticipated Will paused with another bite almost to his mouth, his eyes boring into her, studying her, admiring her as she pulled the shirt over her shoulders.

Leaning forward she planted a few kisses along his jaw line, biding her time until his grip on the bowl relaxed and his other hand came to rest softly on the small of her back. Grinning against his chin Emma snatched the bowl and clamored off of him, running out the door and down the hall before he could even register what had happened.

"That wasn't fair." His arms snaked around her torso, pulling her against him as he kissed the top of her shoulder while she unsuccessfully attempted to place cookie dough balls on the pan.

Emma only smirked to herself, struggling to break free of his grip, her strength sapped by the laughter that she seemed to be so full of tonight.

"Go sit down." She attempted to command, surprised when he sighed and obeyed, pulling up a chair at the same table that had been in her apartment.

Mutual agreement on both their parts had ended up with them choosing her wooden table over his garage sale special that now resided in their garage, serving as a work bench of sorts, an interesting juxtaposition considering Will's talents, or lack thereof, in that area.

"I could get used to this." Will's voice trickled into her ear from across the room and she turned to find him appraising her appreciatively with a grin. That's when she realized she had neglected to put a shirt on when she had darted out of the bedroom and as it was, was baking cookies in blue jeans and a robin egg blue, lacey bra with her hair, that she had slowly been growing out and wearing down more often than not, hanging just past her shoulders.

Will's POV

Will only stuck his tongue out in response to Emma's eye roll, a childish gesture he couldn't help but partake in as he marveled not so much at the fact that Emma was cooking sans shirt but that she had started the entire process without him.

He hadn't realized at the time just how run-down the disorder had left her as she had flitted along from day to day spurred on by her body's attempt at driving her to find food. Now as he had watched her run from the bedroom after stealing back the mixing bowl he found himself once again contemplating the changes in her he never would have expected.

She was still energetic but it was a different energy, less frenzied and chaotic and more youthful, vibrant and infectious. Her smiles were genuine, not drudged up from some dreary place and her eyes seemed to shine.

Over time she had become more involved in some of the after school programs, occasionally helping out with Glee club rehearsals if he needed a dancing partner for a demonstration. That was how he had learned of the trip to Godfather's the night before their first date, when her mother had spontaneously showed up and Emma had waived off the woman's fears about her weight by saying she had been dancing with him in rehearsals. Sometimes that got him to wondering just how many little white lies she had told in the interest of keeping her secret, and how many he had been involved in, and more so, how many he might not know about. He realized it didn't matter, not really, but it was still one of those things he thought about now and again. Emma was such a trusting person by nature. If anyone needed evidence of how an eating disorder could turn someone into a constructor of elaborate lies and manipulations they needed to look no further than her.

A couple months ago she had spoke with Figgins about starting an eating disorder support group at McKinley. At first the older man had balked saying that no one would join even if it was available but after Sue had stepped in, backing Emma up and offering to help run the group, he had given in.

It was held the same time as Glee and to be fair to his own students he had as nonchalantly as possible mentioned that if anyone felt like they wanted to attend one of the meetings, even if it was just to see what it was about or to support a friend, they were more than welcome to miss rehearsal if they talked to him first to let him know why they were gone. He felt a little bad, asking them to give a reason and disclose something that was by its nature, very secretive but he was hedging a bet that if they were willing to go to the group they would be able to speak with him especially because all of his kids knew about what he had gone through with Emma and that he would understand. Even the couple new members had to have some idea he was sure, it was a small school after all.

They had been hard words to say, as he had sat there staring at them, trying not to interpret their reactions as he fervently hoped none of them would or were going through what Emma had. No one had objected, not even Rachel but at the next rehearsal everyone was there, filling him with a sense of relief he hadn't experienced in a long time. In the back of his mind he wondered if someone wouldn't be afraid to go, afraid the other members would know why they weren't there but there was only so much he could do, and he had offered, shown support. Emma and Sue had taught him how important that was.

That first meeting he had ended rehearsal a few minutes early, mindlessly shuffling music until everyone left, creeping down the hall to see how Emma's group was going. When he had peeked through the small window he was glad the only person facing him had been Emma. Her eyes had flickered in his direction but her face gave nothing away as she continued speaking. He couldn't hear what she was saying but at that moment he hadn't wanted to, content to simply observe. Sitting in front of Emma, all listening with rapt attention were eleven students, some incoming freshman he had glimpsed in the halls, and one boy that had staked out a corner desk in his Spanish classroom away from the others, rarely interacting with those around him except to repeat verbs and pass along papers. Will had felt his heart leap into his throat when he had caught sight of the young man, sitting there in the back row appearing as though he wanted nothing more than to fold in on himself yet hanging on his wife's every word.

As he had stepped out the double doors and made his way across the parking lot towards the sidewalk he had allowed the slightly chilled air to carry him back to the day he had walked Emma through the halls with his messenger bag covering her leg, when he had wondered if anyone else was going through what she was and decided it was probably inevitable someone wasn't. When he had silently begged for whomever it was to just confide in someone and felt sick for their families and what they might eventually have to endure at the mercy of such an unforgiving illness. The outsider's perspective that the sufferer could never truly comprehend, the pointed angle to a side of things they would never see until they were unfortunate enough to witness it for themselves. The slow self-destruction of the person they loved as they, powerless to truly intervene, stood by.

He didn't know what any of them had or didn't have, whether they were caught in the clutches of a full blown-disorder or the relentless spiral of disordered eating. A couple had looked pretty skinny but experience had taught him that was a poor indicator. The amount of people he had glimpsed crammed into that small room had been astonishing, sobering, sad, and so tragically real.

When Emma had suggested the idea one night as they had watched a re-run of Glee he had been supportive but had secretly, naively, he now realized, wondered just how many would show up. After one meeting she had a cluster of young people roughly the size of his show choir. He had thought about them the whole way home, about what they were going through, what they might go through and he distinctly remembered asking no one in particular as he had trudged home to please let Emma get through to them, or some, or even just one, someone.

The smell of the cookies grew in intensity, invading his senses strong enough that it drew him out of this thoughts and he looked up with a smile as Emma delicately set one on the plate in front of him.

"Do you want some milk?" He asked quickly, halfway to the fridge by the time the question was completed. He stood at the door, leaning against it slightly, balancing the gallon carton on his index finger, waiting patiently, unassumingly, for her answer.

Dairy products had slowly transitioned from absolutely unacceptable to tolerable and finally slid into the realm of things she would have in moderation. She never went crazy but occasionally she would have a glass of milk when he did. Milk and cookies were a childhood tradition to him and it didn't seem right, his mother would have told him, to not offer if he was getting some for himself.

There was only a moment's hesitation and no real distress that he could discern crossed her features before she nodded with a lopsided grin he was certain she had picked up from him. Grabbing a couple glasses, he poured unequal amounts on purpose knowing she wouldn't want much and promptly took a bite of his cookie.

"These are amazing Em." He commented around a mouthful of cookie before taking a swig of milk.

And they were amazing, because of everything they represented.

These were the cookies that had shown him the depth of the eating disorder at the start of their relationship, the childhood tradition she had shared with her mother, and it was the first thing she had chosen to bake on her own.

Emma blushed, her eyes darting down to her lap as she needlessly straightened her pants and he noticed that somewhere while he had been lost in thought she must have snagged one of his shirts from somewhere. It looked adorable on her, an old shirt from his college days that hung loosely around her body but not in a way that bespoke of her being too thin. It fit her in the way he had grown to love; the way a man's shirt fits a woman. The way his shirt fit her, the way their lives seemed to meld effortlessly together.

There had been small things, adjustments that both of them had been obligated to make or learn to tolerate in the other. Small issues that had been overlooked at the apartment became a very minor point of debate, usually a debate that ended in some form of banter. She had given him a demonstration one night about squeezing the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube. At the apartment he had always had his own and she had let it slide. These little things, her tendency to want to do dishes directly after a meal, they were acceptable, they were manageable and honestly Will contributed their willingness to compromise and work out the little things that drove most newlyweds insane to the emotional turmoil that had been the majority of their relationship. It helped to put things into perspective, having gone through something like that.

Certain things about her he doubted would ever change. She still got herself worked up over things that he would never think twice about and she continued to worry about the opinion of other's but it wasn't as severe and they hadn't used the tranquilizers since he wasn't sure when.

There had been a panic attack, once. The result of her father calling one night to check up on her in a conversation that had quickly turned south and although Will was certain Dave hadn't meant to offend his daughter, mentioning that he was surprised she had eaten ice cream at the annual school Ice Cream Social hadn't been the wisest of declarations. Emma had managed to calm herself down but it had taken a while, nowhere near the hour-long episodes he had seen her go through, but still longer than it would have taken the average person.

"Did you hear that Idina is coming back to Glee?" Emma fixed her eyes upon his and he couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. He hadn't realized just how much the Broadway star meant to his wife until he had discovered that Emma had somewhat religiously kept tabs on her since her stint in Wicked.

Taking another bite, and finishing the cookie Will shook his head. "I don't read those spoilers like someone around here does." He teased, mocking her and her obsession with the show that had grown on him over time.

"I didn't go searching for it." Emma defended, her hands flying up in the cute manner he had come to equate with her when she was speaking passionately. "She tweeted." She giggled now, knowing that he would roll his eyes at the source and he did, for her, so she would laugh again.

It was liberating, to watch her take another cookie before he had even reached for one himself, knowing that he wouldn't have to convince her it was okay or console her afterwards. Every once in a while a meal, not a snack but a full meal, would get to her and she would get restless. They had developed a sort of code for these times and she would ask if they would go for a walk, which loosely translated meant that she wasn't feeling comfortable with herself and the food she had just eaten. Once in a while he would pick up on the signs and he would suggest the walk, either way the dog probably didn't mind.

For the most part he no longer feared that she would try to throw up anything she ate even if she was feeling bad but he would be lying if he could say he had banished the idea completely. Most of the time she never used the bathroom directly after a meal and he suspected this was as much for her sanity as his. Ever since she had been taken off the Ensure she had been doing wonderfully with eating regularly and he hadn't caught her restricting since they had lived at the apartment. She would balk at certain foods, and he figured she always might and occasionally she engaged in some moral licensing but when he listened to the other women around him it was all he heard. Talk of how they could eat the brownie if they ran that night or walked more or that they could justify a candy bar because they had been 'good' with their diet all day. In truth it was talk he had never really paid attention to. He paid attention to it now and he could only imagine what it was like for Emma to hear.

"I have something for you."

Will glanced up, momentarily silenced by the child-like exuberance in her eyes, the unbridled excitement that it was still so rare for her to show given the way she had grown up.

Two pieces of paper appeared just to the left of his plate, the typing small enough he had to lean forward and squint to make it out.

William Schuester

HP084858/01

Imzadi's And Who Can Say What We Are? (D)

Retriever, Chesapeake Bay, Open Dog

This entry acknowledgment will admit two exhibitors to Central Ohio Kennel Club Inc.

Beneath the sentence he had long ago given up on seeing anywhere near his name was a date for a show in Columbus a couple months away. The show he had been toying with entering Moritz in since he had stumbled across it on the Onofrio website. He hadn't been aware Emma had known anything about it.

"I-I don't know what to say." Will replied honestly, reaching across the table to grab her hand. "Thank you."

"Say we are going to the dog show." She offered, intertwining her fingers with his while biting her bottom lip gently, the way she did when she was nervous or excited, or both.

Will's mouth opened but all that came out was a combination between a surprised gasp and a small laugh. "Of course we are going! Any chance I can talk you into showing one day?" He pressed, taking advantage of the form admitting two exhibitors.

"I don't know Will. This is your thing." She backtracked, keeping her hand in his but stiffening slightly. "I'll be your support group."

"I'll change your mind." He joked in half seriousness, really wanting Emma to try showing but not willing to force her into it. "Speaking of support groups, how is yours going?"

He watched as a few emotions played across her face as she stood to clear the table, as predicted washing the plates and glasses immediately before sitting back down. She grabbed him by the elbow then, pulling him into the living room and down onto the couch.

"It's going well. I'm worried about the boy, Scott. He talks but not a lot. Actually he has stayed after sometimes to talk with me when no one else is around. I swear Will it's like someone recorded my every word and thought when I was so sick and he memorized them. It's like listening to myself and sometimes all I can think about it is, 'oh my god did I really sound like that?"

She shifted, snuggling closer against him and he wrapped his arms around her torso sliding down so that she was on top of him. He didn't know how to ask what he wanted to without coming off as insensitive or paranoid and maybe he was a little bit of the latter.

"You're doing okay right? Hearing these things, I mean I don't know what you guys talk about but it's not…triggering is it?" He held his breath, volleying between wanting her to be outraged that he would ask so that he would know how ridiculous his fear was and wanting her to reveal, that yes, it was difficult, if that was really the case.

"I'm okay for right now. I've talked to Sue and she has agreed to take over if it ever comes to that but I don't think that will happen. I feel like I'm in a really good place. I still have bad days, days were I feel huge and frustrated but there aren't as many and that has to count for something." Emma sighed, a heavy sigh but not one that was weighted with the burden of a heavy topic, more of a relieving sigh that he could feel just as easily as hear.

"I trust you, you know." He added for reasons he wasn't really sure of, simply wanting to reassure her that he too felt she was in a good place.

"I know." Emma turned in his arms, bringing her mouth to his for a tender kiss that held no expectations of becoming anything more than what it was.

"Are you excited for the show?" She asked, pulling away, regarding him with a barely contained smile.

"I am but we have a lot of work to do. Are you excited?" He tossed the question back, remembering their last show, how it hadn't been so bad until the confrontation the lady at the food stand.

"I'm excited for you." She replied honestly, pulling him in for another kiss and this time he made the first move, picking her up and carrying her bridal style to the bedroom where he was careful to support his weight as he crawled over her, moving his lips down her neck, reaching for the hem of his old shirt and purposefully turning his caress into a tickling match that earned him a shocked squeal paired with a half-hearted protest and a feather-light punch to the stomach.

"I told you that wasn't fair earlier." He grinned, reluctantly crawling off of the bed and heading towards the living room with a smirk knowing that at any moment she would come up behind him, wrap her arms around his neck and jump up onto his back, laughing in his ear while he carried her back to the bedroom to finish what they had started.

When her arms nearly choked him and her laughter rang through the air he couldn't stop his smile and the sensation that he was falling in love with her all over again, the real her, the one that had been denied to him for so long, the woman that he had always known was there somewhere, waiting.

A/N: Again, thank you to those of you who are continuing to read. I know everyone says it (but that means it's true) but reviews make my day!

Another thank you for the absolutely lovely reviews at the end of part one. I was touched, really. Thank you.

If you are a linguist, or studying linguistics, please know I only had one class so I could be wrong in my title. Kindly...don't tell me! Ignorance is bliss.