This is just a random story I cooked up (heehee…...ratatouille pun) inside my head. The second chapter will be up soon, but I wanted to see how this one went first. REVIEW PLEASE!!

Disc: I do not own "Ratatouille" or any other characters I use here, except the ones in the background or something that didn't appear in the movie. (These are probably going to appear in later chapters.) "Ratatouille" is the property of Disney/Pixar.


"Hey, Dad, you seen Remy?" Emile poked his father, who was in a conversation with some of the other rat elders of the clan, on the arm.

"He's probably in the kitchen, Emile," Django answered his oldest son without even turning around. "So then I told him 'it isn't stealing if nobody wants it…."

Emile wondered why he hadn't thought of looking in the kitchen, and then went through the little rat café above the bistro La Ratatouille in search of his brother. He wanted to see if Remy wanted to sneak into a movie later—Paris had the best entertainment, as well as the best food (courtesy of his little bro), and he and Remy would occasionally slip through a crack in the wall in one of the theatres and sit quietly in the dark, watching whatever movie was playing.

Emile ran onto Remy's pulley-thing that lowered him into the kitchen during the lunch and dinner rushes. It was a lot more difficult to work than Remy made it look, especially for Emile because he could barely fit. The pulley ended up falling way too fast and Emile fell out, rather ungracefully, onto the counter.

A woman with short, dark hair who was chopping veggies at a counter opposite looked up expectantly and rather angrily.

"Mon Chef?" she asked. She saw it was only Emile, then lowered her gaze to the veggies again. "Sorry, I thought it was….nevermind."

"Does that mean Remy's not here?" Emile asked, forgetting that all the human could hear was a series of high-pitched squeaks.

Before Colette could attempt to discern the squeaks, a lanky boy with red hair burst through the doors that led to the dining area of La Ratatouille on skates. After the initial success of that night at Gusteau's, Linguini had been serving customers on roller skates to make the "dining experience" more interesting. That, and it was fun. Roller skating was one of the few things Linguini didn't feel clumsy doing.

"Hey, is Lil' Chef back yet?" he asked Colette as he picked up some menus from a table, hit his elbow, and dropped the menus on the floor.

"Non, Cheri," she said exasperatingly. "I don't know where he is. He is, however, supposed to be…"-she chopped a whole ball of cabbage in half here with a rather large knife- "…here during the lunch rush." She started furiously cutting half the cabbage into smaller pieces.

Linguini, who had recovered the menus from the floor and was now nursing his hurt elbow, said, "You know, it's not like Lil' Chef to not be here. I mean, it's not like he doesn't like his job—he loves it—well, obviously we know that or else he'd just be living like a normal rat right now—not to say he isn't a normal rat, it's just most rats don't like to cook, and he does, so I guess in theory that makes him a non-normal rat who would never—"

He stopped at the sight of Colette giving him the eye, which was when he knew he had screwed up another sentence, was getting off the point, and that Lil' Chef was in big trouble when he came back.

"Um…I've got to get these menus to Table 3….?" It came out sounding more like a question and he bolted as fast as he could from the kitchen on his roller skates.

Colette let out an exasperated sigh. Turning back to her vegetables, she skillfully pushed the smaller bits of cabbage she'd cut into a pot of boiling soup with her knife, then started glaring at Emile. She still had the large knife in her hand and looked quite angry, which did not make this a very pleasant conversation for Emile.

"You are Mon Chef's brother, non?"

Emile nodded, still eyeing the knife she was holding and tapping against the wooden cutting board in frustration.

"When you find him, tell him to come straight here, and that I would like to have a word with him," she said as she swept the rest of the cabbage into the pot of boiling soup without taking her eyes off Emile.

Emile just nodded and tried to operate the pulley to get back up to the rat café as soon as he possibly could.

Once back up, he breathed a sigh of relief. "I don't know how Remy handles it," he thought to himself as he went back to the table where his dad was still conversing with several other rats.

"Hey Dad", he poked his father's arm again. When his dad tried to pretend he hadn't heard him, he just poked harder.

"Hold on—" Django turned and looked at Emile. "What do you want, Emile? If you're hungry, have Remy cook you something—"

"Remy's not in the kitchen."

Django raised his eyebrow. "Well that's strange. He never misses work if he can help it." He chuckled and turned back to the group and started a brand-new story. "Once Remy fell in the Seine River while he was out grocery shopping with whatshisname—Parcheesy?—and caught a cold. A pretty nasty one, at that. Parcheesy—"

"Linguini", Emile coughed.

"—Linguini wouldn't let him out of the apartment for days. It killed Remy. He kept trying to sneak out to get to the restaurant until Linguini finally had to tell him he couldn't cook for people if he was sick, anyway. Health Code or something. Not that we usually pay too much attention to that, of course." Here the entire group of rats burst out laughing. Probably because if you didn't laugh at something Django meant to be funny, it was a disaster. Remy and Emile learned that first-hand.

"Dad, that's exactly my point—if Remy's not in the kitchen, his favorite place in the world, then where is he?"

Django shrugged. "I wouldn't be too worried, Emile. Remy knows this city like the back of his hand."

"You don't think that the fact he knows the city like the back of his hand and isn't here during his favorite time of day means he's fine?"

Django's expression changed from one of slight annoyance to one with a small amount of worry on his face. He had to admit he couldn't argue with Emile's logic.

"Just give your brother some time, Emile. He'll turn up."

Emile wasn't totally convinced, but he knew it was too early to really get concerned.