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Chapter Text

For all that he tried to make himself discreet, Alfredo didn't really think that it mattered if he jumped up and down with a set of crash cymbals. Little Chef was just having one of those nights.

Despite the fact that he was a rat, no one could deny that his friend was also an artist- and a talented one at that. From where Alfredo lingered in the doorway to the kitchenette of his small apartment (much better value than the one he'd first had upon coming to Paris but more practical and homey than the one he'd gotten after inheriting Gusteau's) he was less than a blip on the radar for their Little Chef, who was completely and totally consumed in the making of dinner.

Alfredo never got tired of watching him work, from that very first night in the kitchen when the rat had been almost dancing around the pot of soup that he'd been in the middle of ruining, it was an incredible sight. Not just because a rat was cooking, but because an artist was at work.

Little Chef rarely indulged the way he did that first night, he was far more practical and cooked to get a dish made, but, on occasion, he fell back into the old rapture of what Alfredo was willing to bet was his first time with full control over a human dish. But just now, as he prepared the filet mignon for Alfredo's and Collete's movie night, he was having, well, fun with it. His hips swayed as he battered the fish and he almost melted into the spices as he rifled through the stalks of freshly dried herbs he handpicked. Nothing he did was planned but it was all calculated, all purposeful, and his confidence and passion were evident in every movement down to the twitch of a whisker. Alfredo was just as entranced watching him work as Little Chef was in the food itself.

But where Little Chef probably wouldn't notice if the building caught on fire, Alfredo startled from his spectating at a hard rap to the door.

"Coming!" he called down the short hall and he threw himself in front of the mirror, tugging at his clothes and fluffing his hair in a way that hopefully wouldn't look quite so rumpled (as every part of him was). The knock came again, a little more insistent and he stopped with his fussing, gave his reflection one hard look in the mirror, and said "Don't be weird. She doesn't like it when you're weird."

It didn't usually work but he always tried.

Just as he was about to open the door, the lock clicked and Collette stepped into the apartment, motorcycle helmet under one arm and key ring around her finger.

"I do not understand why you give me a key and then ask me to knock." She scolded, but her smile was teasing and her tone lacked the usual bite of her anger. "Especially when you are always late to open it!"

"Haha… sorry." he chuckles, sheepish, and takes her coat as she shrugs out of it. "Little Chef is having a good time with dinner tonight so I was watching."

"Oh? Merci, is he still? He doesn't do it much at the restaurant anymore."

"I think so, in the kitch- yeah." he cut himself off as Collette brushed past him. He offered a fond smile at her back. He loved how she was always so confident and certain of herself, they were qualities he wished he had himself.

She too kept to the doorway of the kitchen, not crossing into the threshold of the Little Chef's workspace for all that she was a welcome guest. Alfredo had seen it the other way around as well, when Collette was in a particular mood Little Chef wouldn't cross the invisible barriers within the kitchen, allowing her the space she needed to create. It was a mutually understood respect between chefs, when one could cross certain lines but not others. Alfredo himself just tried not to get in the way.

He came up behind her, intending to put his arm around her but ended up hesitating for too long. She reached back and took his hand, pulling him around her like a blanket and leaning her head back against his shoulder.

He never knew where the line was with physical intimacy either, so it was typically better to let Collette make the initial moves to show him the ropes. With permission granted he leaned his chin down over her head and soaked up the warmth of her presence.

Little Chef didn't offer either of them so much as a glance, focused entirely on the meal he was preparing.

"Collette…" he started and she hummed to encourage him just as he was beginning to regret saying anything. "Where do you think… he came from?" he rubbed his thumb against her hand in his and breathed in the smell of her hair. "Just, they aren't all like him. Most of them are just rats. Civilized rats but, and I don't mean that they aren't fine, I don't know, they're just, and he's-!" as he started to get flustered Collette turned in his arms and pressed a kiss into his jaw, cutting him off.

"Our Little chef is just a special case, Oui?" she smiled. "Of course they aren't all like him, he has a special talent. Like Gusteau. Not all humans are like you or me either, cheri." he gave her a dopey smile, hand pressed to where she'd kissed him and she laughed. "He is just what he is, non? No need to think about it more than that. Now, let's set the table before the food is done so it doesn't go cold." She slipped from his arms and into the kitchen, moving brusquely across the floor to the cupboard and moving back out of the space in a matter of seconds.

Alfredo followed her into the dining room, a table for three with only two chairs, right beside the window looking out over the city. Collette handed him the napkins to fold while she set out the plates and silverware but he just stared out the window, worrying the fabric in his hands. His mind circulating that idea of where Little Chef had come from, what he felt, what he'd seen. They didn't know very much about him, after all. Even now Alfredo didn't know where he went on his off hours or what he liked to do beyond food. And how was he supposed to? He was a rat! How were they supposed to communicate? Any better than they did already, anyhow- and that was already impressive. Seeing as… yeah.

"Alfredo," Collette said and he snapped his attention back to her. She glared at the unfolded napkins unimpressed. He shrugged and flapped one of them loose, folding it up and handing it to her to place. Her gaze softened as she took it from him, noticing that he was really thinking about it. "Why is this bothering you all of a sudden?"

"I guess… it always has, a little." He sighs. "Because of Little Chef… I have a life now. I was, a mess, Collette, when I first got that job at Gusteau's. I still am!" He snorts and hands her the next napkin. "It's because of him that I know who my father was, that I have my entire inheritance, that we have La Ratatouille, that I have… you. Everything." He sighed again.

Collette lifted his chin up with a finger and raised an eyebrow at his somber look. Then she took the last napkin from his hand, snapped it open, and folded it the way Little Chef liked his place set.

"Listen, Alfredo. You remember what Ego wrote about the meal he had from us that night?"

"Yeah, I -"

"He wrote, 'It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau's,'. He meant that only because Little Chef is a rat but it must be true, non? It was not an easy journey for him to get to the kitchen, just as it was not easy for me, but it was important to him and so here we are!" She braced her hands on the table, making sure she had his attention. "Remembering that, what food and cooking mean to Little Chef, shows that you know him plenty well. Recognize his hardship for what it must have been and know that you see as much of him as needs to be seen for you two to be partners as you are." She smiled. "And as for you, you would have done fine on your own. Perhaps it would have taken a little longer but Alfredo- whatever else Little Chef helped you get- I did not choose you because of the rat under your toque."

Alfredo blinked and then smiled back. It was nice to hear, even if he knew it was not entirely true. And, of course, he knew better than to argue with her.

By the set of her lips, she knew that he didn't quite buy it but she seemed to decide it wasn't worth pursuing when a bell in the kitchen dinged- the sign that Little Chef needed a size advantage with some menial task. Probably maneuvering the frying pan into the oven if Alfredo had noticed the right step from the recipe (which Little Chef had admittedly deviated from promptly and without remorse).

"Try not to let it bother you, cheri." She patted his hand and swept off into the kitchen to handle whatever had come up.

Alfredo glanced out the window again, looking not at the city but at the sky above it, star-speckled and gleaming like velvet.

"I just wish that I could understand him better." He mumbles. He notices that the apartment is starting to get a bit stuffy with the heat of the oven and flips the latch to let the window swing open. "We've shared so much… I wish we could understand each other a little better."

Alfredo is not a superstitious man. Religious, yes, aware of possible impossibilities, yes (he has a rat for a best friend), but not superstitious. So he doesn't miss the way the whole sky seems to brighten, doesn't miss the extra twinkle in the night sky as he looks out into the heavens. But it is not of granted wishes that he thinks, it's of blessings from his mother and the approval of his heartfelt intentions by some higher power. A wink from someone who understands how he feels.

He turns away, feeling reassured and comforted. Confident that at least he is right to want to know more.

Unaware that he's just wished upon all their heads a night of discoveries.

Chapter Text

Sit down, let me tell you a story

Movie nights are one of those human habits that Remy has come to enjoy very much.

He may not be an official addition to Linguini's and Colette's weekly practice, largely ignored for the duration of the film as the two of them settle from dinner and cuddle up as lovers tend to do, but he enjoys being there all the same. On a night like tonight, he'll probably fall asleep before it gets too far along, warm and satisfied as he is from the work done with the filet mignon. It's not the movie that incurs his enjoyment, (though on occasion they are very interesting) it's the quiet happiness that permeates the room and reminds him of when he was young living with the colony without any idea of how different he was.

He wouldn't give up where he was or what he did for the world, but it was nice to feel like it was a simpler time, without actually being back then.

Alfredo and Colette stand side by side in the kitchen, doing the dishes, as per usual on nights where he cooks. (Sometimes Colette provides the meal, and he never minds repaying the favor of washing up. While he has the nose for cooking she has the experience. He is often happier eating her version of a dish than he might be with his own). Remy takes the opportunity to stake out his part of the couch. Seeing as how Linguini is just as prone to falling asleep during movie nights as Remy himself, making camp on the cushions is dangerous- so he carries his scrap of blanket to the arm of the sofa and arranges it around himself in something reminiscent of a nest. It's warm and he settles into it just as the pair come out of the kitchen, leaning on each other just a little and laughing about something they'd each said. Remy smiles and watches them collect themselves on the sofa, finding the remote, throwing their own blanket around their shoulders, and fitting into one another as they sit- like puzzle pieces that don't fit anywhere else in the picture but with each other.

"Thanks for dinner, Little Chef." Linguini says, already yawning. He offers Remy his finger, their personal gesture, and Remy puts his paws on it and nods at him in understanding.

Linguini's sleepy, content grin is not a rare one, but he is fond of seeing it all the same.

Nights at La Ratatouille always run late and so it is only on Sundays, their one day off, that any of them can afford the time for this sort of indulgence. They are all tired, regardless and Remy decides, as Linguini clicks the screen on and a trumpeting french anthem begins to play, that this is one of those nights that he's just going to miss out on. No hard feelings though. The room is already thick with that coziness he loves about movie nights. It's easy to begin drifting off, the movie playing in the background, even as Colette and Linguini begin to argue softly.

"Weren't we going to watch Cyrano de Bergerac?" Colette asks. "What channel is this?"

"It's the right one." Linguini replies, puzzled, and the remote clicks a few times, the light from the television set blinking through a few different channels. But the voice goes on.

"The rest of the world denies this truth," Click. "that of all the cuisine in that world," Click. "France has the best. And within France, to find the best food," Click. "One must go to Paris. And from there the only place to go," Click. "As we all know," Click. "Is to the gourmet kitchen of Chef Auguste Gusteau."

"Gusteau?" all three of them say, Remy perking up out of the makeshift nest and Colette and Linguini both leaning forward in their seats.

"It must be an outdated documentary or something…" Linguini says but Colette shakes her head.

"I know all of the films that spoke of Chef Gusteau."

"You could have… missed one?"

"He was my mentor, I would not have missed one that spoke of him so highly."

Remy watched the screen with trepidation. Something strange was going on here, he could tell. As the announcer waxed on about his late role model he crept out of his nest and jumped down onto the cushions, moving closer to the screen.

"Look, it's Ego too." Linguini pointed as the ex-critic came onto the screen.

"The title is most misleading," He said, adjusting his glasses. "Anyone Can Cook. As a gourmet chef, Gusteau should know better. And yet he, and so much of the world, has come to believe that impossible phrase." Remy couldn't help but smile, knowing that now Ego was much happier, and a believer in that very motto.

"Now that I recognize." Colette wrinkled her nose. "That interview was what started all of it, back then. What a mess."

The film, having continued as they spoke, faded into black. Linguini took the opportunity to flip a few more channels, but the screen remained blank until, in elegant script-

Walt Disney Pictures Presents

Linguini groaned quietly as channel after channel flipped by with only those words showing.

"No matter where I go this is all that's playing. The set must be broken."

"It's fine, cheri. It is about food, and Gusteau, surely that will be of interest to all of us, non?"

"I guess." Linguini slumped back into the seat and Colette wasted no time in leaning back against him. The screen kept rolling.

A Pixar Animation Studios Film

Remy was more than a little suspicious by now. And that feeling only increased as the picture returned, a house in the countryside that seemed familiar somehow, though he couldn't quite detect where he knew it from…

The picture clarified, coming into focus and zooming in closer, and something was tickling his memory, for sure. A blast sounded and one of the windows lit up with a flash. Shortly after that, a wail. Colette and Linguini both seemed confused but relaxed but Remy was starting to feel flat out anxious.

It was almost a good thing that the next string of text appeared on the screen, it validated his worry.

Ratatouille

Just a single word, but a trigger word if there ever was one when used in the presence of these three- especially with all these strange goings-on. "Huh?" Linguini jerked upwards again.

"What is going on?" Colette hissed, at attention as well.

Remy could feel the anxiety coiling into his gut, and the realization of what was going on, what couldn't be going on but what was, came quick and hard as, the closer the picture got to including only the window, the more certain he was of why all of this was causing such unease.

Very suddenly, a crash, the window on screen broke, and there he was, Remy, frozen in the frame, with Gusteau's cookbook held over his head, leaping out into the yard. Colette stood up with a gasp and Linguini's jaw worked soundlessly. And then, as if things couldn't get any stranger. His voice?

"Ahaha... yeah." A voice, a little amused, a little resigned, and a lot sarcastic, rang out from the television set and Remy flinched. "That would be me." Remy jumped off of the couch cushion and onto the floor, scampering over to the base of the TV and bracing himself against it, sniffing at the picture, panicked with confusion, even as the film, his voice, continued to play. "In case you couldn't tell I'm in an… unfortunate situation."

With a snap, the screen went dark and Remy jumped back, startled. He turned back to the humans who stared at him in return, equal astonishment on their faces. Linguini still sat on the couch, the remote in his hand, outstretched towards the television from where he'd shut it off, not knowing what else to do when faced with impossibility.

"What… was that?" He asked, voice high pitched and uncertain. Remy sat back on his haunches and shook his head.

"I… don't know." He said, mostly to himself, but including hand gestures for the human's benefit. "I've never, I don't… How could anyone have-?" He threw up his hands and rubbed at the bases of his ears, where tension tended to gather when he got stressed. "I don't understand…"

"Little Chef," Colette interrupted, tone business-like and leaving no room for argument. "Was that or was that not you?"

How to explain?

"It was me in the picture," He gestured vaguely, trying to communicate. "And it was my voice. But I never said those things! And when that happened, well, I think I would have remembered someone filming me." He rubbed a little harder at his ears.

"It is you, then?" Linguini asked, sounding stricken. "You don't remember it happening but it's you?"

"No, no," Colette interrupted. "This happened, but he does not know how it could have gotten onto our screen." Remy shot her a thumbs up to support her theory but she did not seem at all reassured of her understanding. "Something very strange is going on here." She mused. "But... I'm not so sure it's a bad thing."

"Not a bad thing?" Remy exclaimed, "How is this not a bad thing? I don't exactly like my life story being broadcast-"

"Little Chef," Colette interrupted. "I am sure this must seem strange to you, I agree it is off-putting but is there really such a problem with it? Aside from the methods through which the footage was obtained, that is. And for whatever reason, it doesn't seem as though we will be able to avoid it except by not watching anything at all tonight."

"And we could do that!" Linguini jumped in, "If that's what you want we won't watch it, honest! But…" he paused, fiddling with the remote. "That's… you, right? That's what your voice sounds like to other rats?"

Remy nodded.

"I've never heard it before." Linguini explains, "And I don't know anything about, you! This is the only chance that I, we, could have to learn more about you. I don't want to miss that chance... if you're okay with it."

Remy stared at them both for a second, uncertain if he could believe his ears. They wanted to watch… him? Him doing all of that silly kid stuff from before he even knew anything about cooking? Just him, like every other rat, digging through the trash? He was ashamed of his life then, for all that he'd been living in ignorance. He didn't want them to see it!

But… Linguini's eyes were earnest and pleading. He didn't see it that way. He saw it as some sort of bridge between them, which, in a way, it was. They could understand his words in this, somehow. Whatever he said, they'd understand, no charades required. And even if he couldn't control what he said… him on the screen wouldn't say anything that he wouldn't say himself, right?

It wasn't going to be the most glamorous view of him, but if Linguini wanted so badly to see his life before Gusteau's, then maybe it was an opportunity that he could afford him, just once. And Linguini was right on that count as well. When else would they be able to communicate this story? It was, wow, almost two years ago now that he'd left that cottage.

Everything that happened there was an article of the past. Linguini and Colette both knew he was different from every other rat now, no matter his origins.

"Fine, go ahead." He waved his paw at them, turning back to the TV. "If you want to see it, just… don't judge me."

Linguini looked once more at Colette who nodded her assent and the picture flickered back to life at the press of a button. Despite it running on a public channel, the film didn't seem to have run any further, stopping when they had and, now, when they'd tuned back in, continuing as though nothing had happened.

"What kind of a situation?" His voice said, wry with the understanding of that particular fact. "Ha, good question. Right from the get-go there's my species. Rat." The picture changed to show a silhouette of a stereotypical rat, claws bared, eyes red, fur mangled. Remy cringed at the image- and though he didn't notice, Colette and Linguini did as well, both looking vaguely angry.

"It's not a problem that you're a rat, Little Chef." Linguini said, speaking over screen-Remy's voice as he continued. "In case you didn't know, being a rat isn't easy. It's tough. Finding food, finding shelter, finding anything you could possibly want. Rats have got it the worst. I mean, look at this! We're all so eager to eat garbage, cause that's all we can get to. I hate it." Across the screen a horde of rats scampered across the ground towards a compost heap, leaping into the garbage without hesitation. Remy shrugged back at Linguini, because, well it sort of was a problem. It had been a problem all his life, for all that he hadn't realized it until about where the film had started up. "Really-" Linguini insisted but Colette hushed him.

"If my species weren't bad enough, I don't fit in with them either. And the thing that makes me stick out there- my senses for flavors and scents- is what spawns the rest of my life's struggles." Remy was on screen again, and his voice no longer spoke over the scene playing, it was just him saying things that he had said once. He remembered saying them- "Gotta be flour, that cream texture would be duck eggs- not chicken-, sugar, of course, mhmm, hint of vanilla extract, and is that…"oconut?" Colette snorted and Remy glanced back to glare at her.

"Sorry, Little Chef." She grinned, "But it strikes me as funny that at one point you deduced that there was flour in a cake. Your highly developed senses serve you better in our kitchen than in that garbage heap." And, while she was teasing, Remy could see what she meant. The sly way that she'd included she was glad he was with them, and the light humor she'd applied to all of this... It showed that it was not embarrassing in the way that he felt it was. She would treat it as nothing more than a laugh, the way one might snicker at baby pictures. Remy appreciated that more than she could know but he offered her a hesitant smile and nod to try and convey what it meant to him.

"Even among rats, you have a better sense of smell?" Linguini asked, and Remy nodded. On-screen Emile erupted from the center of the cake, deterring Remy from venturing any further in his investigation.

"How can you tell all the different things apart?" Remy glanced back at Linguini as if to say, 'Yes, I'm better, as you can see.' "It just tastes like one thing to me!"

"No wonder you smell everything before you put it in a dish." Linguini muses, seemingly flabbergasted by the revelation.

"Meet Emile. One of my little brothers. The one I'm closest with." His voice played over the scene again, freezing the image of his brother covered in cake. "He thinks what I can do is cool, though to me it's just natural. I can't even help it."

"Your brother…" Linguini breathed. "I know him! He hangs around you all the time. I never realized…"

"You have human names?" Colette asked and Remy raised an eyebrow at her.

"We have names." He said, pointing at them and then at himself. "Not just human, not just rat. Just names."

"Right, sorry." She agreed but her face remained thoughtful and Remy could tell that she was considering what his name could be.

At this rate, they'd probably find out. Which… might actually be nice.

On-screen, his dad was sniffing through the rubbage, and Remy's own voice was in the middle of explaining their relationship. "Aside from being clan leader, in charge of keeping us all safe and organized in this world that wants to kill us, he's also the world's least supportive dad. Namely, my dad."

"Does that make you, a prince or something?" Linguini blurts and Remy snorts.

"Not a prince," He shakes his head. "But it comes with some benefits."

"I hear you questioning- 'So you can taste and smell stuff. Big deal, what's the point?' Well here's the point. Aside from the fact that I eat trash to survive, which is generally unpleasant for everyone, there is this nasty habit of being a pest to other species." His own voice asked on the screen before tuning back into the scene itself. "Whoa, Dad, no, stop!" He lunged and snatched the apple core from his dad's paws, holding it out of reach. "Why would you eat that? Can't you smell-" He took an extra whiff and held it away from his face, expression souring at it. "That? There's a lot of rot in this pile but this..."

"What's 'this?'. There's nothing wrong with it, or the rest of the trash- find your own meal." His dad groused, annoyed at having his food taken away. Remy didn't listen and led them across the yard and lifted the corner of a tarp leaned against the house. Underneath it were boxes of rat poison.

"'That' ended up being rat poison. Someone, as usual wanted us gone." His voice explained and Linguini gasped in worry. Remy glanced back at him and held his paws out- settle down, I'm fine. It was sweet how much he cared though. "But I'd saved Dad, and probably a lot of other rats from it. So now my... pickiness was useful at least. That made us all happy for a bit, till I figured out just what my new job entailed."

Remy laughed as this scene came on. He remembered it well, one of the most boring and torturous jobs he could have imagined. Not only were very few of the items poisoned, which made everything monotonous, everything also smelled bad. Half rotten fruits and moldy bread and everything in between. Nothing even remotely pleasant for the entire three days it had been his job.

"Uh-huh. Day in and day out, smelling trash for rat poison."

Colette laughed too when she realized what was going on. He shook his head as he watched himself try to spice up the experience just a little by saying "Close to godly" instead of the same old "Clean". But that just confused the other rats.

"You really were quite out of place, weren't you, Little Chef?"

"This is what we should've been doing the whole time, eh Remy? Finally got a place where your tasting is a help, not a hindrance!"

Remy snorted again at that, much as himself on the screen did, quickly falling into the same old argument with his dad. Colette, however, had immediately picked up on an important detail.

"Your father just called you 'Remy'." She said, triumphant. She looked to him for confirmation to be sure, the eagerness in her expression undeniable. "Is that your name, Little Chef? Your real name?"

Remy smiled back, similarly excited at the reveal of this particular information, and nodded.

"Remy?" Linguini said, sounding almost confused. "Reeeh-meeee." He tried it out again. A smile grew on his face and he pushed himself off of the couch to crouch on the floor. He held out his finger, the way he had when thanking Remy for the meal, and said, with a grin wide enough to light up the room. "It's nice to meet you, Remy!"

"Oui!" Colette bent down and offered her own hand, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Remy." Hearing his own name on their lips was like a dream, one he'd never realized he had, come true. The epithet of "Little Chef" had never bothered him, but hearing them both use his real name was a new level of connection and understanding. Of course, they still couldn't understand one another, but now his name, his identity, was more fully theirs to know. He took both of their fingertips in his paws and beamed right back up at them.

Chapter Text

Gotta grow like a weed to bloom like a flower

Learning Little Chef's name was like finding the last missing piece to a puzzle which had sat almost complete for several weeks. Remy. It suited him, she knew that much with absolute certainty. And from the warmth in his eyes as he looked up at them, their knowledge of his name meant as much to him as it did to them.

There is only so much that can be learned or understood about another from gestures and body language. Now, suddenly, they could hear his voice, knew his manner of speaking, knew his name. And that seemed to open up a world.

"Remy," She said primly, putting every stress on his name. "You should sit on the couch with us."

"Yeah, Remy," Alfredo snorted with glee, copying her tone and attention to the new term, grin so wide it threatened to extend past the limits of his face. "Come join us!"

Remy didn't hesitate in nodding and stepping into Alfredo's waiting palm. Almost instinctively, Alfredo's thumb came up to rub over the rat's head and Remy nuzzled right back affectionately.

They settled back onto the couch in the way that Colette always loved about their movie nights, except Remy stayed in Alfredo's palm rather than skirting back to his temporary nest where he would usually fall asleep halfway through the film. None of them had any intention of sleeping through this one, she was sure.

No sooner had they found their places than Alfredo was drawing in a sharp breath, a realization striking him.

"Can... I still call you Little Chef, though?" Linguini asked, concerned. "It's been so long, I'm used to it- but, I mean, it's also. You. To me it's you."

Remy didn't hesitate for even a second as he set his paws again on Alfredo's wrist, the understood gesture for sincerity, and nodded empathetically. Alfredo almost seemed to wilt with relief and Colette was struck with the urge to laugh at his honest distress at potentially having to abandon their fond nickname.

As they'd spoken, the film had continued without pause. However, it didn't seem that anything more than a brief argument between Remy and his father had occurred. Indeed, it seemed that their feud was still enduring on some level.

"Without food, you starve." He lectured, "I can understand wanting something to taste good but listen! Survival is more important. Survival is what we can afford."

"A callous perspective," Colette sniffed, disdain coloring her tone. "Here you have a most distinguished palate and the only way for you to survive is by eating scraps. To treat food as though it is only sustenance- it is an art!"

"If survival is so important then why are we picking at garbage that is laced with rat poison?" Remy argues "Okay, so we're thieves and we take what we can get, but let's take food that isn't poisoned, something that we're happy to eat instead of just something that'll let us exist!" Remy encouraged, and while she knew that Remy, under Alfredo's empathetic request, no longer took anything without providing reimbursement in some way- not even rat sized portions that wouldn't be missed- she'd never thought he'd been for stealing. Not beyond the necessities, anyhow. For Remy, better food would have been a necessity, should have been if it wasn't. Desperate times called for desperate measures and the dining options available to him were certainly… desperate.

Remy did not seem happy with the revival of his past moral lapse either and he shrunk in Alfredo's hand as though expecting a change in the human's perspective of him, but, of course, none came. Alfredo seemed more wrapped up in the word 'poison' being thrown around so regularly. Humans really had built the world for themselves, the world where every other species was in a fight for its life.

The film continued as she contemplated all of this until Remy's voice came in over the scene once more.

"Humans are dangerous, cruel, and selfish." Colette blinked in surprise but smiled. To be resting in a human hand while watching a movie in a human living room, when he'd been raised to think that humans were dangerous and best off scorned, was a real accomplishment, no matter how little credence he'd ever given those teachings. "That's what Dad has always said and I guess I believe it. I can see it, at least. But, they're not all wrong to be like that, and they're not all bad. In order to live you need to be happy. Lot's of humans talk about making a difference. A need to contribute to the greater good. I want to do something like that."

On the television in the film, Gusteau's old cooking show was running. It was one of those moments when he'd been feeling especially inspiring- and Remy was entranced like it was gospel from a preacher.

Things only really got interesting when he picked up a piece of cheese and a strawberry from the bowl behind him- and took a bite.

"Whoa!" Alfredo breathed as pools of color dotted around Remy as he savored the flavor.

"And bringing flavor, tastes, beauty" The rat narrated over top as the visualization of the taste danced in the background. "Bringing this to my colony... that would be some greater good. Just having it for myself felt pretty good." The strawberry was more delicate, with shimmering, curved lines arcing through the background.

"Is that you too?" Alfredo presses and Colette is ready to tell him that no, this is not another length in the distance between him and his culinary-minded friends, when Remy nods. "That's amazing! No wonder you have to smell everything to see if it goes well together- you can actually see how they might mix."

"Is that true, Little Chef?" Colette asks and when he nods at her again she scowls. "So close you are to the food you eat, such vividity in what you taste and see- and still you must eat garbage. What a misérable circumstance."

"We didn't have to just take what was given to us, we could create! I could make things!" He enthused on screen, and Colette marveled at the colors that mingled and spread across the screen. It was like some sort of synesthesia, where Remy could see taste sensations. No wonder he had been so passionate, so desperate to find good food.

Before Remy could do any more exploration of the kitchen a woman asleep in an armchair woke up, and in a panic the rat rushed for the window, pausing to look back only after he was sufficiently hidden in the tall grass.

"And with a discovery like that... I couldn't just let it go."

What a dangerous secret for a rat. It seemed that in order to find the beauty and passion that he worked with daily now, Remy had had to grow tough and dodge many bullets. Like a weed that couldn't quite be pulled and eventually grew into what people then realized had been a flower all along.

"Oho yeah! This is what I'm talking about!" The rat on the television screen, Remy, tapped his paws together with excitement as he sniffed out a patch of wild mushrooms. They were nothing impressive to her or Linguini, but to him, who had spent most of his life thus far eating trash, it was an incredible find. And more than that, it was an ingredient, something that could be used as he explored his new passion.

"Emile! Look at this look at this!" He called up to his brother on screen and while Colette had never pictured their small friend to be so excitable she couldn't blame him. The opportunity was one he'd never had before. To experiment, to make something good.

"Your enthusiasm is palpable, Little Chef," She smiled at him and he looked up at her, grinning, still a little sheepish, from where he was curled comfortably in Alfredo's hand.

"Even though Emile doesn't share my interests in food or humans or... pretty much anything. He'll listen to me, and keep me company, and most importantly, keep my secrets. He's a good sounding board." The narration dropped off as Emile piped up: "Remy, stop walking like that, something could see you."

"Is it really so strange?" Linguini asked as Remy brushed off his brother's concern about predators and explained how constant paw washing was a hassle and that dirty paws contaminated the taste of food. Colette couldn't help but think that dirty paws couldn't take too much away from what was already the taste of trash. "I don't spend a whole lot of time around other rats but your… colony did you say? Your colony seems to do it often enough."

Remy began to explain as best he could in his usual gestures but Colette focused on the film, watching the bliss as he breathed in the smell of the cheese morsel. And then as he ran about, picking out every possible flavor to add. She wasn't sure how good it would actually be, but he cared enough to make it worth attention. What was just a small chunk of cheese and a mushroom to her was every possibility in the world to him, and he treated them like treasure, adding rosemary and sweetgrass to his horde and responding appropriately when Emile discounted its individuality.

"No no no, Emile! I know that you don't understand but that trash is... trash! And this," He held up the mushroom. "This isn't! This could be something great!" He held the food close to his chest, shielding it from Emile's intentions.

"Then where are you gonna put it? We're supposed to be back soon and then if it's not in the pile you could get in trouble for hoarding..."

"Pfh, like every unit in the colony doesn't have a personal stash." Remy interrupted, stern. "And either way, I'm not risking it. Listen," He fumbled for the right words to make the tasteless rat understand. "You aren't very picky, but with this we could make something great. Make it! Not find it but create something amazing. You and me!"

"Fine." Emile straightened onto his hind legs and looked around. "So where are we gonna make this, huh, I don't see anyhere. Oh well, I guess we tried but we're just gonna have to go ho-"

"Nooo," Remy drew out and pushed against his brothers shoulder with a slight laugh. "You don't even know what you're looking for. We need somewhere to cook this... Oh!" The background came into focus, smoke puffing out of the chimney and Colette had to put a hand to her mouth to muffle her laugh at the delight on Remy's face. "There!"

And suddenly they were up on the roof, the mushroom speared on a part of the weathervane which Remy was turning slowly, looking content to sit there for hours as he explained: "I think I'm getting the hang of this." He said. "The cheese is melting nicely, and the heat is really bringing out the smell of the mushroom..." He took a deep breath in to smell it and sighed. In the background, lightning flashed down in a distant thunderstorm. Alfredo tensed at her side and Colette could see what was probably making him nervous. But Little Chef was still there with them today, he could not have been too badly hurt if the storm did get so close before they were done cooking.

"Uhh, Remy, that's the fourth lightning strike in the past few minutes... and I think that one was closer than the others." Emile murmured, just as concerned as Alfredo. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Remy standing up in her partner's hand, putting his paws on his thumb as a gesture of comfort. But what was he comforting him about… "I don't know what this human thing is for but it's kind of close to the sky so maybe we should wait till the storm dies dow-"

The living room lit up with the lightning strike that came down, attracted to the metal of the weather vane. Alfredo jumped and then had to jump again to catch Little Chef as he tumbled out of his grasp. Colette flinched at the sight, mind working with the possibilities of a rat surviving an almost direct lightning strike-

"Jeezus, Little Chef!" Alfredo wailed, both hands cupped around the rat in his grasp, as though he was made of glass (and indeed he appeared to be a bit shaken by the sight himself).

The strike had been over in an instant though and already the two rats were on the ground, fur fuzzed comically with the electricity, and Remy was already recovered, raving about the taste of the mushroom.

"WOW, Emile, Emile here, have a taste, what do you think it's it's, electric! Incredible! Isn't this so much better than if we'd just thrown it all on the pile?!" He spun in a circle with the sound, and if she hadn't seen him before the strike she'd think the energy was left over from the strike- but no, every bit was simply the extreme enthusiasm of a discovered love. It was like watching Picasso realize that paints could make pictures.

Even Alfredo was chuckling, though he still seemed a little concerned about the electrocuted state of their friend. Little Chef buried his face in his paws and shook his head as, on-screen, he continued to make sound effects and make plans for the next storm until-

"But it can be better, I, I can do better than this! We need spices!"

Emile didn't look impressed. Not with the lightning, and not with the necessary inclusion of saffron.

"Spices." Emile winces, still smoking from the lightning strike. "I don't like the sound of that. You don't just mean the stuff that's around here, do you?"

"Not a chance." Remy grinned, seemingly ignorant to his brother's lack of equal enthusiasm.

"I think it is cute, Little Chef." Colette comforted. "And who could blame you? Your very first creation! You should be proud." He smiled at her gratefully.

"Who is that?" Alfredo asked and Colette looked up just in time to see the sleeping face of an old woman before the screen zoomed in to focus on Emile, in charge of holding the mushroom while Remy sorted through the spice rack in search of saffron. "She was there earlier too."

"She must be the owner of the cottage." She mused and Alfredo made a noise of vague understanding as Remy nodded.

"Be more quiet!" Emile warned, keeping his voice low. "There's a human right over there!" But Remy, winding his way among the spice bottles, shook his head and didn't pay any attention to his volume.

"Not a problem, little brother. I've never woken her up before and I've been louder than this."

"Before?" Emile frowned but Remy didn't pay him any mind. "Remy, how often do you come in here?"

"Often enough..." Remy evades. "Listen, this is what I love doing. Learning about the scents she keeps bottled up in these shelves, watching her television shows. They make me happy. And they teach me how to do things, like make this taste good! The answer is saffron. When in doubt Gusteau always uses saffron.

"That he did," Colette smiles. "And with fabulous results!"

"Gusteau?" Emile asked "He's human right? What human would teach a rat to cook?" Remy looked only too happy to answer.

"First of all, Gusteau has a television show. He teaches humans all over the world how to cook his dishes, with passion and earnesty that a lot of chefs lack!" He said, dropping down to the next shelf and flipping the cookbook, Gusteau's cookbook, closed so that his brother could see the picture of the man they were talking about. "But you see this? 'Anyone Can Cook' is the title of his cookbook, and if that isn't an invitation to cooks like me, or the closest I can get to one, I don't know what is. He's here to teach me as well."

"'Anyone Can Cook', the title... Remy you can read?" Emile asked.

"How else am I supposed to get the recipes he doesn't cover on the show." Remy dismissed. "It's much faster to read than to follow his steps."

"You taught yourself to read?" Alfredo asks and Colette is inclined to agree. Reading was not always an easy task even for humans, but Remy treated the accomplishment like it was a small feat. He nodded at them but his attention didn't stray from the screen; something in his expression was fond.

"You're even reading like a human," Emile groaned. "If Dad finds out he's gonna make you taste test for poison checking!"

"No he won't. Then he'd lose his poison checker." Remy said, his voice taking on a mocking tone. It didn't last long though, sobering as he continued. "I know he doesn't like humans, but they know a lot, and if we know how to read we can take advantage of it." He sighs, stilling in his search and holding a bottle of orange extract and looking at his reflection in the glass. "One day I'm gonna tell him. Convince him that it's worth us knowing. I'll show him how it's just another way of stealing. They gather the information and do the work, while we reap the benefit. That'd probably get his attention." He perked to attention for a second, pointing at Emile to emphasize. "But. I don't want his attention yer so you're not gonna say anything, right?"

"You are the older brother, non?" Colette asks and Remy nods at her, spreading his paws as if to ask, 'how'd you guess?'. "The way you hold yourself," She explains, "And how Emile goes along with your ideas, even if they are dangerous, hmm?" She smiles and he rolls his eyes.

Suddenly the scene changed and it was Remy's father, up with the rest of the colony.

"Hey, you seen Remy and Emile come in?" He asked the rat next to him. The other rat shook his head and continued on his way. Remy's father chewed on his lip and glanced away from the work being done, as though he could see where they were by looking into the distance. "Those kids are giving me anxiety every day." He shook his head and turned back to the group of rats scurrying about. Remy cocked his head at the screen.

"This is the first time we have seen something that doesn't directly involve you." Colette voiced what she was sure he had also picked up on. "It seems that the perspective is not limited to just you, Little Chef." He nods, thoughtful.

"How old are you, Little Chef?" Alfredo asked and Remy startled at the question. He ducked his head, bashful, and then held up three of his tiny claws. "Three years old?" He clarified, shocked. "You're so young!"

"Not for a rat, non?" Colette explained. "They mature much quicker than humans."

"Still," Alfredo said. "And that would only make you… a year old when we met?"

Remy shrugged, glancing away as though to avoid facing the conversation- and Colette could understand. Even three years was so much younger than her and Alfredo. Yet it was nothing he should have been defensive about. No more than he was defensive about being a rat.

"Look at this, Gusteau's show!" The scene was back to Remy and Emile. In the living room, the television blared as Remy jumped down from the spice rack, the saffron in hand. "His is a lot better than all the other chefs. It's easy to follow, but not simple. Of course anyone can cook when he's the one teaching." Both turned to watch Gusteau, and Remy settled, grateful, in Alfredo's hand again, focusing on the film once more. Colette sent Alfredo a meaningful glance as he opened his mouth to say something more- 'drop it.' And he nodded without much argument, shutting his mouth and pressing his lips together for good measure.

"When you cook, it must not be out of duty, it must not be done without conviction." Gusteau explained, and Colette remembered this interview. It was from a year or two before she'd joined his kitchen, the cooking channel was rerunning an older one- but certainly one of his most inspiring talks. "Cooking, it is dangerous. It is scary. Creation is this way in all settings. To be a chef you must step beyond the boundaries you see before you, even if those boundaries are best off not crossed. You must learn that by trying. And if everyone says not to, you must do so anyway, or live without knowing what you could have accomplished."

What that must have meant to Remy, to a rat who loved to cook, struck Colette hard and fast. The shot of his face, melting from the emotions stirred by the statement, only exacerbated the point. "There is no limit to what anyone can accomplish. We are all undiscovered masters in our own right."

Remy, the one still sitting in Alfredo's hand, looked close to tears while Alfredo's mouth hung slack in astonishment and awe. It was a strange relationship they had. One's father was the other's idol, and yet it had played no part in the formation of their friendship. At least that she knew. And meanwhile, Remy probably knew more about Alfredo's father than Alfredo himself.

"Cooking is not the only mastery in this world!" Gusteau continued. "But it is one of creation and joy which can be felt even by those subjected to the work of those that do master it."

"That's what I want to do." Remy sighed.

"Gusteau's words ring bright and joyous to us all, but in recent days they have been showed in grief." the narrator of Gusteau's show said. Remy's face dropped into confusion and Colette realized what was going on, and how it was sure to break their friend's heart.

"Little Chef?" Alfredo asked as the narrator explained the details of the great chef's passing. "Are you alright?"

The little rat shrugged his shoulders and discreetly wiped at his eyes, obviously affected by the scene but also having long come to peace with the knowledge.

On-screen, however, his expression was stricken and he seemed to disregard any thoughts of secrecy he may have had as he scampered forward to stand close to the television, as though distance would change what was right before his eyes.

"Dead?" He asked, and Colette reached over to comfort him, but before she could something disastrous happened on the screen.

The TV clicked off, and the old woman who owned the house stared straight at Remy with wide eyes.

Chapter Text

The thing about gunshots

Alfredo tensed at the old woman's gasp, as though just her acknowledgment of Remy's presence was enough to cause problems. Which, it was. Little Chef was a rat, and that meant that everything was a danger to him, even if it took Alfredo a little while to realize that.

On screen, Remy squeaked, and the rat seated in his palm startled at the sound. He turned to Alfredo and motioned to his ears with his paws, and then to Alfredo and Colette.

"Oui," Colette answered for him, "that is what we hear when you speak."

Remy didn't look pleased about that, but the matter was quickly dropped. The old woman, who he'd thought would maybe call an exterminator the next day or something of that variety, pulled a rifle from the umbrella stand. Lifting it up to her face she took aim, straight at Emile, sitting frozen on the counter.

"Get out of there!" Remy called to Emile, as shots fired around them, Alfredo could feel his grip tightening around Little Chef, reassuring himself that the rat was just fine through all the chaos, he'd come to Paris after all this so he must've been okay-

"Folle," Colette muttered, her fingers digging into the arm of the couch. "She shoots up her own kitchen to kill two rats who haven't even taken anything?"

"I thought you said she never wakes up?" Emile shouted as he scrabbled at the wall, gripping tiny handholds to pull himself to a higher shelf.

"She hasn't! Clearly, you would have known if she had!"

Remy winced with every jump and slide and near miss that he and Emile endured, but Alfredo was on the edge of his seat, gritting his teeth with a frightening force.

"What does she think she's doing?" He asks, "Rats are so small, they're hard to hit, aren't you hard to hit?" He doesn't really pay attention to Remy's answer. He's not sure Remy answers at all.

"Emile! Stop, you can't go that way, you'll -!" Remy has no time to finish his call as Emile scrambles up some exposed piping towards the ceiling. The woman hefts her rifle again and this time there's no where for the red rat to turn. Alfredo shuts his eyes.

Shots ring out, clattering, panicked cries, the music- how had he not noticed the music before?- is frantic and fluttery, it makes him anxious. In his hands, Little Chef is warm and solid but it doesn't feel like enough when every bang of the screen could just as well have been his friend- gone.

"Alfredo," Colette puts her hand on his shoulder but it's tense as well. He opens his eyes to look at her, but first, he sees the screen. He sees the rifle pointed straight at Emile, sees Remy's hands fly up to shield his eyes, and he shuts his own again with the determination to not open them again.

The rifle clicks, empty, and Emile starts calling for Remy to help him.

It sounds like a nightmare.

"Quick, you've got to get back over here, swing this way-" And then Little Chef's voice devolves into the squeaking he's so accustomed to. Colette's hand on his shoulder is lighter now, and she rubs brusque circles there, showing that she is with him. Little Chef in his hands puts his paws on his thumb and presses, trying to reassure him.

Why is he so anxious when it's Remy that was in danger.

He's over it. Some part of his brain says. This happened some time ago, and he knows exactly how it ends. You don't. But you asked to, remember?

And he had. So with the resolution to watch whatever the universe had decided he should see, he opened his eyes, just as Remy and Emile scrambled to the top of the chandelier and the barrel of the gun was raised once more.

A powerful shot, smoke, his hands clenched involuntarily.

"Oh." the woman grunted with disappointment as no corpses fell down from the ceiling. What did fall was dust, and cracks that spread through the drywall. She stared upward with dawning horror as she realized that she'd jeopardized the stability of her own home.

"Serves her right." Colette sniffed.

With a tremendous crash, seemingly the entire ceiling fell into the kitchen, and seated on every inch of debris were rats. Hundreds of rats, perhaps over a thousand. Squeaking and chirping to each other and turning to look at the old woman that had been harboring them unknowingly.

Said woman dropped her gun with a gasp, stunned, and then turned, running from the room with a frantic wail.

"Let's move!" Remy's father bellowed "You all know the drill, go!" and the clan moved as one, rats streaming across the floor, along the counters, across everything. In the midst of it all a flash of blue, Remy was running too- but suddenly he stood up.

"Gusteau!" He gasped and turned, fighting against the tide. For a moment Alfredo questtioned where he was going, but then he realized the only possible answer. He was trying to reach Gusteau's cookbook, still settled neatly on the counter, untouched by the chaos.

"The book!?" Colette demanded. "She came after you with a gun and you are worried about a cookbook which there are thousands of copies of?" Remy shrugged in his palm, sheepish, but that had been where his priorities were at the time, and Alfredo could relate. He may not have known his father, but Gusteau was the kind of man that inspired, and he'd been a source of light for Remy. He couldn't blame his friend for wanting to cling to that.

On screen, Remy had reached the book and was pushing it to the window when the woman reappeared, this time outfitted with a gas mask and menacing spray nozzle. Remy whimpered and Alfredo echoed it helplessly, stroking his friend's fur with shaking fingers. Only the humans were watching now, Remy wasn't even bothering to look towards the screen, just patting Alfredo's hand and looking up at him with worried eyes.

"Mon Dieu," Colette muttered. "This woman, for not noticing her house was infested, is very prepared!" Remy squeaked at her angrily and after a quick run through of her sentence, her face colored. "Pardon, for not noticing her house was your colony's home."

The window shattered as Remy jumped through it, the cookbook held over his head. Greenish gas, pesticide, trailed after him but he didn't slow enough to let it reach him. The rats raced through the grass, each seeming to know exactly what to do as leaves were moved to uncover ramshackle rafts made of old junk. It seemed that the colony had been ready to mobilize. Everyone boarded and they were on their way without too much difficulty- except Remy who lagged behind with his book.

"Sound off! Is anyone missing, check for your neighbors!" Remy's father was counting the rats in his boat and, as he met Emile's eyes just long enough for yhe red rat to drop them to the ground in shame, he whipped his head around to the house. Realized who was missing- "Remy? Does anyone have Remy on their boat? Son?" He turned to the boats but no one answered, there was no answering cry. He leaned over the edge of the makeshift raft, almost falling into the water, and faced the shore, eyes blown wide with the panic of a parent looking for his son, and Alfredo's heart ached.

They argued a lot, but they obviously cared a lot for each other.

"Wait up! Just, just a minute!"Remy was running and, slower than the rest because of the book, and his voice caught in its pages. It wasn't until he reached the stream and tossed the book into the water that the other rats noticed him. "I'm here, Dad? Dad I'm here!" He started paddling.

"Stop the boat, Remy is still on the shore!" the patriarch called, "Here," he motioned one of the larger rats who had a spatula in his paws towards the side of the boat. "Hold that out for him, Remy, you can grab the paddle." It was said like an order and a truth but he looked like a scared man as he said. His voice remained steady as Remy splashed through the water towards them, chanting encouragement. "Keep coming, we'll pull you in! Remy reached, and Alfredo relaxed at the hope that that could be it. And then he jumped as a shot ripped through the air, striking the spatula held between the two rafts, and Remy and his family were forced apart all over again.

"She's still after you?" Colette asked through grit teeth. "Tell me where this is and I will make her sorry for all of this!"

"No!" Remy yelled as their boat was pulled into the drains by the current. Alfredo flinched at the desperation in his tone. He'd lost his family too, under much less abrupt circumstances but he'd still come to be without one. It was painful, no matter how it happened.

"Dont stop! You've got to keep trying!" His father called, determined to encourage. Remy snatched up the abandoned spatula, but before he could begin to use it another shot rang out, and pierced right through it, adding even more holes to the already inefficient paddle. Still, Remy plunged it into the water. Luckily, with the help of the current, he escaped into the tunnel before the old woman could get another shot in.

"Oh, thank you…" Alfredo moaned, sinking back into the couch. From here his friend should be fine. Catch up to the boats, come to Paris, come across Gusteau's…

"Dad? I'm okay! I'm coming!" Remy yelled down the tunnel, breathing hard as he paddled for all he was worth. "G-give me just a second!" The voices of the colony, especially his dad, echoed down the tunnel, encouragement and concern- but very suddenly they cut off into distant screams and Remy slowed in his paddling. "Hello?"

Alfredo sat up again, suddenly on edge.

"Guys? Emile? Hello?" He called again, wincing as his raft passed underneath a dripping drain. Out of the gloom rose two tunnels and, after a moment of deliberation, he paddled his raft towards the one on the left. He'd not gone further than a few feet down this path though that his eyes widened and he turned around, trying to paddle against a strengthening current.

"Are you kidding?" Alfredo cried, gasping as Remy was thrown, yelling, over the edge of a waterfall, losing the book, his paddle, and any sense of composure or safety. "Little Chef!" He cried as the small form was tumbled and catapulted about underwater. They were rapids, violently churning waters that tossed the rat around like a leaf in the wind.

"Mon dieu." Colette whispered again, hands clenched tight in the fabric of her shirt. "Through all this you went?"

In his half-clenched hands, Remy nodded, expression mournful, but resigned.

When the waters allowed him to surface once more there was a glimpse of the book, also swept along this way, and then they swallowed him again, the roar of rushing water enveloping everything as the rat was twisted and thrown through the tunnels. Finally, there was just enough calm for Remy to swim for his raft, and reaching it offered some solace as he clung to it through the remainder of the rapids.

Splayed out on the book, feet wide to keep his balance, he looked hopeless. Rung out and half drowned and alone. Even with the water now calm all he seemed to have the energy to do was drop his head onto the book and shut his eyes.

"Remy…" Colette murmured, and though the name was still new to them it held every ounce of sorrowful familiarity. She reached over to him and slipped her finger along his back, rubbing his head. The rat soaked up the comfort, all without straying his attention from Alfredo.

"Why… Why are you looking at me like that?" he stuttered and Remy's expression fell flat.

"Because he is worried about you, mon cher." Colette explained. "You're quite pale."

"What, me?" He exclaimed. "He's the one that just got shot at! Almost gassed, nearly drowned."

"Yes but it's over now." She comforted. "He is well, with us and safe, non?"

In his hands, Little Chef nodded eagerly. Alfredo forced some of the tension out of his hands and brushed his thumb through Remy's fur.

"Yeah." He said, still uncertain. "Yeah…"

"I don't know how much time passed. There was no way to judge." They all looked up, startled. The film had continued without their attention, and Remy seemed to have drifted to a small patch of concrete, part of a workman's tunnel, perhaps. Narrating now, Remy's voice continued as on screen the small rat spent his time curled in the smallest corner he could find, drinking water by the drop from a leaky pipe and turning with ginger paws the soaked pages of the cookbook. "I kept waiting for something to change, for there to be light, for a sewer rat to stumble across me, to wake up and find out it was all a dream. I kept waiting but in the end it was just me." Another page turned and the image of the food, delicate and high quality, was enough to make Remy's stomach grumble. He turned away from it with remorse, and instead focused on a drawing of Gusteau, smelling a cake with his five stars glittering beneath him.

"Looking back, how long do you think-" Colette began but cut herself off with a gasp as Gusteau's picture moved.

"It makes no sense to wait for the world, Remy." the chef encouraged and Remy let out a surprised squeak, finally diverting his attention from Alfredo to cover his face and shake his head in what Alfredo could surmise was an approximation of "oh, no no no no no."

On-screen, Remy peeked underneath the page, as though it was something else speaking and moving the picture. But, of course, it was just another page of text after that.

"It has never helped you find the path you desired before, why should it start now?" Gusteau continued, unbothered by Remy's apparent suspicion. "You are a creator, a creature of discovery! Set out! Explore!"

"I can't." He snapped, bitterness in his tone... but sorrow was woven into it in a way that could not be ignored. "I'm alone. All the 'discovery' that I did put me here. It got my family killed, got me lost, ruined any kind of home I've ever had. It left me alone in a sewer talking to myself! Like a crazy animal! Rats aren't creators. I was stupid to try and go against that." His voice held none of the positive energy Alfredo had come to associate with it in the so far short duration of the film. Maybe positive wasn't quite the right word, but it was always about moving forward, always looking for and finding new opportunities, always optimistic about the future. Remy had always seemed before to be passionate about something, an argument, a spice, a smell, an idea, but now he just seemed angry and self-deprecating.

"Is that what I taught you?" Gusteau probed.

"No. But you were wrong. All of this was wrong." He laughed at himself and then glared at Gusteau. "You're dead too, you know. It didn't work for you either." He turned away, arms crossed and expression resolute.

"Maybe not, but that does not mean it won't work for you," Gusteau argued. "New things are never easy. For you, this will still not be easy. But that does not mean you should not keep trying!"

"Keep trying what?" Remy glared at the picture, spiteful. "There's nowhere to go. Say I leave this sewer, what then? I find another kitchen? Another colony? Get caught again, or kill them too?"

"I don't know. But that is the beauty of this!" Gusteau raised his hand in encouragement. "It may not be what you want. It is dangerous, uncertain, frightening. But I don't know what waits for you, and neither do you. If you stay here we both know how it will end. Here, uncertainty is far better than our certainty!" Remy seemed to consider that, but Gusteau wasn't done. "You have always wanted to forge your own path! Now, finally, you can start your journey!" Remy glanced up at the pipes that he could climb to reach the surface, then back to the picture. Gusteau was still again, nothing but a flat illustration, but the idea had been planted, and Remy's expression hardened with determination.

"There is nothing wrong with imagining yourself company, Little Chef." Colette excused, voice soft. Remy waved a paw at her in dismissal and her tone hardened. "Truly, this is a difficult time for you, whatever you can find comfort in is more than excusable."

Remy unburied his head to make more gestures but Alfredo couldn't decipher them and, from the confused expression on her face, neither could Colette. Finally, he just waved his paws about in an approximation of "I give up," and waved at the screen like "you'll see."

For now, all they were seeing was Remy climbing his way up the pipes, and into the space between walls- it was strange to see the view of moving through such small areas which would normally be completely inaccessible to him or Colette, but Little Chef, of course, looked perfectly comfortable as he followed his nose out onto a kitchen counter. He moved cautiously, but was caught up in whatever he was smelling, carefully scenting the air until-

"There!" He smiled and jumped onto a cutting board where half a baguette lay. There was a perfectly rat sized chunk sitting right there for him and he picked it up looking like he was about to be in heaven- until a cork popped free of a wine bottle in the next room over and cheers went up. Remy crouched low as though to hide himself and glared out at the crowd, a party in the next room, accusing and suspicious. Not taking his eyes off of them he moved the bread closer to his mouth and was about to take a bite when-

"This is not what I meant by discovery!" He looked at the chunk and let out a cry of surprise when it appeared that he was holding Gusteau's head, which was frowning at him in disappointment.

"I don't need discovery right now I need food!" He argued, at first relieved that the interruption was just his own imagination and then annoyed at the intervention of what Alfredo was beginning to realize was an approximation of his conscience, or something like it- a force that encouraged him to pursue things when he wouldn't acknowledge them himself. "Regardless of what I'm going to do about... about cooking. This is good bread! No one will miss it and I really need it!" He snaps. His stomach makes a low growling sound just after and between that and his tone of voice Alfredo can really tell- Remy is really hungry. None of them knew how long he was in that sewer for but for sure he was due for a meal.

"You will not eat it, I'll tell you how I know!," Gusteau asserted. "You say no one will miss it, this is true! At the end of the night, the remainder of the loaf will be saved and the remnants on this cutting board swept into the trash. Eating it now and eating it then is not so different. And you, Remy, do not eat trash anymore." Colette made a sound of agreement off to the side and in his hands, Remy flinched. "You are living your own life now, and no matter how hungry you are, we both know that you want to make something for yourself, not find another's leftovers."

"Hold on- you told yourself not to eat?" Alfredo blurted out.

"I agree, Remy. There is a line between thievery and necessity." Colette glared at him. "You are a cook, but that does not mean you don't have the right to take food when you need it."

"You're not being fair to yourself," Alfredo said, steadfast as Remy looked up at him, astonished. "I don't like stealing, but you deserved that much! You could've been in trouble if you didn't find anything later." He paused and a horrible thought came to mind. "You did find food later, right?"

"Persist! You are a stubborn rat, you'll find what you really need..." Gusteau said on screen as he disappeared into the bread crumb and Remy waved vaguely at the image, like, 'yeah, what Gusteau said. I got something, eventually.'

With a sigh, Remy set the chunk of bread back on the cutting board, cast another glance back at the party, and then dove back into the smaller than crawl space between the walls. The myriad of scenes he passed were eclectic but telling of where he was. A painter with a mostly finished image of a naked woman, a lover's quarrel, with a wide gunshot that almost hit the rat hidden in the walls but which ended with a passionate kiss. A dog chased Remy back into the walls, a mousetrap was gingerly skirted around. Emerging onto the roof the iron grating and winding vines made the perfect footholds as the rat scampered up the side of the building, leaping from pipes and chimneys to balconies and vines and then back again.

Colette breathed a sigh beside him and he was inclined to agree. This was his world, their Little Chef's world. He was privy to a piece of everything that happened, he had an in to every room in Paris, and the means to get wherever he pleased. It was all much more dangerous than it would have been for either of them, but this easy movement was something they could never claim. The certainty to his movements as he leaped and climbed and made his way to the roof, led by his nose and his instincts.

And on the roof… Paris. There it was, as though it had been waiting for him all his life, laid out like a postcard. It was a breathtaking view, and suddenly Alfredo had a far better understanding as to why his friend was so attached to windows with a view of the Eiffel tower.

He loved Paris, with every ounce of his small body he loved this city, you could see it in his face as his eyes gleamed with understanding.

"It's just like the pictures." He said, astounded, "I... How could I not notice-" And then a grin, a half laugh to his words, "From the sewers, it looks like anywhere else but I'm in Paris!" His voice was awestruck as he took in the view, amazed at his own shortsightedness but also, good fortune. "From the start of all of this I wanted..." He breathed. "This."

"And now you have it." Gusteau's sighed in agreement, and both he and Colette gasped as the frame swiveled to include the familiar sign that stood on the roof of Gusteau's. Somehow, by some miraculous coincidence, Remy had not only been beneath Paris but also almost directly beneath the restaurant which had housed the very chef that inspired him.

"What are the odds of that?" Alfredo whispered but Colette shook her head.

"Those are not odds, mon cheri. That is Fate herself."

Chapter Text

Remy remembered well the rapture of seeing Paris from the rooftops that very first time- he felt it again each time he found a similar view. How could he not? The lights, the sounds and smells, just the atmosphere was enough to make his fur stand on end with excitement and anticipation. The city was alive with it all, he couldn’t say with what, but it was alive .

He watched himself accuse his imagination of leading him to Gusteau’s and suppressed another shudder of embarrassment. Gusteau was a fine friend when he remained in Remy’s head, but having Colette- who had known the real Gusteau- and Linguini - whose father was the real Gusteau- know that he spoke to the man frequently in made up conversations was more than he’d really wanted to reveal.

So far they’d been pretty kind about his living his life guided by a hallucination but so far they’d only seen him twice and in times of stress. That’s what Colette had said, that he was due the comfort of a friend. But what about when Gusteau appeared to calm Remy’s anger? To scold him for stealing? To encourage him to fix that soup? When did Gusteau shift from a coping mechanism to a crutch or a quirk- and how long would it take them to notice it?

Colette gave a slight gasp as her own hands appeared on the screen, plating dishes about to go out into the dining room. The rest of the kitchen unfolded before them in all its organized chaos and glorious composure.

“Table order ready, no more scallops to serve tonight. ” Colette called and she stiffened at the appearance of herself on screen once more, but she was just background at this point, ambiance. Setting the scene of the kitchen, showing people that knew what they were doing, as if the film was setting everything up so that in the next moment, when Linguini appeared on screen, he would be just that much more out of place.

“The film is not just about our Little Chef, non? ” Colette shrugged her elbow against Linguini, whose mouth was open, surprised to see himself. But the film continued on without much pause- just enough to show how out of his depth he was. Remy snorted.

“Watch out, Head Chef is here! ” One chef called, to the moderate laughter of the kitchen, but Skinner didn’t even glance up. He mumbled something that sounded like a greeting and padded through the kitchen as it moved around him. Colette offered her own greeting, as well as one other, but Skinner didn’t look away from the envelopes he was sorting through.

“Any bills we should be worried about in that mail, boss? ” It was the scary chef that was always the most eager to rid the kitchen of a stray rat. Skinner muttered something noncomittal but the other man din’t seem to mind. “We have a visitor, did you see? I’m not sure you ever met before...” Linguini was seated on a tiny stool and it only made him look ganglier and more awkward as his tall form tried to fit there. Still, he stood up with as much exuberance and confidence as he could muster and grinned at Chef Skinner, a tinge of anxiety still in his face. “Doesn’t he look just like his mother? Renata?”

“Renata?” Skinner looked up, shocked, but quickly schooled his expression as he met Alfredo’s eyes, only just hiding a displeased sneer and before he focused once more on his letters. “So nice to see you, I don’t remember her having a son. Good to make your aquaintence M. ...”

“Linguini.” The other chef supplied and Skinner filled the hole as though he’d never hesitated.

“Yes, Linguini, that’s right.”

“He treats you as though you are less than human!” Colette’s lip curls in disgust. “How did I never notice what a rotten man I worked for?”

“That’s not your fault.” Linguini rubs Remy’s fur a little more vigorously but Remy doesn’t point it out. If giving Linguini something to do with his hands is a comfort Remy will provide what he can. He’s not even going to call Colette out for the speciesist slur she’d accidentally made. “He was, I mean, I guess, I don’t know- I’ve never actually tasted anything that Skinner’s made? But, he was Gusteau’s sous so you trusted him. That’s not your fault. A kitchen runs on authority, right?”

“Oui, ” Colette frowned. “But that is no excuse for a lapse of judgment. He does not deserve the authority he holds.”

“Have you been in touch with… my mother?” Linguini asked, wringing his hands. Remy rolled his eyes at the submission in his posture. Linguini was awkward, yes, but he was ten times the man Skinner would ever be. He ought to act like it.

“No, I haven’t spoken to her in years.” Skinner flicked through a few more envelopes, edging a step closer to his office door. It was clear that he didn’t want to be there anymore. “I trust she is well?”

“Yes!” Linguini said, running on societal expectations. But then he hesitated, backtracking, “ Well, actually, she is well, technically, I think she is but she’s not… she’s uh-”

“Renata is dead.” Skinner’s Sous supplied, reducing Linguini’s blathering to the singular point. Skinner looked up at that, seeming genuinely invested in the conversation for the first time

“Oh, that’s… my condolences.” He said.

“No, it’s alright !” Linguini excused, “She… it was peaceful. And we were having all kinds of trouble. It’s not great but, I think she’s happy. Especially now, thanks to you. ” Skinner’s brow creased in confusion.

Colette leaned a little closer to him and Remy patted the base of his thumb. Linguini didn’t seem bothered anymore, just the typical amount of discomfort at seeing himself on the  screen, but neither he nor Colette minded providing a little support.

Skinner stared at him for a moment, and then Linguini reached for a letter in his pocket, chasing himself in a circle as he went to grab it, until having it in his hands he held it out to the older Chef who looked at him like he was some kind of alien.

“What is this supposed to be? ” He demanded. 

“A letter.” He stammered dumbly, then seemed to realize that that didn’t help anything. “You don’t really need it now, I guess. I’m already, you know, thanks for that but uhhh...” Just then Colette walked in front of him and Linguini’s attention caught on her like a magnet to iron. Remy snickered as Linguini tensed up and Colette frowned at him. It dissolved quickly though into a charmed smile and she punched his arm lightly.

“Right from the start, non? ” She smiled. “You had me picked out. Lucky you are to have me choose you back, cheri .”

“The luckiest.” Linguini agreed readily, smile turning dopey.

“But that’s for you. To help me, get the job.” Linguini snapped back to attention, drawing his gaze away from Colette.

“The job? ” Skinner almost snarled but the scarier chef grinned and started talking right over him.

“We’re glad to give it to you!” The vicious chef agreed readily, “Renata was an old friend and welcome guest in this kitchen. You’ll be a fine addition!”

“You hired him?!” Skinner snapped, turning on the cheerful chef before he could get another word in. “This is a gourmet kitchen, three stars looking to win back all five, there is no place for amateur- ”

“Garbage boy?” Linguini hedged and Skinner’s anger was snuffed by his surprise. “I actually have a lot of experience with that sort of thing. I brought my resume but-”

“No, no. For a thing like that,” He hesitated before forcing a smile. “Of course we have a place for old friends.”

Linguini didn’t look as comforted by that statement as Skinner seemed to be hoping but the head chef also never cared much in the first place. As Linguini reaches out to say something more the door to his office clicks shut, locking the newly dubbed garbage boy out. He slumps, then turns away from the office, only to be faced at once with the sous holding out the uniform he’d need to wear in the kitchen.

“You look so scared, cheri- oh!” Colette leaned forward as a view Remy remembered came onto the screen. She was cooking beneath one of the skylights and Remy was watching all the goings on with almost giddy anticipation.

“The kitchen of Gusteau!” He enthused with an almost reverent sigh, leaning over the glass. “Your kitchen! I can’t believe it, all this time I’ve been watching your show and reading your book and now I’m here.” Gusteau laughed at him good naturedly.

“You deserve to be here, Remy. Now, tell me about what you’ve learned. ”

While they went through some of the key positions, equipment, and stations of the kitchen (that is, all of them), Linguini chuckled to himself. Remy looked back at him and raiseed an eyebrow in question.

“It’s just, you’re so excited to be able to see a kitchen here, don’t you end up cooking in it later tonight? How did that happen?” He asked and Remy laughed with him for a second.

“Yeah, I guess it all happened really quickly. It wouldn’t have happened at all if it wasn’t for yo- oh no.”

“Little Chef?” He asked as Remy’s face fell into shock and worry. “What’s wrong?”

“And him? The one with red hair? What does he do for the kitchen? ”

“Alfredo, look!” Colette laughs.

“Nothing really. He doesn’t count.”

Remy’s heart sank as he watched Linguini’s face twist in confusion. It couldn’t be easy watching himself stumble through the kitchen and be discounted not only by his coworkers but also by the rat watching from above it all. Colette’s low murmur told him that he was right to be ashamed and the hot flare of regret that came seemed to swallow him.

“Of course he does! Everyone here serves a purpose.” Gusteau corrected but Remy persisted.

“I mean, a purpose, sure, but he’s hardly a part of the kitchen. He washes dishes, takes out the trash, so he does something but nothing worth noting.” In the background, Linguini’s eyes follow Colette as she walks past and the mop in his hands slips into the pot of soup on the stove. Remy would be amused except he’s so ashamed for his own words. He’s so quick to judge Linguini, just as every human is quick to judge him and yet he expects better? He is just the same!

“If he were gone this would all fall apart.” Gusteau scolded. “Why are you being like this, Remy. He’s quite similar to you, no?”

“No, he’s not. ” Remy dismissed at once. “I have talent and no way to get somewhere to use it- he’s somewhere incredible with no talent to use.”

“That is extreme. Listen to yourself, and look at him! ” Gusteau insisted. “He can cook as well as anyone else, or at least you don’t know otherwise. ”

“I know because I’m looking at him!” Remy gestured empathetically. “He doesn’t know this kitchen, if he tried to use it he’d be more likely to make a mess of things than make something edible. You’re right, anybody can cook, but that doesn’t mean they’ll cook anything worthwhile.”

And Remy hated himself for still agreeing with that. He was being cruel and judgmental in a way that he shouldn’t have been- but also Linguini couldn’t cook, not well, anyway. And he agreed with Gusteau’s motto on the basic level, the one that most humans overlooked. He saw it as it applied to him, being that unforeseen member of ‘anyone’. But Linguini was included as well; he had a right to try and cook however he liked, and Remy had been foolish to discount him so quickly.

“It would seem he is still going to try. ”

“Try… oh no, nononono! ”

Remy turned without another glance at the screen and wrapped himself around Linguini’s wrist in the best approximation of a hug he could muster. He squeezed as tight as he could and hoped that the human could understand what he meant- that he regretted it all, that it was all in the past, and that he was sorry .

“He can’t be-! Why is he, how could-” He yelled wordlessly on screen, and he remembered it, the panic at the thought of Gusteau’s restaurant at risk of losing another star, his idol’s good name squandered at the careless actions of a chore boy. “Does he realize what he’s doing ?" His voice was laced with anguish. “The restaurant's reputation is at stake! Your good name!”

“My name hardly matters to me.” Gusteau pointed out, mostly nonplussed by the situation. “I am dead!”

“The soup… he’s messing everything up!” Remy winced, but Linguini made no move against him holding onto his wrist, and still nobody said anything. “ Somebody’s gotta tell, maybe I could show somebo- ah! ” And the window tilted beneath him and deposited him neatly into the open space, free falling down towards the kitchen.

Linguini sat up with a gasp.

“Enough of this!” Colette snapped and snatched up the remote from where it lay abandoned on the couch. She clicked the TV off, stealing the picture just before Remy hit the water of the sink.

“Colette!” Linguini protested but Remy felt weak kneed with relief- why couldn’t she have done that two minutes ago? Stopped all of this from getting out of hand. Such a meaningless movie, just dredging up past mistakes for present people.

“Non! You two are acting like you are blind- and stupid! Look at each other!” Colette ordered but Remy ducked his head to avoid Linguini’s gaze. When he did look up, Linguini was still watching him, concern filling out all of his features. “Remy, he doesn’t care what you said then- even though I’m very surprised to hear it from you. And you were talking to yourself before you even knew him- it was never personal and of course things have changed since!” She huffed, frustrated by their insensibility. “Alfredo, I know that you are worried about the Little Chef on the screen but can’t you see that the Little Chef on our couch is worried about you right now? He thinks that you’re hurt by what he said then but you are so focused on what he has long since dealt with, clearly without lasting consequence, that you ignore him!”

“But…” Linguini hesitates, startled. “What should he feel bad about? It’s true, isn’t it?”

“No!” Remy recoiled, horrified to think that Linguini would have just taken his horrible words without even a thought of defending himself- that was worse than having to deal with his anger. “You don’t mess everything up, and you do lots of things that are worthwhile, even in the kitchen now! Without you… without you I never would’ve gotten into a proper kitchen.” He stared straight up at the human who had supported him in his mission to create since they’d first met. “Without you I’d be reduced to a rat stealing saffron from home kitchens, and a jealous spectator at Gusteau’s.”

Linguini watched him carefully, a confused crease to his forehead to express that he didn’t understand what Remy was saying. Once more the rat cursed the communication handicap between them. He placed his paws on his chest, “My,” then, waving in front of his mouth, “words,” and then, his arms crossed over his chest in an ‘x’ “Not true. Fake. Wrong.”

“Little Chef,” Linguini smiled, and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, the one not holding Remy. “That’s nice, but, I was . I was useless, and clumsy, and I couldn’t cook at all. I shouldn’t have been a part of that kitchen, I just caused problems.” He waved at the blank screen. “If you hadn’t gotten involved that soup would have gone out to LeClair as I made it, and then Gusteau’s would have been sunk for sure! And there would be no La Ratatouille to succeed it. I mean, it wasn’t nice but why should you be nice to a human that’s making a fool of himself?”

“Non. ” Colette shoved his shoulder roughly. “Listen to him, you are not and never were useless. And Remy, the past is the past, did we not say that from the start? He has forgiven you already, now forgive yourself.” Her face hardened. “And don’t say it again, I’m sure you know better by now but Alfredo hardly needs to hear that kind of thing more often.”

Remy nods empathetically and then looks back up at Linguini. The humans still looks a little lost, like he’s not sure exactly what’s going on, but there’s a softness to his eyes that tells Remy that the message has been received.

Just to be sure though, he wraps himself back around Alfredo’s wrist and hugs it again.

He doesn’t see it, but Alfredo’s face melts into a smile and he resumes stroking Remy’s head, satisfied once more with the relationship he has with his, well, his best friend.

Chapter Text

With these two, she thought, there was no limit to the idiocy that could arise in a simple relationship. Men, in general, always seemed upset by small things that were no longer of consequence. Women, at least sensible ones, argued over truly distressing information that was applicable in the present- never over these inconsequentialities.

The entire time that Remy was hooked around Alfredo’s wrist, looking like the picture of regret and apology, her sweetheart had been watching the screen intently, not at all hurt by the words, but focused on Remy himself. Colette could see it as plainly as though it was written on his forehead- Alfredo was worried about him. Now that they knew what came directly before this particular night the upcoming trial was worrying, not to mention the fact that their small friend was working himself up into quite a state. Alfredo had hardly blinked at the hurtful words and so didn’t think about assuaging Little Chef’s fears of anger.

 Looking at them though, she could hardly be upset for long. They took great joy from their simple relationship, and if she could help things run a bit smoother for them both she was accomplishing one of her many jobs as the only person in their business arrangement who was passable as sensible.

Feeling accomplished, she retrieved the remote and clicked the television set back on. Remy fell into the sink with a splash.

Beneath the surface were sunken pots and pans, sheens of sauces and food bits still stuck to them as the dishwasher hadn’t gone through them yet. Remy didn’t seem very happy to be in the water, perhaps because it was so soon after his sewer escapade, and scrambled for a hold on a floating measuring tin. As soon as he had a good grip on it, Larousse passed by the sink and Remy let go of his raft in favor of avoiding being spotted. The water must have been very grimy, because Colette knew Larousse and he wasn’t the type to miss something like a rat swimming in dishwater. They were all lucky that he’d just discounted him as a sinking pan.

She had a feeling that this would not be the only close call of Remy’s first time in a fully operational kitchen.

So focused on escape from the sink, Remy scrambled out only to find another drop waiting for him. He let out a yell before hitting the tiled floor with a splat, gathering himself in just a moment to scramble under the cover of the sink. Passing underneath he looked to find a better shelter but all that he saw was Colette herself with a high flame in a frying pan. Remy flinched away, eyes wide, and scrambled for another hiding place.

“My apologies, Little Chef.” She offers lightly, genuinely uncertain what to do with the realization that she had been just another antagonist in the room for him. He didn’t seem bothered by it now and waved off her apology with barely a glance. That might have been because Alfredo, once again had the bulk of his attention as Remy’s next misstep put him just shy of beneath the shoe of a passing chef, and his dodge in the way of the refrigerator door sent him careening across the floor in little jumps, like a stone skipped by a child.

Alfredo worried his own lip like an angry dog.

“Alfredo,” She scolded again and he jumped slightly at her tone. “Don’t be so anxious. He is here with us now, right? And look, here he has found his way out.” Indeed, on-screen Remy had found better cover, and had located an open window which would serve as his exit.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right…” He murmured, forcing his shoulders down from where they’d flinched up to beneath his ears. “I just- Fire? Ohhhhh, no. No no no.”

Remy seemed to agree as he sprinted across the screen, just short of being burned to a crisp as flames burst to life underneath a row of ovens. Escaping that, he found mobile cover from a cart being rolled towards the window, and soon reached a metal shelving unit which he climbed up to achieve the same height as the window.

“I never realized how much fire was in the kitchen…” Alfredo was fretting. On screen Remy carefully avoided the man’s notice, creeping once more towards the window, stepping over the lid of a pot before lea- no. The lid was loose and turned, dumping Remy, only inches from freedom, back into the kitchen.

The pots shook and when Remy poked his head out it was to see that he was being carried away from the window all over again as a chef moved the pots to a station on the other side of the kitchen. Alfredo groaned miserably beside her and she rolled her eyes but set her arm on his shoulder to remind him that he was not the only one watching. In his hands, Remy was trying to instill the same idea, but Alfredo was transfixed as on-screen his friend jumped into a dish with carrots and raw chicken breasts to avoid another passing chef.

For a moment Remy was distracted by the carrots, sniffing them eagerly, before he was reminded of his situation as a chef came by to pick up the pan and slot it into the-

“The oven? ” Alfredo squeaked, voice strangled with worry. “You got put in the oven? Get out, get out get out getougetoutgetou- oh thank gosh.” He wasn’t wrong, it was a close call. Once Remy realized where he was and what was happening he leaped out of he pan and scampered across the red hot grill of the oven rack before jumping out and onto the floor again just as the door was shut. But before he could find a direction to run in, another passing cart came right into his path and on instinct he jumped up into it. Instead of taking him near his destination, the windows and their tantalizing freedom, the waiter’s cart rolled right past the window and into the dining room.

“You went out into the dining room?” Colette couldn’t help but exclaim. “If a customer had seen you we would’ve been shut down in an instant!”

“He can’t really think about that right now, can he, Colette?” Alfredo returned, tone hot. Remy gave her an unimpressed look to indicate his agreement- though there was none of Alfredo’s anger and perhaps even a spark of worry as he considered it. Gusteau’s reputation was important to him then too, as he had proved by becoming so frantic he fell through the skylight.

“He may have saved the restaurant by fixing your soup but his presence alone would be enough to ruin it as well.” She argued, a little angry at them for teaming up on her but still solid in her argument. “You are both exaggerating the situation and ignoring important points.”

“Exaggerating?!” Alfredo asked, voice strangled. “He just almost got baked!”

“But he didn’t.” She repeats. “He didn’t and it hardly matters now, whereas if a customer saw him that night and tried to come back to sue us, they could. Especially with this footage as evidence. We’re not sure how accessible it is. For all we know the whole city is stuck on this channel.”

It had been easy to ignore Remy as Alfredo steadily fanned her temper but with a particularly loud squeak he scampered up Alfredo’s arm and onto his shoulder, putting himself between the pair. He paced back and forth a few steps, waving his paws about as he was talking, a habit she hadn’t realized he had until seeing how he actually spoke. She’d thought it was a part of the game of charades they never stopped playing, but it seemed to be a constant quirk.

Still, it served to catch their attention and distract them from their fight. At least long enough for them to realize what she’d just said.

“They can’t really be showing this all over Paris… could they?” Alfredo asked.

“I don’t see why not.” She replied hotly, turning back towards the screen with a resolute frown. “Depending on how far this goes, this time tomorrow we could be shut down all over again.”

On screen Remy was back in the kitchen, crouched beneath one of the counters. All three of them watched with trepidation as a chef reached over and, without realizing even a fraction of the magnitude of his action, pulled the window shut.

The rat wilted in his hiding place, after being knocked all over the kitchen his best escape route had been cut off.

At that moment, Alfredo snuck closer to the soup once more. He glanced around before abandoning his mop in favor of a ladle and taking a sip. At once his face scrunched up in disgust and his hands flew up to his mouth, physically restraining himself from spitting it out. He forced himself to swallow and his expression shifted into desperation. He fanned himself for a moment before noticing the window and rushing to throw it open, draping himself over the sill as he took deep breaths of the fresh night air.

Colette snorted. Alfredo glanced at her, hesitant, whatever anger had been there now long gone.

“Was it that bad?” She asked, trying to keep her voice light. She knew now, of course, that Alfredo had little to no talent in the kitchen. But he could manage the basics.

“It was horrible.” He admitted, quiet. “Way too spicy and also weirdly chunky. Without Remy the restaurant would have been in real trouble.”

“ With Remy the restaurant still got shut down.” She reminded him, but there was no heat to her tone. “Which I suppose means that whatever might have come from his trip to the dining room has already passed.” She noticed the rat glaring at her, arms crossed, and followed her statement up with- “And though he’s caused us all much grief I am still happy he was there that night.”

“And to night.” Alfredo followed, scooping his friend off his shoulder and holding him in front of his chest. “Sorry Little Chef. I’m just getting caught up in all this…”

“We both are.” Colette conceded. “The past is the past, non ?”

Remy nodded, whiskers twitching with his grin.

It was very close to how he looked on screen at that exact moment. With Alfredo’s action his escape route had been reopened and his hope for freedom restored. Remy wasted no time in taking advantage of it. With a glance to be sure that the coast was clear he ran across the floor, clambered up the handle of the mop Alfredo had left leant against the wall, and rushed across the shelf above the stove. As he passed, he sniffed at the steam billowing from the pot of soup and, similarly to Alfredo moments before, pulled up short and covered his mouth with his paws, looking ready to throw up. He glanced behind him at what was on the shelf and tossed a handful of leaves into the pot. He started to run again but another sniff ended with him tossing a handful of fine ground pepper into the soup. He paused, eyes closed and paws working to draw the scent closer to him. Colette was reminded of the colors that accompanied his sense of smell and wondered what he was seeing now.

No sooner had she thought it than the background faded away, not entirely, but into shadow, and the colors streaked across the screen. At first they were muddled and just around his head, heavy and clumsy timpani drums sounding in the background. But then, a spattering of pink dots and piccolo notes that made it brighter and a few swirls of mint green accompanied by sweeps of a violin bow.

Before he could get too involved with it though, he’d remembered where he was. His eyes snapped open as a few dashes of a brighter green forced themselves into the mixture, welcomed by a rising chorus of maracas shaking before it all faded away. Remy glanced down at a spice dish full of what looked like chives  and immediately reached down to toss a handful into the pot. Then he was really running. He leapt from the shelf onto the next one, now very close to where the pots that had captured him the first time had been.

But again he stopped.

His nose twitched and his eyes fluttered closed. Colette didn’t need the film to visualize what he must be doing, though the sensory rendition returned anyhow. Like an artist with paints he was sorting through scents, remembering tastes, and imagining what they would do with the flavor he was in the process of crafting. He turned back to the soup, still poised to jump through the window but unable to leave the soup where it was. Other colors grouped around the various dishes and ingredients lying around the work station, and some shifted as though begging to be brought into the full picture. A full orchestra seemed to pound out of the speakers, currently a jumble but with something like a tantalizing melody waiting, buried beneath all the discord. His work was incomplete. More than that, he wanted to cook. His giddiness at being able to watch a professional kitchen was long gone, he’d fallen into it and wanted to contribute, to be a part of it.

Colette could relate.

His ears dropped as he stared at the pot, no doubt considering exactly what he was contemplating and realizing that he couldn’t possib-

“ Where are you going! ” Gusteau exclaimed as he popped back into existence. Remy startled with a shout, lurching away from the sound. “ The soup is right there, waiting!”

“Listen, I don’t really need another voice in my head.” Remy asked through grit teeth, walking around in a circle as he tried to get the vision to listen to him. “ Are you planning to hang around? Cause the colors and band are plenty, I don’t need something else to make Dad and Emille think I’m crazy.”

“ This is not about me, this is about you! You and that soup!” Gusteau encouraged, heedless of the rat’s frustration- or situation for that matter. Then again, Colette had realized that he was not all that focused on Remy’s safety when he’d advised the nigh starving rat to leave behind any food he’d had the opportunity to steal. She wasn’t sure what he was, actually. On screen, Remy seemed to be just as confused with the friendly specter, if a tad less curious and significantly more ready to be rid of him. “ You have dreamed of this all your life- don’t let this opportunity go to waste!” Gusteau said, gesturing with his hands in a way that almost looked like he was pushing Remy towards the pot. Indeed, Remy seemed to be seized by the realization and only considered it for a moment before his ears dropped from being on alert and his whole body seemed to settle into determination. Almost resignation, as if in deciding to make the soup he’d relinquished his self control and was finally pursuing what every part of him wanted.

Where every moment he’d spent in the kitchen before then had been punctuated by anxiety and glances to be sure of is surroundings, he now moved like he had every right to be where he was, without a lickof caution or an ounce of attention paid to other happenings in the room. He brought the heat down to ease the steam and scampered up to the next shelf, hanging from the faucet for just long enough to rub his paws in a dangling drop of water.

It was a mediocre cleaning, but Colette calmed her bristling and watched him work. The colors had returned at some point and she was stunned. Was this always playing on the back of his eyelids?

There were some things he could not do because he was small. When he dumped the entire tub of chicken broth in she almost cringed, but at once he took measures to counteract the overbearing flavor. She would have only included half the tub, and indeed his personal symphony blared out in unpleasant trumpets when he added it and yellow flooded the pool of colors that had been growing steadily into something that looked appetizing. But he hadn’t been able to control the outflow, so he added an extra two cloves of garlic to dull the flood of color and noise and found a carton of heavy cream that drowned it all to something quieter and more sophisticated. Steadily he became more comfortable, more engaged. He was in his element.

He wasn’t just fixing the soup anymore, he started experimenting. Impulsively, he grabbed several stalks of parsley and shrugged a few loops of celery over one shoulder. Their colors had not been reaching, as though hoping to join the creation, but he wanted to see what they would do, and so he brought them in. At once she could tell he liked the results, because not a moment later he had an entire spoon full of a myriad of herbs, a cloud of greens and golds mingling about the spoon as he plunged it into the soup and stirred.

He wasn’t even considering the busy kitchen around him, nor was she until she noticed it herself. His flamboyant movements, while endearing and fun to watch, were sure to attract attention.

It was just as she was realizing this that he began to finish up. After a quick taste test, accompanied by a brightening of the colors and crescendo of the music, he almost swooned with delight before jumping down to gather up just a few more things. He perched on the rim of the pot, grinding the herb in his paws to the right consistency. The theoretical camera that would have been filming began to pan as he was reaching out to drop it in and she saw at once, the next problem in the blurs of the background.

All at once, everything ground to a halt.

Like a light had been turned on, things snapped into focus, the colors fled like a startled school of minnows. Remy on screen realized at the same time as they did that he’d had an audience. Alfredo was standing very still, his mop clutched in his hands, watching Remy with a slack jaw. Remy shifted to look at him and Alfredo gasped. The two stared for a long second before Remy dropped the herb into the pot, the bubbling of the concoction mixing the addition through and completing his work just as it seemed he’d be forced to stop it.

“ A customer is complaining about the wait time!” Skinner’s voice broke through the stillness in an instant and Alfredo turned towards it on instinct. “ Lalo, that soup had better be ready, people come here to eat not wait!” Remy took the opportunity without hesitation and leaped down to the counter, running towards the still open window. “ When did my kitchen become so sloppy? ”

Alfredo had enough presence of mind to snatch up a colander and trap Remy on the counter, recognizing… something of value in keeping the rat at hand.

“Alfredo,” She mused aloud. “Why did you catch him like that? You didn’t know that he was any good at cooking yet.”

“A-ah…” Alfredo laughed, nervous. “I figured that if I said a rat had been knocking ingredients into the soup, then nobody could blame me for knocking over the pot in the first place.” Remy shot him a wry look from his seat in the man’s cupped hands and Alfredo shrugged, sheepish.

“ Garbage Boy! What are you doing, eh? The garbage is by the back door. ” Skinner snapped as he swept into their corner, encroaching far more than necessary into Alfredo’s space. Alfredo scrambled to keep a hold on the colander and, in his haste, didn’t consider that he was holding a ladle in one hand. Skinner was an irritable man on a good day, who already thought very little of his new employee. Between the ladle and their proximity to the pot, it was an easy jump to make- “ Is this - cooking? Who do you think you are? Garbage boy, not chef. You will never be a chef, how dare- ” He went on shouting and grabbed Alfredo’s shirt, drawing him closer to his face to make up for their height difference.

Colette was offended. On behalf of her significant other, who seemed incapable of defending himself at this point, and indeed in most parts of their relationship (except on occasion) she was angry. When she’d been a cook under Chef Skinner’s guidance, there had never been an easy or fun day in the kitchen. There was always a threat on the horizon. She hadn’t minded it, imagining it to be the way that professional kitchens worked, but when she’d begun to run a kitchen herself- at first through Alfredo, who didn’t know the first thing about leadership (or cooking but she hadn’t realized that till later) and then with Ratatouille- she’d found that it didn’t need to be so. She’d discovered that Skinner’s temper, pickiness, and superiority were unnecessary and uncomfortable to a degree that she was amazed she’d been able to withstand previously. Seeing this depiction of how things so often were back then was just a firm reminder of how undeserving of his title the small man was.

As Skinner continued yelling, Remy struggled to push the colander towards the window. At first he wasn’t doing too poorly, but once Alfredo realized what he was doing he threw an arm over the makeshift cage to keep him in place.

Then, Lalo walked over and ladled a serving of the soup into a bowl, turning and carrying it over to the waiter’s pick up counter, not batting an eye at Skinner’s thearics. Alfredo wasn’t paying any attention to the scolding at that point, babbling after the soup as it was carried away and he was ignored. It wasn’t until the head waiter had picked up the tray and turned towards the door that Skinner was actually listening when he finally forced out- “ Wait it’s going-”

“What is going…?” Skinner asked, not understanding until, very suddenly, he did, the camera following his gaze as he figured out what had occured. “ Mustafa!” He yelled, running through the kitchen in an attempt to catch the waiter’s attention. “ You cannot serve that, wait, that soup was- ” He broke through the kitchen doors into the dining room. His voice petered out under the pressure of the customers’ eyes. Of course, he’d just invaded the peace of their meal and was about to announce that something from his kitchen was unsuitable. And still the waiter walked on as Skinner gathered himself and darted back into the kitchen, bracing himself against the doors for a moment before hustling his step stool into place so he could watch what was going on with the dreaded soup.

“ Garbage boy...” He growled as the woman on the far side of the dining room took a bite, perked in surprise at the taste, and called the waiter back to her table. “ YThis is inexcusable, forget favors, forget Renata, you are never to step foot in my kitchen again! ”

“ Ah, Head Chef?” The waiter poked his head through the door and gestured for his attention. “ A, ah, customer is asking to speak with you. About the soup du jour .”  Skinner faltered and stammered for a second, considering what he could do. He was unwilling to take the blame for Linguini’s work but he was responsible for keeping each of his cooks well-trained and in-line. If a garbage boy meddled with a soup it was his job to have noticed and have it fixed. Colette respected that he at least understood and treated accordingly that rule of the kitchen. He straightened his toque and folded his hands carefully before him in a show of professionalism before trotting after the waiter into the dining room.

With dread on his face Linguini started to creep away, but before he could get very far the sous chef had him by the neck of his shirt, keeping him in place. Colette watched herself as she took a spoonful of the soup to taste and was reminded, by the expression on her past self’s face, of the surprise it had been. Alfredo had been cooking, she’d been expecting, well, poor work. Something bitter, something out of place at the very least, but it was… amazing. Not at all what the soup was supposed to be but a quality dish nevertheless.

The doors swung inward and Skinner came back in, looking shaken. The waiter was far more enthusiastic.

“ Chef? ” Colette asked. “ Did the customer have complaints?”

“ N-no .” Skinner muttered. In the background she noticed Remy pushing the colander along the countertop, quiet enough that she hadn’t noticed when it was happening just behind her.

“ Well, yes. It was not what she ordered,” Mustafa put in. “ But about the taste- her review is going to be glowing tomorrow morning! She assured us!”

“ Review?” Colette repeats before realization lights up her face. “ It was a critic!”

“Not just any critic- Selene LeClaire!” Mustafa enthused.

The scene zeroed back in on Remy, who indeed had his shoulder up against the wall of the colander and was trying to get closer to the window now that Alfredo didn’t have his hand weighing it down anymore.

“Remy, listen!” The apparition of Gusteau appeared and tried to draw Remy’s attention back to the kitchen.

“I’m done listening to you.” The rat groused, barely affording him a glance. “Because of you I’m hungry, I fell through a skylight, I’m stuck underneath a colander- ” 

“Not now,” Gusteau tutted and grabbed Remy by his ear, though Colette wasn’t sure, since Gusteau wasn’t physical, if it was just Remy following his beckons or something else. Either way, Remy ended up peering through the holes as the conversation continued. “More important than all of that! Your soup went over well with the customer!”

Skinner set his step ladder in front of the pot and took a spoonful to taste. Like Colette, his eyes widened.

“How did you do this?” Skinner whipped around and pulled Alfredo down to his eye level and the taller man hesitated, breaking eye contact and tugging at his collar as he stammered.

“ It was, not really...” He swallowed. “ It’s a hidden talent? That I didn’t know about either?”

“You can’t kick him out of this kitchen.” Colette said at once.

“ And who are you to tell me what I can do?” Skinner snapped, angry at the order from someone below his station. Colette straightened her shoulders, not regretting her actions in the slightest.

“ I am a chef of this kitchen, and I know how respectable LeClaire is. If she likes it, he is worth keeping on the staff, even if he needs to be taught a lesson on obeying the rules of this resturant . ”

“Hold on,” Lalo interrupted. “ He just messed with my soups! We aren’t really going to give him a promotion? I went through four years of culinary school to get here- you can’t hire him just like that!”

“I’m not saying just like that,” Colette asserts. “ I’m saying he deserves a chance. We are looking to impress critics and win back our stars and he has done that! This is Gusteau’s !” She spread her arms and addressed the cooks that had gathered around to watch the spectacle. Colette remembered doing this and thinking it was her only chance. She’d already stuck out her neck for him, there was no point in stepping back, Skinner was already mad. And he’d feel especially challenged by her speaking out because she was a woman. The only way she saw to speak her mind, which she had promised herself she would always do, was to include the other chefs. If all of them, or at least more than just her, were speaking for the garbage boy’s behalf, he wouldn’t be able to come down on her so hard. “We are all artists, gathered here by a genius with one thought in mind when he met every one of us. He is no longer here, but we can extend his good influence.The thing that brought us together and will hold us together is the same thing it always has been and the same thing we must think of for this garbage boy. ‘We are all undiscovered masters in our own right’.”

Beneath the colander Remy’s face lit up. The specter of Gusteau nudged his elbow against the rat’s cheek as though to say see, I told you so . Colette felt her own smile grow. She hadn’t realized at the time what her saying that had meant. She thought she’d been defending a clumsy red haired garbage boy, but now she could see she had been motivating a gifted rat who’d just stumbled onto the chance of a lifetime.

Glancing at the rat now she could see that hearing the phrase still made him giddy, made him believe that he had a chance in this world that was built against him. And she was proud to have given him renewed hope, even if it was perhaps part of what set off a very difficult chain of events for all of them. In the end, they’d gotten La Ratatouille , they’d ended up together, all three of them. In the end, it was worth a few mishaps and hazards.

Chapter Text

“ Alright, alright, you have made your point.” Skinner waved his hands at the gathered cooks as they all nodded in approval. Alfredo couldn’t help the wave of admiration and gratefulness that swelled up in the wake of hearing Colette's rallying statement. At the time he’d been terrified. He couldn’t cook, he had no ‘talent in his own right’, and he was certainly no ‘undiscovered genius’. Having her support just meant that she was sure to fall with him. “ I will not fire the garbage boy- but! He can’t just be brought into the kitchen before we know he has the proper qualifications.”

If Alfredo had to guess, he’d say Skinner’s only qualifications were ‘follows orders and will grovel at my feet’. Two things that, at the time, Linguini would have done without a second thought but also had just explicitly proven that he couldn’t be trusted to do by messing with the soup. Over the years, Alfredo had had a lot of jobs, and most of them were menial labor where he was at the bottom of the totem pole. Yet even among such positions he could still safely say that the entirety of his time under Skinner’s command had been one of the most toxic work environments he’d had the displeasure of being part of.

He was manipulative, held a firm grudge, and was always suspicious that something was going on. Admittedly, there had been something going on but for the degree of attention their circumstance could have aroused he felt they’d been pretty secretive about the whole thing and hadn’t deserved the scrutiny Skinner afforded them.

““ If you have such strong beliefs in the matter, you may be responsible for his education! ”   Skinner smiled, sickly sweet, and pinched Alfredo’s cheek on screen before shoving him forward so that he tripped into Colette’s arms. Alfredo on the couch frowned more heavily, glancing away from the uncomfortable moment. Colette and he had grown closer and he couldn’t deny his instant attraction to her back then, but Skinner’s touch had been entirely unwelcome and watching it made his skin crawl just as much as when it had first happened. “ Talent is not the same as ability, we all know this. If he can do no more than make an impressive soup, then he serves no purpose in this kitchen.”

The screen flashed to Remy where he was crouched underneath the colander. He and his imagined Gusteau glanced at each other in mutual suspicion and uncertainty. Alfredo felt a surge of comfort and gave the rat in his hands a few friendly strokes to show his quiet appreciation for the silent support. None of the chefs in that kitchen had questioned Skinner, not really. Some of them knew how to get what they wanted or needed, but none, at least none at first, had been willing to outright defend him or even think on his behalf. Colette had that first time, and it had gotten him into the kitchen and under her command. They’d all learned from her 'mistake' and kept quiet. But here was someone who disrespected Skinner on a daily basis once he was an established (if invisible) part of the kitchen, and he at least was on his side. Or at least against Skinner. It was enough for Alfredo.

(He wasn’t going to get into the weirdness that was seeing his best friend confiding in and conversing with the image of his dad. He’d never known his father and (even after all that he’d gotten for being his son) wasn’t particularly attached to him. Remy had grown up with a loving, if tough, family and had still latched on to this man who he’d never properly met. Gusteau had never been a proper father for Alfredo, but, aside from it being a strange thing to see, he was happy to see that he’d been a decent guide for Remy.)

“ Much as I’ve enjoyed this time in my old kitchen” Gusteau said softly and swept his arms toward the window. “ I believe we’ve explored enough for the first night? ”

“ First night? ” Remy snorted as he turned away from the scene unfolding. “ I’m not sure if this was a dream or a nightmare. But I am pretty sure I won’t be doing anything more than watching in the future.”

 “ If anyone else is looking for a change in their employment arrangement at this restaurant…? Skinner addressed the remainder of the kitchen and seemed gleeful at the lack of raised hands and abundance of averted glances. “ Good! Enough gawking!” He swung back around to face Alfredo and thrust his finger into his face. “ And you , don't think this is over." He hissed in warning. “ If this was a fluke, I will know. If you orchestrated this somehow, I will know. If you are anything less than the obedient, skilled, and competent cook I expect all of my employees to be, you can expect to be back on the job market within the week."

Remy, perhaps comforted by the lack of loud noises and shouting now populating the general vicinity, peeked out from beneath the colander and, after setting it back down as quietly as he could, started once more for the window.

“ I believe you mentioned a resume? I trust you brought it to convince me of your culinary merit, and then took matters into your own hands when I quite reasonably explained we had no open positions for cooks.” The way Skinner says it makes it clear that if Alfredo were to argue the point he’d have no luck. Skinner was reciting exactly what had transpired- as far as any outsider would be concerned. “Nevertheless, I will look at it now, you have my attention. Though that is not something anyone here wants.” Alfredo busied his hands with combing at Little Chef’s fur, remembering well the terror Skinner had inspired in him at this exact moment.

" Actually ," Alfredo was stammering on screen " most of my c-cooking experience is… for myself! At home. Very little professional guidance. My resume really isn't… applicable to a place like this, since, out of respect -"

"I don't want to hear it." Skinner hissed. “ The only thing I want to hear is you agreeing with me or your refusal of the position- preferably the latter. Do I make myself clear?”

“C-Crystal.” Alfredo’s head bobs with the force of the nod and Skinner pushes away, brushing the white of his uniform down as though manhandling Afredo had gotten it dirty.

 “ Good. If we are quite done discussing terms I believe there is food awaiting your attention. Rotten food. For tonight we still need a garbage boy and you will begin learning your place in this kitchen tomorrow. Until then,” His grin sharpened. “ Have fun with the-”  

There was hardly a pause, but, from the camera angle of looking over Remy’s shoulder as he clambered over the edge of the window sill, the moment of realization and change in address was obvious. Skinner’s eyes caught on the rat’s small form, widened to almost comical proportions, and his jaw dropped. “ RAAAAAAAAT!” He yelled and whipped out a shaking finger, while groping behind him for something to use as a weapon. The sound startled Remy from where he’d been just shy of clearing the sill and escaping to freedom. His hand found Alfredo’s mop still leant against the wall, and turned it on Remy at once, swinging it around with a yell.

It caught Remy squarely and hurled him against a copper pot that was sitting on the counter. Alfredo flinched and tried to erase the image of his friend’s limp body smacking into the hard surface. His perspective the first time through hadn’t let him see how much it could have hurt, nor how disoriented Remy seemed afterwards, but now it was all too clear. Don’t worry. He begged himself. He’s fine, he’s right here in your hands, that was all in the past. In the moments it took for Remy to shake off his disorientation the rest of the kitchen had rallied around, bringing their most deadly instruments to dispose of the vermin they saw in their kitchen. Alfredo remembered not wanting to kill him, but he also remembered that token disgust, had felt horrible for the woman whose soup had been contaminated, and the need to make up for what he’d done wrong.

So when the only thing being shouted was get it, get it, someone get that rat kill-

Alfredo did.

He watched as his screen double fumbled for something, came up with a mason jar, and, thanks to pure luck, scooped the rat off the counter and clapped the lid on top.

“ I got it!” He yelped, holding the jar aloft so everyone could see it and stop waving around knives and mallets. “ I got it, don’t worry, I… I got it.”

Unlike the first time that he’d experienced this particular event, he paid attention to the rat in the jar. Alfredo had been scared, hadn’t known what to do or what Skinner was going to do to him, and it showed on his face, but not like it did on Remy’s. The rat crouched low in the jar, eyes wide and tiny body shivering. Alfredo felt guilt creeping up the back of his throat- like he didn’t have enough of that already.

“ Don’t just stand there! We can’t be seen with a rat in our kitchen, get rid of it. ” Skinner ordered and Alfredo flinched, perhaps less at his words and more at the bloodlust in his eyes, tightening his hold on the jar as thought to protect the creature inside.

“ How?” He asked, voice strangled.

“ I don’t care!” Skinner waved his hands vehemently. “ Just do it fast! Kill it, but don’t let anyone see.” Skinner lowered the mop, easing something Alfredo hadn’t realized was tight in his stomach. “ You’re dismissed for the night, garbage boys take out the trash so just- take care of it! ”

The screen panned quickly across the cooks, all with their weapons of choice and Larouse looking disappointed as he clicked off his blow torch. In his hands, Little Chef shivers a little and Alfredo glances down, taking in his friend’s ruffled appearance.

He glanced down at the rat perched on his knee; seeing all this couldn’t have been easy for him. Where Alfredo had stood to maybe lose a job, Remy had been surrounded by people all too willing to take his life. How Remy had held on to that first ideal, that he wanted to make things and contribute to greater goods, with all this hatred aimed at him, Alfredo couldn’t fathom. Carefully, he shifted his hands closer to the rat and cupped them up around him to remind him of where he was, in safe hands, protected and supported. Little Chef started at the motion but caught himself and peered up at Alfredo with a puzzled twitch of his whiskers before his body seemed to loosen and he shook himself, as though to physically adjust his composure.

“Hey there, Little Chef.” He said, soft. “No shame in being scared of it. I’d have been terrified. I was terrified and I wasn’t even the one about to get murdered! ” The rat blinked and then tilted his head, sagging slightly in resignation. He made a few rapid movements with his paws and then dropped them to his sides in realization that Alfredo wasn’t following what he was saying. It must not have been too important, or else far too difficult to pantomime, because instead of trying again, slower, Remy just shifted in his palm so he was a little closer to Alfredo’s thumb and then leaned against it as he watched the movie continue.

Already outside, Alfredo was pedaling away from the restaurant per Skinner’s orders. swerving on his bike to avoid the car parked on the far side of the alley, Remy’s jar clutched beneath his arm. Skipping most of the chaotic ride, he was suddenly shown pulling up to the Seine. He leaned his bike against the wall and with a hesitant glance at the jar in his hands, approached the edge of the river. Remy pressed his paws against the glass, body shaking with anxiety. In his hands, Little Chef pressed himself a little tighter against Alfredo’s thumb.

“You were going to drop him in the river?” Colette asked, surprised. A frown was etched across her face as though in marble and her hand was clenched in the fabric of her pants, but her body belied no other tension. “That’s a slow death.”

“I didn’t, I couldn’t think.” He stopped, held his head up from where it wanted to look down at his friend in his cupped palms. “I didn’t want to deal with… a b-b-b.” He gulped. “Body.”

On screen, Remy turned anxious circles in his jar, pressing himself against one side, the river side, trying to get further from Alfredo rather than further from the water. The guilt Alfredo had felt creeping up the back of his throat dropped back into his stomach like a particularly heavy stone, filling his mouth with a sour taste similar to bile.

Suddenly, the screen showed Remy’s view point, Alfredo’s screwed up features as he readied to drop the jar, the water coursing beneath him, the glass walls making his erratic breathing echo.

The music of the background rose into crescendo and Remy pressed his paws against the glass, staring into Alfredo’s eyes, imploring for mercy.

“Euahhhhhh . ” He groaned softly averting his eyes at the same time himself on screen broke.

“ Stop it!” He shook the jar a little. “ Stop it. Stop it.” His voice broke and he looked away, letting out a shaky breath. “ Come on, it’s simple, just drop the jar.” He whispered, but when he looked up again Remy was still staring, and Alfredo watched his own rigid expression melt. “ Ohh, what am I doing.” He sank to sit on the cement bank of the river. “ This isn’t what I wanted at all. I was fine with garbage boy, what am I gonna do?” He clutched the jar to his chest.

“I’m such an idiot.” He said aloud, because how he could ever say that to the rat he was about to toss in a river to drown?

“You certainly can be.” Colette said wryly as he continued to explain his anxiety at the situation he was in.

“ I can’t remake that soup- I can’t make anything ! You’re the one who made it.” Alfredo accused, giving the jar a vicious shake. Remy was braced in a small ball against the bottom curve of the glass, eyes blown wide in fright. Alfredo winced at the way the glass magnified his face, making the anger in his eyes seem all the more extreme. “ You got me into this, and I can’t even blame you! You’re a rat, you don’t know what you did. You’re just… incredibly lucky. I’m never that lucky.” He mutters.

Remy, seemingly unable to help himself rolls his eyes.

“ Lucky, ” He snorts. " I’m lucky. What for? The chance to swim in the Seine?”

“I wish you could talk.” Alfredo murmurs on screen. Seated on his couch, Alfredo snorts, startled by the return of that train of thought. In his cupped hands, Little Chef emits a soft squeak that might also be a laugh. “ That way you could tell me what you did to it. Then I might stand a chance.” He glances down at the jar in his hands, resigned and obviously not expecting what he’s about to get. “ Could you show me how it’s done? Maybe point?”

“ Yes!” Remy bellows and thrusts himself up against the glass, paws pressed into it as he nods. “ I can definitely point! I will, I’ll, I’ll teach you! I- Anything you want- I swear, just let me out of the ja-oh, no, don’t dropme,don’tdrop-”

The perspective bounced back into Alfredo’s and Remy’s words cut off into desperate squeaks and half whistles. Alfredo could remember how surprised he’d been to receive a… coherent response from a rat. Nodding wasn’t something he’d thought rats… did . He thought they smelled stuff and ate garbage and got… killed. Anything more than that? No. It had shocked him into nearly dropping the jar onto the cobblestone, which could have created a lot of sharp edges for Remy. At the time his main concern had been his own mental state, not the wellbeing of the creature he’d nearly killed… three times by then?

“ Did you just answer my question? ” Remy, plastered against the back side of the jar again in search of balance and stability, looked up upon being addressed and nodded again, just as frantic. He’d barter anything for survival. “ You understand me okay? And, and you know how to respond?” Another nod. “ Am I going crazy and just, just, hallucinating you? ”

Remy paused and shrugged, but gave a slight shake of his head.

“No you’re not crazy or no he’s not hallucinating you?” Colette snorts and his friend raises both paws in an exasperated expression of both, maybe.

“This is crazy, I’ve gotta be crazy.” Alfredo says to himself, bracing his palm against his face and rubbing at his eyes. When he looks down, however, Remy is still looking up at him, eager to please if it will save his life. “ Did you… ” He hesitates but then pushes on. “ Did you know what you were doing? When you made the soup? Can you, really cook?”

Remy hesitates before answering too, but he nods.

“ So you know… how to do that? You could make that same soup again?”

The rat bobs his head up and down, insistent this time. Confident.

For most of the time that Alfredo has known Little Chef, he’d thought that he was some sort of expert. At first he’d thought all rats had his sort of talents, and when that was obviously untrue, he’d started thinking that his friend had trained himself into this ability. But more recently, not just tonight but for a few weeks now, he’d been noticing how much he changed what he did from day to day and how much he’d improved from those first few days they were in the kitchen together. Little Chef was a novice- a talented one, but a novice still.

Looking at his friend’s expression on the screen, Alfredo realized that he probably had no clue if he could remake the soup, he was just saying whatever was going to save his life.

“ Can you… help me make the soup?” He asks, and Alfredo remembers the way hope had risen up inside of him, warm and bubbling. “And, and other things? So I could cook? I could really make stuff like that?”

“If you truly intended to learn how to cook,” Colette muses, “Then how did you end up with Little Chef in the kitchen with you?”

“Well, he couldn’t teach me overnight.” Alfredo explains. “And Skinner wanted me back in the next day. The plan was that he’d help out until I could do it myself- that was my plan anyway. But I never really… caught on, and we were both happy, doing things the way we started out. In the end it was easier that way.”

“ So that’s the deal, right?” Alfredo is saying on screen. “ We’re partners on this, right? I’m gonna let you out and give you a place to stay, and you’re gonna teach me how to cook. That’s how this is gonna go.” 

Remy braced his paws against the glass and waited as close to the entrance as he could as Alfredo knelt in the dust and carefully unscrewed the lid, easing the top off as though making the exit available slower would make the rat less likely to run.

Alfredo had known he’d run. Because that’s what he’d do. He’d be scared out of his mind, he’d be so far from trusting any human ever again, he’d run as far as he possibly could.

He’d known he’d run, but it still took him by surprise. Then and now.

Remy moves carefully, slipping over the lip of the jar and putting all four paws on the cobblestone before taking deep breath and looking up at Alfredo.

And then he bolts.

Once more they were in Remy’s place, his heavy breathing filling the room with sound as he sprinted across the cobblestones. He glanced back and, seeing the growing distance between Alfredo and himself, started laughing. It was startling all over again to hear the rat’s own voice, as he hadn’t spoken for several minutes now and for Alfredo, who’d always known his friend to be silent, it had been long enough for him to forget the circumstances of the movie.

The sound was gleeful, but also surprised. Remy was amazed that he’d been able to weasel his way out of that situation. He runs until he reaches the shelter of the shadow underneath the bridge. Once in the dark he risks a look backwards, taking in Alfredo’s defeated posture and resigned expression. He snorts and turns back to focus on running, but he doesn’t make it far. His footsteps slow and he glances back again, expression fading into uncertainty. Finally he stops and sits up, pressing his paws to the base of his ears and rubbing, in the way that a human might rub at their temples.

“ Remy-” Gusteau swirls into existence in the space beside Remy’s ear, poised to provide advice and wisdom, but the rat holds up a paw with a sigh.

“ I see it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean I see it, okay?” Remy snaps back. “ I see what you mean. Your point, whatever.” He takes a breath and then settles back onto all fours, hesitating for the first few steps but then padding back towards Alfredo, who is just pushing himself back up off the ground, fiddling with the jar in his hands. “ He’s like me. A little. Just… enough that I’m gonna give this a shot.” He allows. “ And this way, when I end up dead for it, at least I don’t have to listen to you anymore.” Gusteau smiles and nods even though he’s floating just behind Remy’s head and the rat isn’t looking at him; he disappears in the breeze the same way he’d materialized. “Cat’s claws,” Remy mutters to himself. “I’m never going to be able to make my own decisions again.”

“Was that... a swear?” Alfredo stammers and Remy, who has had an arm wrapped around the mans’s thumb for the past few minutes, glances at him and nods, cheeky. He pauses and then wobbles his paw back and forth, sort of, but not quite .

“More of an expletive then,” Colette smiles, sounding amused, and Little Chef snaps his fingers to her and taps his nose.

On screen, out of the shadows there came a slight patter. Alfredo looked up, hope blooming on his face, and found Remy’s tiny shape moving towards him in the dark. He paused at the edge of the shadow, as though uncertain as to whether or not he really wanted to take that final step. But then he did, and Alfredo’s face lit up with gratitude, relief, and just a touch of warmth.

“This is the start then?” She asked, voice soft. “Not like I expected.”

“Well, there was more to it than that.” He shrugs. “And it wasn’t that… dramatic when it happened. I couldn’t believe he’d come back.”

In his hands, Little Chef squeaks in what he thinks might be exasperated agreement, like he’s still not sure why he turned back either- even after just watching the internal dialogue that led to the decision.

(And watching this hurt a little, for Alfredo. Because Alfredo had held him over a river and meant to drop him there to drown. Most of him did, anyway. And even when he didn’t, all he thought about was himself. It was Little Chef, who was pitted against the entire world, who turned back for Alfredo’s sake. He hadn’t deserved the courtesy.)

“But he did.” Colette reminds him. “He thought about it and he did. Alfredo, you don’t always think before you speak or act, and other times you second guess yourself until you do nothing at all. You are imperfect, but you must give yourself some credit. And if not because you think you did something right, then because we think you did something great.” She waves at Little Chef, who has stood up on his hind legs to glare at him. The rat raises a paw to Collette in a familiar gesture- what she said . He shakes his head and places both paws on Alfredo’s wrist, giving him another meaningful look before turning back to the screen. Something inside of Alfredo, like the strings that had been being plucked in all the wrong places before, loosened just slightly, the tension not gone but not reverberating through his whole being.

Colette was right, this was just the start.

Chapter Text

Once Alfredo had coaxed Remy up into the basket of his bicycle (the rat was, understandably, refusing human contact so soon after his harrying experiences) the film didn’t waste any time on the trip back to Alfredo’s apartment. Colette was surprised when she saw the neighborhood. It was… dingy. She’d never been to this place, and while she’d known that Afredo had been living on a shoestring, she’d also grown up in Paris and recognized this neighborhood as one of the areas that undesirables gathered. If Alfredo had lived there for too long, she imagines he would have been eaten alive.

But the first apartment she’d visited, several weeks after he’d come to work at Gusteau’s, had been far nicer, though still not what anyone would call high class.

“ Well, here it is.” Alfredo was saying as he wrestled his bike through the door. “ Uh. The lift isn’t working so we have to take the stairs. Can you… get upstairs? I’d carry you but you didn’t seem to want me to do… that.” All of his hesitation had come out from where his desperation and eagerness and pushed it aside before. He’s eager to please now but Remy seems only more skittish because of it. When the rat takes a few steps away from the elevator Alfredo takes the hint and guides the way towards the stairwell with plenty of benign chatter- but not a word about picking him up.

“I was really worried you were gonna get caught by a trap.” Alfredo explains to them both as they watch his past self push the door open and fumble for the lights. A voice down the hall yells ‘ Linguini! Stop making such racket at this hour!’. Both Alfredo’s wince but the screen version makes very little progress in quieting the process of squeezing the bike into the apartment. “That place had tons of rats, or mice or something, sorry Little Chef, I couldn’t tell the difference. But, you know, they had traps set to go with them. But I knew I’d scare you off if I said any of that so…”

“This is not where you were living when I first visited you.” Colette says, having had enough of the mysteries. “It was in a better neighborhood. Not in much better shape, and smaller, but certainly not this . How long did you live here for?”

“Only a month or two.” Alfredo excuses. “I just, didn’t know what to do, when I got to Paris. I found somewhere in the budget close by to employment options, not just Gusteau’s. Mom told me before she passed that she wanted me to go to Paris, so I moved there and tried to be close to the restaurant and a couple of other places she’d mentioned over the years. But the lawyer didn’t get her affairs sorted till about a week before this all happened. I didn’t know about the letter to Skinner till then so it was just luck that I found somewhere close to that.”

“I would not call living in this style avantage inespéré .” Colette sniffs. “But at least I know you found better lodgings. What inspired the move?”

Remy squeaks in Alfredo’s palm and her boyfriend flushes red.

“Uh, Little Chef convinced me to start looking. And found the place. Once I had the new salary from Gusteau’s coming in steadily I could afford the move within the month. And then a few months after that, I got Gusteau’s holdings…” He waved his hand on to express that she knew the rest. He’d gotten an even bigger apartment that at the time she’d thought an exorbitant and unnecessary purchase. Seeing where he started made her feel a little less sour regarding that particular expense.

“Be careful,” Alfredo calls out to Remy as the rat moves forward to explore the room. “ I have- I mean, uh, that bit behind the curtain is my bed and closet and stuff. You can go anywhere else. Do you need anything? I’ve got, uh, some ratty, I mean ragged towels lying around.” He tripped away from his bike and threw open a closet. The door fell off the hinges but he just set it aside to lean against the wall without surprise. As he delved into the depths of the linen closet (also, holding many things besides linen, she could see) Remy continued into the apartment. He sniffed in the direction of the ‘kitchen’ (she hesitated to call the fridge, sink, and counter space that) and frowned before turning away, clearly unimpressed. He peered underneath the couch and recoiled to find a rat trap lying there, pushed well under and unbaited but present nonetheless. Alfredo winced and looked down at the rat in his hands.

“I honestly don’t remember putting that there and the couch wasn’t mine so I never moved it but I’m still very sorry. ”

Remy lifted his paws in a shrug and patted Alfredo’s wrist to assure him that he forgave him.

“Eugh.” Remy said on screen, turning away from the couch and brushing his front paws on his legs. “ Alright Linguini, good tip, I’ll be careful. This place isn’t much better than the old attic. ”

Colette laughs at that as Alfredo winces again.

“It was the best I could do!” he insists. “I fixed it, alright? He helped me fix it and I’m somewhere better, alright?”

“Even the rat thinks you live in a hole in the wall!” She teases but pecks his cheek with a kiss and settles a little deeper into the couch. “I’m glad you have a new place, with your own couch even!”

She watches as Alfredo fills his arms with various supplies and stumble over to the kitchen table, splaying them out with all the grace of a man uncertain with his actions. He stares down at what he’s collected with a slight grimace and then looks down to where Remy is sniffing around the TV set.

“ If you need anything… let me know? Here’s a bunch of stuff, I don’t know where you want to set yourself up but this table seems safe… er, cozy to me. But you know, you, yeah, go ahead…” Remy doesn’t stand still to listen to him for long. Halfway through he turns away and makes for the window and Linguini trails off.

“That table is far too exposed,” Colette remarks. “What were you thinking with that suggestion? It’s more suspicious than anything else.”

“I was thinking that being exposed means I can see that there are no traps!” Alfredo exclaims, frustrated. “I didn’t exactly set everything to be rat friendly for when I got home! I just needed... some time. An hour or two to look around and make sure I didn’t have anything… villainizing.”

Alfredo was still blathering by the table but Remy had found a slot where the molding had warped and come loose from the wall. He looked back at Alfredo, who wilted slightly when he saw where Remy was standing.

“ Hey we have a deal, you’re not leaving are you, hey- wait, please come back! Please?” Remy turns and darts into the walls, leaving Alfredo’s pleas behind him as he scrabbles up a pipe and turns deeper into the building.
“Not much concerned as to the stability of your arrangement, hmm?” Colette muses and Remy shrugs again. “Everything was a gamble at that point, no? Everything a risque .” He nods.

“Well, I was just panicked.” Alfredo mumbles. “Abandoned by a rat unsatisfied by the living arrangements.”

The film takes them up through the walls, following Remy as he explores his new living arrangements. There are more traps than the last wall, and less interesting things happening in the various rooms he peeks into (mostly drunk people and television watchers), but the experience is similar, and once more, Remy makes his way to the roof.

Much like before, the view is stunning, and Colette wonders if the video they are showed has any basis on Remy’s emotions or opinions in the matter. Would any view from a Paris roof be as magical? It wouldn’t surprise her.

“ Wow,” He breathes. “ If only the apartment had a view like this, I could put up with it all for that. ”

“You wouldn’t need to,” Colette informs him. “Windows that have views like that are given beautiful interiors to maximize the quality of the space. You’ve either got to pay an awful lot or be content with rooftop living.”

“ There’s the restaurant,” Remy continues, turning to the sign for Gusteau’s, far enough to be a familiar glint in the cityscape, “ There’s the river, the Eiffel tower, that over there must be the  Louvre…”

“And here I was thinking you must be needing a tour guide.”

Colette felt her heart jump at the new voice a little in fear and a little in anticipation. A glance at Alfredo showed that he was as much in the dark as she was, which meant this coming encounter was as much a mystery to him as it was to her.

Remy whirls around on his perch and immediately loses his balance, throwing his arms out as he teeters dangerously on the narrow stone piece that jutted out from the roof. Another paw flashed out and grabbed the scruff of his neck before pulling him back onto the roof proper.

" Who-?" Remy starts but didn't get a chance to finish as the paw turns him around to face the newcomer.

" Hello to you too, " the other rat says gruffly and gives him a firm pat on his shoulder. " Can't be that skittish in a place like this, country boy. Especially not if you like the view."

" Country boy?" Remy asks, incredulous. " How do you, who are you?" The rat before him seems unimpressed but props her arm on her hip and nods.

" It's not a leap. You sure aren't a city boy, so you've gotta be from the country. My name is Griselle and I've gotta say, you have a poor sense of self-preservation if this is where you came for sightseeing."

"A sensible friend to balance you out." Colette nods. "She is precisely what you need, Little Chef."

Remy shoots her an affronted glare but Alfredo laughs.

"We both need women in our lives to anchor us down." He grins, “The more I see, the more I see that we’re pretty lucky to have ended up where we did.”

The rat in his palm raises his paw, as though to object and then lowers it, looking put out. He nods, begrudgingly, and then points at Griselle’s picture on the screen, then at Colette, and shakes his head.

“ What are you doing here then, if it’s so dangerous?” Remy is saying onscreen. Griselle is leading him back down from the roof once he told her which apartment he’d be staying in.

“Just passing through. This is the sort of place that'll offer a good midnight snack on your way to a proper haul but could never be a proper home. Which is why you, who doesn't need any extra threats in your life, should really find a new place to live or forage or both."

"I can't," Remy says at once. "The human I'm working with is here."

" The human-" she stops and looks back at him, incredulous. " Why in the burrows would you be working with a human?"

You’re saying she’s not like Colette?” Alfredo tries to clarify. “I mean, they’re not exactly the same, but she’s helping you the same way Colette helped me…”

“He’s saying they’re not together, mi amore. ” Colette surmises. It’s fairly obvious to her, regardless, and she’s not sure if Alfredo even meant it in that way besides, but Little Chef looks thankful for the clarification. “She does seem like a good friend to have, though. Do you still visit?” Little Chef nods, looking fond, and Colette smiles approvingly.

“I don't know if I'd call it a safe arrangement but I'm not really interested in going back to the way I was." Remy is explaining to Griselle. " He works at a gourmet kitchen and I want to be a part of that."

 “ He’s got access to a kitchen like that? ” she asks, sounding surprised. “I never would have believed a human that would live in a place like this could work somewhere like that. Of course, I do not blame you for wanting a piece of that action. Any rat would. And higher risk does lead to higher reward."

Remy shrugs and mumbles something about how the kind of reward he's looking for is always going to be high risk and she smirks.

"You are a clever rat then. I bet my clan leader would take you in. Definitely would if you brought tribute, at least.”

“Oh,” Remy says and looks almost struck by the idea. As though he’d never even considered it. His brow furrows and Colette can almost see the gears turning in his head, lost in thought. The answer seems to come quickly though, and he continues, a touch more hesitant than before. “ No. No thanks.” He says softly, but it gains resiliency as he continues. “I appreciate the offer but I’m not looking… for a clan.”

“Not looking for a clan?” She repeats and her expression sours once more. “What kind of rat is not looking for a clan. Only those that already have them! And your human is certainly not housing a whole clan. He cannot be that stupid. So where is yours?”

“No, you’re right. I don’t have a clan right now.” Remy sighs and twines his front paws together, glancing away. “I used to but… not anymore. I guess. I’m not ready though. For a new one.”

“Hmm.” She grunts and turns away to start walking again. “Maybe you are not as smart a rat as you seem to be.”

Remy barks out a laugh and shakes his head at her as though in agreement but Griselle talks right over whatever he is about to say. In Alfredo’s hand, Little Chef appears exasperated but pleased overall and Colette can tell, even without the context of their history together, that they are going to grow into good friends.

“Nevertheless, I hope you do not die. Your human’s well-being is important too, yes? He must be alive to work at a restaurant. You should find a new place, better for you both. I have a friend who picks good places for us to scavenge. I will ask if she knows the kinds of places you would be better off at. Not here, for certain.”

“Do you mean that?” He asks, surprised, and she nods.

“Of course. You are not part of my clan, but you are still a rat, and now a friend. A reckless friend who does not understand how this city works, but a friend all the same.” She smiles, her one front tooth chipped and the chunk missing from her ear showing clearly. “I will help.”

“Thank you.” Remy says “ That’s very kind.” But then he groans. “I have no idea how I’m going to convince this human to move. They like staying in one place, don’t they?”

“Some do.” She shrugs, “It does not matter. If he cannot see the value of the better option then he is too stupid- even for you. But that is a question for later. For now, you have big plans! Don’t let small obstacles you see in the distance stop you.”

“You’re right. ” Remy smiles and steps up beside her. “ Thanks, Griselle. For all of this. This might not be the best place for a rat to live but I’m happy we ran into each other here. ”

“ Of course.” She nods, matter of fact. “ When in the darkest corner even the dimmest light seems bright.” She winks. “ And I am far from the dimmest light.”

Griselle gives him a hearty shake of his paw when they reach the hole Remy had first escaped the apartment from and then turned tail to disappear into the dark. Remy breathed a sigh and stepped into the dingy light of the apartment.

Alfredo was asleep at the table, a stack of three rat traps piled in front of him. Remy cringed but padded closer all the same.

Without Alfredo fussing, Remy could freely explore the kitchen. The first thing he did was pop the fridge open and pull out a block of cheese.

“Finally!” Alfredo exclaims. “I’m pretty sure you hadn’t eaten in days by that point.”

The night passed quickly. Remy fiddled with the kitchen stuffs, learning how to work Alfredo’s hot plate and fridge and not only meager but exceedingly disorganized spice cabinet, and eventually went to sleep. Alfredo woke up in the middle of the night and after nearly cutting off one of his fingers with the rat traps, managed to dump them in the trash can and locate Remy snoozing on the windowsill with a dishtowel bunched underneath and around him. Colette watched her love’s whole body deflate, even in near sleep, as tension fled. With his Little Chef returned, Colette thought, everything he had a shot at remained a distant but achievable possibility. Without him, it was all beyond reach.

Morning seemed to come too soon for both of them and on the couch next to her Alfredo let out a low yawn in response to one his counterpart on the screen let out as he roused himself from sleep. He sat up, groping for the alarm clock with it’s muted beeping (muffled by being wedged beneath the couch cushions) and turning it off when he’d found it. Nuisance eliminated, he dropped back down to sleep. Sunlight was streaming in through dust-coated windows and Remy’s whiskers twitched as he woke up. There was a moment of obvious disorientation before he seemed to remember where he was and what had occurred to bring him there. Colette understood with strange clarity the way his expression shifted from distress to excitement to determination. It wasn’t ideal, there was a lot of danger waiting for him on this path, but in a way he wanted to walk it and most of all he was dead set on making it all work.

Fumbling slightly with the navigation and tool manipulation, Remy went through the motions of making a simple breakfast. It was awkward, but he clearly enjoyed it and in the end, he had two (one very small rat-sized portion and one human-sized portion) omelets sitting on the plates he’d pulled out. He’d scrounged ingredients from around the kitchen and topped it with some oregano leaves from the herb garden in the window box of a building across the alley.

In the other room, Alfredo’s snoring stuttered to a stop and there was a loud thump, snap, and yelp.

“Heheh,” Alfredo winced when Colette gave him a questioning look. “I missed one of the traps.”

Remy on the counter looked pleased by the commotion, as though Alfredo had gotten what he deserved for setting the traps in the first place. After a moment, Alfredo emerges from the other room, leaning in the doorway with a rat trap hanging from his untucked shirttails. 

He looked around the room, eyes wide for a moment before he caught sight of Remy, nibbling on the last bit of his rat omelet and eyeing up Alfredo’s, despite the item being larger than himself.

“Hey!” He gasped, and then, threw up his hands and backed another step out of the doorway. Remy’s fur, which had ruffled in a way that made him look disturbingly aggressive when he’d been startled by the interruption, smoothed back down as the rat relaxed to a skeptical glare. “ I mean, hi! I didn't I wasn’t sure…” He glanced around again, taking in the disarray of the kitchen space and the steaming omelet on the table. “ Did you… make breakfast for me?”

Remy nodded, licking the last of his own meal from his paw before pushing himself up and sauntering over to the faucet. Alfredo looked at the omelet like he wasn’t sure if it would jump up and eat him instead. Luckily, it didn’t seem that he’d need to choose.

“ Oh no!” He cried when a glance at the clock showed he had twenty minutes to get to the restaurant before report time. “ I’m already useless, I can’t be late too! How are we gonna-? ” Alfredo worked a hand up into his hair, tangling his fingers in the curls as he surveyed the so-called kitchen. It was small and ill-equipped and currently full of dirty dishes from Remy’s breakfast and late-night snacks.

“ Alright, no time for you to teach me. I don’t have the right stuff anyway. You’ll have to come to the kitchen with me.”

“The kitchen? ” Remy’s narration cut overtop again as the rat straightened up. “ I couldn’t go back there. Not so soon, and not without a plan!” Alfredo patted down his clothes and let out a garbled yell about getting dressed before darting back towards the couch. “ Of course I wanted to go. But, did I trust Linguini to bring me back? Not yet. ” He looked at the clock and frowned at the ticking hands. “ But… I’d agreed to teach him. And now the window of opportunity was closing. If he didn’t survive the first day then there wouldn’t be a seventh or a ninth or a twentieth where I did trust him and could gain access.”

“Alright, alright, I got my bike keys, this is the whitest shirt I’ve got, here’s lunch- ” Alfredo breezed into the kitchen and threw open the cupboards, shoving three granola bars into his pockets and wrenching open the closet door where the bike was waiting to be freed. “ Ready to go, Little Chef? ”

It wasn’t very reassuring. Alfredo was a mess and everything seemed very dangerous and uncertain and sudden. But Remy’s expression promised that he wasn’t about to give up.

“ Well. Paris hadn’t killed me yet. So I’d just have to count on my luck a little longer.”

“Quite a chance you took there, Little Chef.” Colette hummed. “What do you think? Was it worth it?”

The rat grinned, showing off his long teeth, and nodded.

“ Come on! ” Alfredo reached over and stopping himself just before snatching the rat up, offered his open palm to the rodent to climb onto. With one more deep breath, he did, and Alfredo allowed himself a moment for a warm smile. “ Stay in here, keep your head down! ” He slipped the rat into his chest pocket and patted it softly to make sure Remy was in place. “ This’ll have to do until you’ve taught me properly. You can give me head cues or something. We’ll figure it out!” He forced the bike out the door and shut it with a resounding thunk behind him. In the next moment, the door was replaced with the one that connected the loading alley with the kitchen of Gusteau’s.

Alfredo threw it open with a gasp and froze when he saw that the kitchen was already stirring into motion. Dough was resting in bowls to rise and marinades were being prepared for the next day's meals while anything left to set overnight was retrieved and preparation continued.

If Colette closed her eyes she could smell it. The fresh dirt that hadn’t been washed off the produce yet, her hair wet from a morning shower brushing chilly water droplets across her neck, and the thrill of wrapping her fingers around her favorite knife handle chasing away the remnants of drowsiness.

“ There you are.” A sharp voice snaps out of the hubbub of the kitchen and in the peace of Alfredo’s apartment Colette snaps to attention at the sound of her own voice. “Where is your uniform?” The Alfredo on screen jumps as the Colette of a year ago rounds on him. She shrugs a little from her place on the couch when he offers her a playful pleading look. “ Didn’t they give you clothes last night?”

“You were a tough teacher, right from the start.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “I was already so nervous, you made me want to quit right then and there.”

“Good.” She says. “That’s what I was going for.”

“What-?”

“ Ah-uhm, laundry! It’s… in the laundry.” Alfredo stumbled his way through the sentence and clasped a hand to his chest pocket as he ducked underneath a passing tray of steaming food. “ I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

“Of course I didn’t want you there,” Colette says. “I wanted Skinner to give you a chance, yes, but it all seemed terribly unfair to me. Was the soup good? Yes. But you would be a mess in the kitchen. You didn’t belong.” Alfredo’s face tightened in the way it did when she forgot to soften her sharper words. Remy twisted around to give her a calculating look and she frowned back.

Honesty was her preferred policy- even when it hurt. Lucky for Alfredo, she honestly cared for him.

And honestly, the list of reasons Alfredo should never have come back was long and disheartening, especially from Colette’s point of view.

1. It was unfair that he didn’t need to undergo a proper interview process.
2. It was unfair that he hadn’t needed to go to culinary school.
3. He had no prior experience.
4. There was no opening for a new cook nor space on the payroll.
5. His clumsiness and inexperience had been a promised obstacle for all of them.
6. She had already had enough responsibilities in the kitchen without a babysitting job. (She’d thought herself done with such tasks when she started working as a line cook. How many of the men in the kitchen had paid their entry fee with babysitting money? Very few, she was sure, but parents would pay extra if they could trust a nanny to prepare meals as well. In short, she was done babysitting).
7. He was already going to be fired if Skinner had any say in the matter-

But this was all so far in the past, it hardly mattered now. Even if she had been right.

“But.” She added. Remy gave her an approving nod before turning back to the screen. “I’m very glad I didn’t manage to scare you off. You might not belong in the kitchen, but watching you fight was rather inspiring. It shows a different side of you when you get serious.” She reaches out a hand and tucks one of his curls behind his ear. “And besides, you found a place you did belong. The dining room. And with Little Chef and myself.”

“ This is your new uniform,” Colette’s screen double said and dropped a bundle of clothes into Linguini’s arms without fanfare. “ You are on time today, technically, but from now on I expect you to come in for work an hour earlier so we can prepare for the day. Don’t be late.”

On-screen Alfredo’s mouth worked like a fish and she sniffed before turning on her heel and striding off into the relative bustle of the kitchen. Nestled on their couch, however, her love’s gaze had turned soft and warm as tempering chocolát .

“Thanks, Colette.” He only hesitates a second before reaching his lanky arm around her back and tugging her an inch closer to him. “I’m glad you didn’t scare me too. Though, haha,” He rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand. “If there was anything that kept me in the kitchen other than financial desperation and how determined Little Chef was to make it work it was you.”

Once upon a time, romance with a man had seemed undesirable and stifling. She didn’t want a man she could mold, and she didn’t want a man that would cage her. It had taken a lot of time in the kitchen (and out of it) to realize that Alfredo wasn’t either but some third type who just liked to be around her. He was also one of the few that she liked to be around.

Now, she pulled herself a little closer and laid her head on his shoulder.

If there were something other than insight to Remy’s life that this movie night could bring it would be a refreshing visitation to those simple days of getting to know one another.

“Where is he? Where is Linguini? If he’s late I’ll-” On screen, Chef Skinner rounded the corner, his hat the only thing visible until he was past the sauteé station and barrelling across the black and white checked floor towards where Alfredo stood cowering with a rat in his shirt pocket and a rumpled set of chef’s whites in his arms.

“ Linguini.” He smiled, thin and cruel. “ Welcome to my kitchen. Let me know when I should show you to the door.”

First though, she supposed, they’d need to get through this bit.

Chapter Text

Further Shifts in Persepctive

“You will have full access to the resources of this kitchen, ” Skinner said as he led Linguini across the floor towards the soup station. “ I will even give you as much time as you require. All day, all week even! ” His face fell. “ But don’t take too long, I’m not paying you to work in a test kitchen. We rely on results here! ”

“I was so relieved,” Linguini laughs. “I knew it was gonna take a while for you to teach me. But with that kind of time, I was sure we could work something out!”

“And you did,” Colette realizes with surprise. “Though I’m very curious to see how that worked. As I recall your first day was, would you say, empoté ?”

"We did what we could." Linguini shifts uncomfortably. "It wasn't… smooth. But we made it work. Right Little Chef?"

Remy grimaces and pats Linguini's finger. What he wouldn't give to have been able to talk then, or even now, like his movie counterpart could.

Instead, the day proceeded as it had back then. Skinner left Linguini to the soup station and Remy poked out of Linguini’s shirt to see what had been set out for them. All the ingredients were there and a broth was simmering in the pot, but as preparations in the rest of the kitchen went on, Linguini hesitated before the options and reached for the wrong one. Remy onscreen shook his head and with a glance towards the rest of the kitchen, clambered up Linguini’s shirt front and into the collar. Linguini’s surprised shout brought the attention of the rest of the kitchen, but luckily they looked away again quickly. When he reached again for the ingredient, Remy poked his head out of his sleeve and shook his head empathetically. Linguini was too nervous though and still went to pick up the ingredient, not noticing Remy’s direction.

Instinctively, Remy opened his jaws and bit.

Colette slaps her hand over her mouth at the scene as the two entered an impromptu fight, with Linguini slapping at Remy to express his displeasure with the chosen signal and Remy biting again in retribution for the attack. The camera angle showed the rest of the kitchen staff staring as Linguini jerked and wriggled, smacking himself repeatedly and shrieking. On the couch, Linguini lowers his head into his hands and next to him Remy reaches out and pats his hand softly in apology.

It isn’t that Remy didn’t live through this. He had; it is still a harrowing memory filled with worry and unknown variables. But here was the other half of the equation.

It amazes him that the movie can be so mutual. It followed him from the start and his own voice narrated but here he sees things from Linguini’s perspective. The outside forces of the kitchen and the judgemental stares from the rest of the staff burn.

It made sense that Linguini had been nervous about the interaction then, and angry at Remy later!

But. He’d also forced their partnership to go a lot faster than it was strong enough to hold. And with hindsight, Remy recognizes that his own methods were… animalistic. He hadn’t known yet how to behave any other way, much as he thought he did.

“If you had done that to me I would have tossed you out and quit the job,” Colette tells Remy firmly as Linguini hurried across the kitchen to take refuge in the relative privacy of the fridge. “You are smarter than most rats but this makes you look very stupid.”

“You try it!” Remy raises his paws in exasperation. “I’ve never needed to communicate ‘stop’ to a human in any way but that before.” After a moment though he pats Linguini’s hand again and covers his own face to express his shame. “I’m still sorry about it though.”

On-screen, Linguini had ripped his shirt open to show off the bites peppering his chest and arms. Remy had the decency to flinch at the sight of his handiwork but was immediately distracted by the cheese behind Linguini’s head. It had still been a sparse week for food.

“There’s gotta be a better way to do this!” Linguini seemed to be talking more to himself than to the rat on the shelf. He clutched at his head and paced back and forth minutely. “ I can’t, you can’t with the, biting! Definitely no biting! I need a rabies shot, you don’t have rabies do you? I look like a fool out there and I still have no clue what to do with the soup! ” He stopped and looked at Remy who was looking chagrined. “ Listen, I want this to work out too but… I don’t think this is gonna work. ”

“Already?” Colette says, surprised. “You have been in the kitchen less than an hour!”

“I was covered in rat bites!” Linguini defends. “And really embarrassed and talking to a rat in a fridge. It all seemed pretty hopeless.”

It was about to be more so. The camera panned outside the fridge where Linguini’s yells were inarticulate but audible. Skinner paused as he passed and looked at the door quizically.

“ What now? ” he growled and threw the door open. The three friends watching gasped as they saw exactly what he had seen. Remy perched on the vegetable shelf and Linguini leaned over, practically nose to nose with him.

“Right from the start he knew!” Colette says aghast. “That is why he was always so suspicious even when you proved yourself capable. He knew you were harboring a pest.”

On-screen, Linguini’s quick flick of the light switch created enough of a distraction for him to shove Remy up under his hat. Skinner turned the light on again quickly and babbled about what he had seen while Linguini tried to edge past him back into the kitchen, denying it all as he went.

Remy sits on the arm of the couch, rerunning all of the strange interactions Linguini and Chef Skinner had had over those first harrowing weeks in the kitchen. He’d thought the head chef mean-spirited and himself not sneaky enough, but maybe they had been doomed from the start beyond those two weak points.

Maybe, regardless of the night Gusteau’s was run by rats, the restaurant was doomed to close from health inspections as early as this.

Chef Skinner sputtered out some accusations but Linguini fumbled his way out of them without too much trouble, since the idea that he would be harboring a rat in the kitchen refrigerator was objectively more than a little outrageous. In his rush to escape Skinner’s attention however, he was not looking where he was going. Remy, just recovering his balance from when he’d been grabbed in the dark and shoved up into Linguini’s hat, is looking forward however and is met with the platter of dirty dishes the maitre de is carrying approaching at top speed.

“ Ah !” He shrieked and grabbed at Linguini’s hair, hopping to keep himself from getting knocked from his perch and tossed, unprotected into the middle of the kitchen floor (again).

It worked. Too well. Linguini dropped back into a steep limbo and popped back up once the danger had passed, looking startled. Colette bursts out laughing and Linguini gapes at the television in surprise.

“This is how you figured it out?” She gasps for air. “ Mon dieu , the two of you! Meant to cause chaos together, I am sure of it.”

“I’ve never seen it from the outside before,” Linguini mutters. “That’s crazy, I look insane .”

“I’m pretty sure it looked better later, once we practiced,” Remy says but is not entirely certain himself. Linguini did look a little bit… unhinged, giggling at the maitre de as he backed up into the bathroom, locked the door firmly behind him, and ripped the hat off his head to reveal Remy seated there, hair clutched tightly in his paws.

“ What was that? ” he asked, voice strained into a squeak, “ What did you- eep!? ” he made the noise because Remy had tugged on his har experimentally or demonstratively and as a result Linguini’s balance had been entirely abandoned. He veered forward, narrowly avoiding smashing into the mirror as Remy pulled another lock of hair and his feet moved of their own accord, dumping him onto the ground. “ Is that… you?”

Remy nodded mutely at the mirror and the pair met each other’s reflection’s eyes. Remy’s narration kicked back in as their expressions showed a dawn of understanding.

“In this impossible situation, I think we both knew: We’d been handed an impossible solution. All that was left to do was make it work.”

“And how did you do that?” Colette asks, amused. “I remember your first week all too well. That first day you were odd, certainly, but the second your wits were about you! We all dismissed it as first-day nerves.”

“It was a really long night,” Linguini laughs. “I picked up some stuff from the grocery store to practice with and when we got home he got out a blindfold- oh, oh yeah, see?”

What Linguini had begun to describe plays out on the television screen. Remy, who had not been blindfolded for their long night of learning how to coexist in the kitchen, turns away from the television and clambers up the back of the couch. Call him nostalgic, but when he jumps from the cushion and crawls up into Linguini’s curls, it feels homey. They don’t make much habit of puppeteering anymore. It’s bad for Linguini’s self-confidence and brings back a lot of unfriendly memories Remy has about being denied credit for his work. And at the end of the day, Remy does prefer cooking with his own paws, even as it presents certain challenges. Linguini chuckles and raises a hand to his head when he feels Remy getting comfortable in case he slips and falls.

“Straight to a blindfold, Little Chef?” Colette exclaims as the memory onscreen showed Remy’s exuberant offering of Linguini’s only tie. “Did you not think you could start with a little assistance? And you?” Colette shoves Linguini’s shoulder playfully as their first few trial runs played out, disastrous as they were. “You went along with it?” Linguini took more than a few tumbles, which had Remy cringing down into the red curls around him, and had Linguini himself laughing.

“I felt so bad after that first day in the kitchen, I was ready to try anything to make the next day go better!” He gestures at the screen as he accidentally tossed a frying pan out the window. “I wish he had let me keep the blindfold off, at least for a little bit. I thought I felt silly when all I could do was hear and touch, but it’s much funnier to see it from the outside.”

Over the course of a few messes made and a few successes found, the sky outside of the window slowly lightened. Colette gasps and threatens Remy playfully when they finally picked up a knife somewhere around three a.m., but relaxes as the onion on the cutting board was definitively reduced into even slivers. Even with that resounding success, Remy didn’t rest until he had made three complete dishes from Gusteau’s cookbook, which, ironically, Linguini possessed among his exceedingly limited cooking-related possessions.

“It was my mom’s.” he explains when Colette voices her surprise. “I didn’t actually bring much of my stuff along with the move… But I brought a lot of hers. She was the one who cooked at home, obviously. And I knew that I would need to learn… so I brought the book. I didn’t know what to do with it at all until you came along though, Little Chef.”

Remy hunkers down in Lingini’s hair, trying to be warm and comforting as the room lapses into peaceful silence and the scene onscreen shifts into the moment where Skinner taste-tested Linguini’s first real attempt at recreating the soup.

“ Hm. So it was not merely a fluke.” Skinner mused and turned to Linguini with his approval. “ But your fleeting first success does not secure your place here, boy! I cannot hire you merely for a soup! Colette!” In the background, Colette paused with her rapid preparation of ingredients and waited for Skinner’s orders. When Skinner ordered her to look after Linguini, her expression soured. “ You will be responsible for Linguini while he learns how this kitchen operates. Don’t let him make too many messes.”

Skinner hopped off his step stool and hurried off in search of someone else to boss around and Linguini wiped his hands on a dish towel and did a strange half saunter over to Colette’s station. She glared at him with poorly shielded disdain.

“Why did you come over like that?” She groans. “I already did not like you, and then you pretended you knew what you were doing- it was insulting.”

“Yeah, it was pretty stupid,” Linguini laughs again but it is significantly more embarassed than when they had watched him and Remy practicing their cooking motions. “I just… really liked you. And you seemed so confident. I didn’t want to be a dithering mess.”

“Hmm.” Colette hums and looks to him with a soft smile as her past self pinned Linguini to the counter with well-aimed knives and sharpened threats. “As it happens, I like you even when you are a dithering mess. Far more than when you have obnoxiously exagéré confidence. But I am glad you are just dithering now, and not so messy.”

On-screen, Colette released Linguini from the hold of her knives. Remy cowered under the toque, sufficiently cowed. But Linguini clambered back to his feet and stared after her, awestruck.

On the couch, Linguini opens his arm and Colette curls into his side, pressing a warm kiss to the side of his jaw before laying her head against his shoulder. Still, Linguini stares at her as though she is something incredible.

“ No oven-sticking, only finger-licking! Gusteau’s Instant Fried Chicken is easy for dinner picking!” The pair startles as a new voice and unknown scene appears on the screen. Remy too perks up at the new content. The inside of Gusteau’s office is recognizable after a moment, but the man introducing the slogan for one of Gusteau’s freezer meals and proudly showing off a cardboard cut out of the man himself in an over-exaggerated costume is a stranger to all three of them.

“ Your work is always a joy, Francois!” Skinner claps his hands and Linguini starts, nearly knocking Remy askew. “ Your marketing is perfect for bringing Gusteau’s cooking to households across the world!”

“Thank you, I like that one too,” Francois says, assured.

“I’ll need your magic again. I’m launching a new meal- corn poodles! Corn dogs but with a sweet dough as the fry coating. I’ll need a new package design and a commercial.”

“This is… Skinner’s perspective.” Linguini says slowly. “Again. Not just what he saw in the fridge.”

“Skinner lost his job and his reputation over the course of this story,” Colette says. “Perhaps there is something worth learning about his actions too. I certainly would not ask him about them, so this is the only way we would come to know.”

“Maybe we can find something else to sue him over,” Remy mutters as Skinner sees the marketing agent to the door and reminds him that their ads should be tasteful in both flavor and memory of the late Gusteau. “He ruined Gusteau’s brand by ramping up the frozen food line, sullied the true meaning of his motto, and knowingly kept the restaurant from your ownership… Oh.” On-screen, Skinner had begun to flip through his mail and had paused on the lavender envelope that Linguini had given him his first night in the kitchen. He sliced it open, looking bored, and Remy recognized the letter within as the one he had stolen from the desk, weeks after this.

“He realized then?” Colette snaps. “I knew he had willfully kept you from your inheritance but this-!”

Horror dawned on Skinner’s face as he processed the words of the letter, eyes flashing to the key phrases he needed to know that he was in trouble. He dropped the letter as though it were on fire and seized the office phone from its cradle, dialing a number he had saved into the device and ordering the person that picked up to send his lawyer over right away.

Before long, the lawyer had arrived and was reading the will they all knew so well by now. Remy got up and paced circles around Linguini’s head, chewing on the timeline before them.

Skinner had never been fond of Linguini, as the movie had so clearly illustrated. But it wasn’t until right here, on day two in the kitchen, that getting rid of the younger man became a priority. All of the harassment that Linguini had endured over the next few weeks… how much of it had been because of this discussion, right here?

“I wonder if Mom knew I was in his will.” Linguini says suddenly as Skinner admitted that the only favor Renata had requested was for a part-time job, not an inheritance. “Or maybe she knew I wouldn’t want the restaurant, or wouldn’t have been able to take it over.” He laughs again, but this time it is humorless. “I wish she’d told me sooner. About any of it. But I guess it would have been hard for her… at the end.”

Colette rubs his shoulder soothingly and Remy stills his pacing to focus on giving Linguini a reassuring pat.

“She may not have known,” Colette agrees. “Or maybe she did but simply did not know what to do with it. A relationship that ends with a child but no marriage is always messy. Her letter does not seem to hold any ill will to Gusteau or Skinner, but I’m certain there was a reason she did not introduce you when she had the chance. And everything after that, with the inheritance.” She shrugs. “I do not wish to speak ill of the dead. But none of us are perfect. I am certain the circumstances you faced quickly spiraled out of the realm of possibility she tried to prepare for. Being straightforward and honest could have eased this transition but… it may have worked out for the best, non ?”

Remy also wishes it could have been simpler, but he agrees that where they are now is such a delicate arrangement that so many small changes could have upset it into impossibility. He loves La Ratatouille . He loves living part-time in Linguini’s apartment and part-time with the clan. He loves working with Colette in the kitchen and welcoming rats from all over Paris into his balcony dining area. If Linguini had come intending to inherit the restaurant instead of to survive as a low-level cook, would he have given Remy a second glance? If he had thought more of his cooking ability at the start, the way he later claimed to have inherited it from Gusteau (despite it all being Remy’s own actions), would he have been humble enough to take critique from a rat?

Somehow he doubts it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Linguini says and Remy startles for a moment, trying to remember where the conversation had last been out loud instead of in his head. “If she knew or not, if she wanted me to know or not.” he mimes throwing something at the screen as Skinner prattles on about how suspicious the entire scenario is and how Linguini must be hiding something as he makes Skinner’s hair stand on end. “Skinner was never gonna like me, whether I was a threat to him or not. This was always going to be hard- I knew that when I left home. I’m just glad it all went the way it did.” He looks at Colette and smiles. “I like the way it turned out.”

Remy sits back on his haunches and sighs. Maybe he isn’t giving Linguini enough credit. Maybe, even if he had known at the start, they still would have worked together. What does making the scenario a little more impossible change, after all? When the things that happened never should have happened in the first place.

“ I’ll check the technicalities of the will and the public birth records, figure out if all this is even possible. In the meantime, don’t lose track of Alfredo Linguini. It’s to our advantage to have him working under you while we sort this out.”

“I do not like having him so close to it all,” Skinner muttered. “ I’d rather he left the city and found some other improbable career that he has an unnatural talent in. I do not want the stress of managing him and this business at the same time.”

“It cannot be so hard,” the lawyer smiled good-naturedly and Colette scoffed. “ He is an amateur, is he not? And you order experts around every day. It should be as easy as pie.”

Skinner looked unconvinced as the lawyer left the office and Remy took a small amount of comfort in knowing that as much trouble as Skinner had given them over that first month at Gusteaus, Linguini and he had been far from easy to manage.

Chapter Text

Montage Progression

Leaving Skinner looking apprehensive in his office, Colette is pleased to see herself sweep onto the screen once more. Alfredo was chopping celery at a truly snail-like pace and she arrived in time to deliver a scathing reminder of the pace their kitchen kept.

“ Prep time is not resting time, ” her past self lectured from the television set. “ It is hard, like balancing on a beam, or a ballerina with perfect posture. You cannot spend all your energy and time here because at dinner service you will need to perform at full capacity! But you cannot relax. Non!” She dragged the cutting board toward her and slammed the knife down in a rapid series of dicing motions. “ Now is the time for efficiency. No mistakes or slow downs because they will create chaos later when you have no more time to prepare.”

When the camera peeked under the toque to show Remy also flinching at her sharp blows she laughs out loud and Alfredo looks down at her, amused.

“You think it’s funny how you tried to scare me into quitting?” Alfredo asks jokingly. She and he have spoken about her early frustration with him and his later sense of superiority and betrayal of her trust, disconnected as they were. It’s all water under the bridge, if not something they both know to watch in themselves. They operate better now as equal owners of the restaurant, with his domain of the dining room neatly sequestered away from her own food preparation zone.

“No, I think it’s funny that in trying to intimidate you I spooked our Little Chef!”

Remy, perched up in Linguini’s hair, rolls his eyes and doesn’t rise to take the bait.

“ Look at this, clean cuts, even proportions, you don’t have time to clean this later or pick out imperfections! Have it ready before the dinner rush or we shall all drown!” With a final sweep of the knife she cleaned the cutting board and slammed a new stalk of celery down. “ Now you !”

Alfredo dithered but picked up the knife. Remy scrambled into a ready position, looking ready to fight for his life- and the scene shifted. Colette blinks as the surroundings changed to a dark rooftop and the ambient noise of the kitchen were replaced by a soft cooing noise.

“ You don’t hafta be scared of em, we’re partners in crime.” Griselle’s voice carries out of the speakers and the larger female rat dropped an arm around Remy’s shoulders. The bluer rat flinched and brushed her off then straightened, as if summoning his courage.

“ The only birds I’ve ever encountered were hawks and we weren’t supposed to talk to them.”

“Hawks are here too, gotta keep an eye on the skies. But pigeons are just like us. Can survive on crumbs and aren’t good for human’s health. If you’re not gonna have a clan you’d best be in good standing with the flock. Now go on.”

Remy took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped forward, holding something out in front of him. A dark shape flashed in from beyond the view of the camera, and then another from another angle. Then another. Remy opened his eyes and the angle changed to show a group of pigeons surrounding him, pecking chunks out of the large bread scrap he had presented them with.

“ There you go, ” Griselle slapped him on the back. “ Now you’ll have a friend no matter where you are.”

“Do you keep your desk at home like this?” Colette’s voice overtook the scene again, and the rooftop was gone, replaced with the soup station of the kitchen where she began to lecture Alfredo about his bad habit of keeping dishes he was finished with crowding around his workstation. Colette shakes her head lightly, coming back to herself. The scene with Griselle had been a shock, but not thematically out of place. All the time she had been teaching Alfredo about the kitchen, Griselle, it seemed, had been teaching Remy about the streets of Paris.

Good , she thinks. These two imbéciles needed all the help they could get. Like tourists, they were!

“I know they call pigeons the rats of the sky, but do you really have pigeon friends?” Alfredo is asking Remy. The rat nods empathetically and begins to mime something, but gives up halfway through. Alfredo seems thoughtful. 

“Now the thing about getting around the city is we rats can’t do it like humans can.” Griselle lectured Remy. They were scampering over a laundry line connecting two apartment buildings with a crescent moon hanging in the night sky behind them. When they reached the windowsill, Remy stopped to smell an herb garden growing there, and startled when through the glass, a human face stared at him. Griselle grabbed his paw and pulled him away while shouts started up inside the apartment. “Two rules, never run to somewhere you want to go. You’ll find a trap waiting for you there the next time you do, otherwise.” They scamper down a drainage pipe and Griselle held Remy back before he could leap off the sidewalk and into traffic . “And two. Don’t go in the road. It’s dangerous enough for humans, and they try not to hit each other. You’re too small, too slow, and too fun to kill to ever risk it, mark my words.”

“Why do you even bother with humans in the city?” Remy asked. “ Roads, apartments, there’re plenty of back alleys and dumpsters where no one would ever bother you. ”

Griselle looked at him, unimpressed.

“ Why do you bother with your human? You do so much more than any of us.”

“...Well that’s cause I can do things with his help that I can’t do otherwise.”

“It’s the same, kid. We do stupid risky things because othawise we’re not living the lives we want to live. These are the only exceptions.” She pointed at the road. “ Rats don’t belong in the road. And rats don’t let the humans know where we really want to be. Everywhere else… explore your heart out. ”

“You must have been exhausted,” Linguine says to Remy. “Masquerading in the kitchen all day and then running all over Paris all night.” Remy waves the notion away with his paw but also smothers a coy yawn. Colette watches the pair fondly and is grateful once again that she was tough on Linguini, on them both, way back in the beginning. It may have been hard, but she is sure that without her genuine guidance, if she hadn’t put her whole heart into whipping them into shape, they wouldn’t have been able to weather the storm that came next.

“ You are filthy!” Colette startles as the kitchen reappears on the screen and her past self jerked Alfredo’s hands away from the bowl he was mixing. “ Do you think this is appropriate? We are professionals! You must be better.”

“ How!” Alfredo exclaimed, sounding hopeless. He hadn’t uttered a word of protest throughout the prior three days of her strict teaching but now he looked about to crack. Colette sees her expression soften and remembers how she had begun to shift less into criticism and more into guidance. “Food gets everywhere , I’m cutting and mashing and mixing and it, ah!”

“ First you must keep your head. ” Collected ordered. “ You are the master of the food, not the other way around! Second, you must always be in control. Mess is not everywhere, it is preventable. Add ingredients a bit at a time, never all at once. Whenever possible prevent splashes and splatters! Here,” She adjusted his stance in front of the counter, tucking his elbows into his sides and straigthening his posture. “ Hold yourself like this. It will help you control your movements, be in the position to catch and prevent mistakes, and reach all your tools. Being careful does not include just your hands, but your entire body! Remember that.”

Alfredo looked at her with something resembling awe. It was the first time she had lowered her voice and guided him with anything other than sharp pinches or poking. He nodded rapidly at her glare and she nodded back before striding over to another station in need of her attention. Remy looked after her with a similar look of appreciation, though much less amour . The background shifted away from the kitchen again, and Remy was looking after Griselle as she gestured to an apartment building from the roof of a neighboring building.

“ What do you think of this one, Remy?”

“It looks perfect,” Remy said gleefully. “ It’s close to Gusteau’s, it has big windows and lots of space between the walls. Sewer grate right down there, dumpsters around the back, and no established colony around. When we went through earlier, I didn’t see any trap. Griselle, I really can’t thank you enough-”

“You’re right, you can’t.” Griselle held up a paw to stop him and gestured at the building. “ Because I would never let you try to move there. Bah! Dead within a month.”

“What?” Remy asked, astonished. “ But we explored it together. I didn’t see anything too alarming…”

“You know what you see, but what of everythign else?” She asked him. “ Another rule of being a rat in Paris. If something looks too good to be true, it is! Why is such a nice building uninhabited by another clan, Remy?”

“Uh…”

“Well, I have asked. The owner has an exterminator friend. They fumigate the place every six months! No one will settle because the big guns will come out at a moment’s notice! Too much risk if you are ever spotted.” Remy seemed to sit with that revelation for a moment before shaking his head.

“ What am I supposed to do? Everywhere that has a problem has a problem, everywhere that doesn’t is secretly a death trap. Apartment hunting is impossible.”

“Fear not, country boy.” Griselle patted him on the shoulder and guided him towards the other corner of the roof. “ With every closed door a new one opens.” She gestures down at a new building, this one looking slightly more run down. Colette recognizes it as the building Alfredo was living in when she first came to his place. A week or so after all the Sweet Bread Gusteau fiasco. A month after that he had moved to the upscale studio apartment with his inherited wealth. “ This one claims to call the exterminators, but the local rats tell me there hasn’t been one in five years. We will explore it tonight and you can have your human check the listing. I think it may be what we are looking for.”

“I remember you bringing me the listing,” Alfredo says. “I was drinking coffee and you circled it in the paper. I thought you were just sick of me finding mousetraps and trying to throw them away without you noticing. But you’d been looking all the while, hadn’t you? For me?”

Remy nods a little shyly. Colette shakes her head, exasperated. It is no surprise to her that Alfredo had needed th help of a local to find the mostly clean and also affordable apartment he’d had when she’d first visited. She had never thought that his guidance had had a rodent origin!

“ But Griselle… I don’t think everything is too good to be true.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you think that?”

On screen, Remy pulled up short before following Griselle out onto the powerline stretched between their building and the one they were about to scout. Griselle stopped too, turning back to watch him critically. Remy rubbed his paws together.

“ In the kitchen, all the humans there… They wear white and work in a fancy restaurant but Colette told- I mean, I learned that they all come from different places. From wars and bad habits and hard lives. Humans don’t all have it easy, you know?” He started forward again, avoiding Griselle’s gaze. “ And you’re pretty good too. So, not everything that seems good is a lie.”

He checked her shoulder lightly and then scampered on ahead to reach the other side of the alley. The screen hovered on Griselle, showing her stricken face as she watched him go ahead. Finally she followed, shaking her head and chuckling lightly. The scene melted away to show Gusteau’s once again.

“Hm, so you listened to me about those such things too, Little Chef?” Colette teases. Remy’s fur is puffed lightly and he avoids her gaze. “Defending us humans that don’t even know about you…” Her expression softens. “Were you very lonely? With just Alfredo and Griselle? You came from a very big family.”

Remy shrugs and waves his paws about in some gesture Colette can’t parse easily. He seems resigned and nonchalant. As though what she says is true but doesn’t matter much.

“I’m glad what I said spoke to you as well.” She decides. “It is true, after all. You are one of us, we chefs who come from hard places. You struggled no less than any of us to get to the pass. Even if the others did not accept you that night… you are still one of us.”

Remy nods gratefully, but the voices from the screen draw their attention back again.

“ We’ve had the old staples, ” a customer argued with their beloved maitre de. “ Gusteau’s has been a usual haunt for us for ages! But you cannot be timeless if you are trapped in the past! Surely you have something contemporary to serve? ”

“ Like that new soup in the paper,” one of the other patrons said with a snap of her fingers. “ My sister in law had it two weeks ago, she says it is lovely, and fresh! ” The diner looked up to Mustafa hopefully. “ Surely you have something like that to serve some old regulars? ” She batted her eyelashes.

In the next moment, Mustafa was crashing through the doors of the kitchen with a panicked expression and grabbing Horst by the arm as he passed.

“Oh.” Alfredo says nervously. “Oh, it’s that night…”

Colette frowns. In hindsight, a lot of what happened then and… the morning after makes more sense having known about Remy. Alfredo’s desperate denials that he had not meant to go against her instructions despite her watching him perform actions that proved he was insincere. But it is still rather nonsensical and a bit of a blur, cast in the light of the emotions she was feeling at the time. It will be interesting to rewatch it with a more omniscient view.

Already it is revealing interesting information- she clenches her fists as Skinner happily plotted a surefire plan to give him an excuse to fire Alfredo on the spot. As he explained his instructions to Alfredo, Remy looked down at him skeptically, much less trusting of the small man than any human in the kitchen.

“ We’ve never served that recipe in the restauraunt before,” Larousse whispered, rushing to keep up with Skinner’s fast strides. “It never made it out of the test kitchen!”

“So it shall be a challenge! Do not all new chefs need challenge to grow?” Skinner proclaimed and hurried into his office. Colette glowers. Too much a coward to watch his own sabotage play out.

“So… it was supposed to taste bad?” Alfredo murmurs, sounding confused and maybe a little hurt. “On purpose?”

Remy reaches down and pats his head through his curls. Colette watches for a moment before realizing-

“Alfredo… did you feel bad for changing Gusteau’s dish?”

Alfredo startles at the addresss. But then nods slowly.

“I mean! Not that bad or I would have done something about it…. Not then, but later. I wouldn’t have kept serving up the ‘special order’. Or I would have tried to make it the usual way at least once… But people liked it so I didn’t need to?” He shrugs helplessly. “I just really didn’t mean to go against you Colette. And then later, it was my dad’s recipe, and it just seemed… disrespectful?” He sighs. “And it wasn’t even me…”

“Alfredo, Gusteau’s food is not sacred. Nor is my advice.” Colette reaches out to take his hand. “If it is good then it is good! For some, food is a memory and should be preserved as such. But in our restauraunt all that matters is satisfaction. You may have driven me crazy that night! Or perhaps only you, Little Chef.” She winks at Remy. “But you paid no disrespect.” She sniffs. “Skinner, however, disrespected everyone. The diners, the cooks, you, and himself, not to mention Gusteau’s memory. You should not look back on this poorly.”

“I mean, I don’t look back on it much at all.” Alfredo admits. “I remember making a total fool of myself, and everything working out, but… it’s kind of blurry. I think I might have panicked too hard.” He laughs nervously and Colette pats his hand soothingly. On screen, they are reading the recipe together. The recitation of that awful combination of ingredients makes her stomach twist.

Remy, on screen, looked similarly repulsed, but determined and thoughtful.

The expression did not last long as the anchovy licorice sauce simmered on the stove in front of them and Remy guided the spoon up for a sniff.

Colors seeped in around the edges of the screen, sickly greens and yellows alongside a sluggishly swirling rancid looking purple and speckling of toxic looking pink. Remy shook his head, gagging, and almost dropped the spoon back into the pot. Alfredo caught it before it could splatter and darted a glance around to see if anyone had caught the aborted motion. With Alfredo distracted, Remy recovered from the unsightly smell and looked around. At nearly eye level for the rat were two spice containers, wafting colored aromas far more appetizing than those inthe sauce below… but complimentary somehow. Remy stared at them hard and then took up two locks of Alfredo’s hair once again.

“You cast caution entirely to the side,” Colette muses as Alfredo’s movements became increasingly jerky and the moments where they were at Remy’s side became clouded with the colors he was pursuing across the kitchen. “And you did it on purpose, didn’t you? You knew it would be alarming but you decided it was worth it to fix the dish.”

Remy squeaks, affronted. He gestures at the screen with distaste, and then pantomimes for a moment. Alfredo reaches up and cups his hand around him, gently so that Remy can move out of reach if he wishes, and then brings the rat down to rest in his cupped hand.

“He was right,” Alfredo suggests. “If he hadn’t done that… well Skinner would have kicked me out for starters. But I also never would have never gotten all that attention. Even though it was… awkward.” He winces at the screen where he narrowly avoided a tray to the face and reached across a cutting board to grab an uncut vegetable from practically under the knife. He shot the line chef a nervous smile as he did so and chattered a quick “ Thank you!”

Remy makes a gesture at Alfredo, like, see? And Colette shrugs.

“Ah, c'est la vie. The past is the past. We have discussed already that it is good you do not yank Alfredo around as you once did…”

Onscreen, Alfredo had returned to their station and was shaking generous helpings of his collected ingredients into the pot. Colette had turned to find her trainee had gone completely off the rails and tried to grab a bottle from his hand. Remy tugged in a practiced motion and easily avoided her hand, adding a dollop of the contents into the pot and then leaning Alfredo so far forward he nearly burned his eyebrows off in the gas stove fire.

“ What are you adding?” Colette demanded. She peered at some of the labels. “ None of this is meant to go into Sweetbread a la Gusteau! You are not-” Her gaze sharpened. “ Alfredo, you cannot mean to change the sauce to that extent?”

“No, no, I don’t mean to at all!” Alfredo cried as his hands adjusted the stove dial to a higher temperature and dropped a handful of spinach leaves into the pot. “ I agree that you are completely right and that changing this recipe in any significant way is a terrible idea - ow!” As Alfredo had stressed his own opinion about what they should be doing, Remy had guided his leg into an involuntary kick, stubbing his toes quite firmly against the cabinet door.

“ Stop, stop, You cannot be like this right now!”

“Like what?”

“Like a crazy man! Sometimes it is like you are possessed!”

“I’m not, well, I mean… cooking! It’s just so… important that we make this dish r-aight!” At the end of his pointed phrase, Remy twirled them about to invade Colette’s station, where she had prepared the crust of the dish. Colette gasped and grabbed the second, test crust before Alfredo could ruin it, hurrying to assemble the dish the way it was supposed to be and fighting around Alfredo’s reckless movements and wayward limbs the whole way, hissing insults and orders alike as the call from the pass for the dish came again and again, more insistent each time.

“But Remy,” Colette says warningly. “We have not gone over how rude to me you were at times back then.” She glares at the rat, who had jumped from Alfredo’s hands onto the low table and now seemed to be regretting the move to unsheltered space. “I know it all worked out then… but you were very lucky. Both for the dish’s success and that I did not personally fire Alfredo on the spot and put him out on the streets. Disregarding those with more power is one thing but doing so carelessly is simply offensive.” She sniffs. “Luckily for you, Alfredo, I was already fond of you. And rather in awe that you had pulled it off.”

“I didn’t pull anything off.” He says forlornly, watching as his past self vehemently denied his intentions to add his sauce to the dish resting, approved, on the pass. An instant later his hand weakened, as though it had grown tired (Remy had released his hold on the limb) and a hefty serving of sauce dropped onto the plate. The screen zoomed focus into the background, where Skinner’s jaw dropped as he watched through the shades of his office. But before he could do anything about it, it was out the door and into the dining room. “I just offended everyone in the kitchen and got in Little Chef’s way.”

Remy puffs up at that, gesturing up a tirade, and this time Colette catches his drft.

“That is far from the truth.” She scolds. “You passed it all off, somehow. Such erratic behavior should never be allowed in any professional kitchen, but you charmed us all. Not Remy’s food. You. Otherwise we would not have tolerated it, I know it for certain.” Remy nods reassuringly along with her. Alfredo still looks doubtful, both here beside her and there, on the screen. Colette was wringing him out and threatening him, but it just seemed to wash over Alfredo as he stared out at the doors leading to the dining room, jaw agape. He was holding his saucepan in a white-knuckled grip. Under his toque, Remy was breathing hard and looking around him excitedly. Slowly, his breathing evened out and he nervously groomed his fur before straightening his shoulders and nodding to himself. He crossed his arms and smiled down at Colette’s angry lecture, looking rather satisfied.

Colette glares at him and Remy has the grace to look sheepish.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of motion and voices from the screen. The order went out, again and again, for sweetbread a la Gusteau and Alfredo staked out his ingredients and rythym and cooked it, again and again, smiling as Colette stopped fighting him and Remy worked out a steadier process. Remy, for his part, seemed to be having the time of his life, commenting under his breath in response to every chef that gives Alfredo advice or assistance. He cooked naturally and with care now that he knew the steps. Colette watched first skeptically, as though she was on guard, and then with interest as Alfredo failed to devolve into the same erratic behavior. The montage ended with the toast they had all made to Alfredo that night.

Colette smiles. She remembers this celebration well. She had been happy for Alfredo, and felt secure in her job again now that he was not formally under her purview, though his disobedience earlier in the night still smarted her pride. It is nicer to watch it now and know that he had never meant to ignore her. Remy, cheeky little thing, had done it. And he is easier to forgive, since she has known since their first formal meeting that he is a creature of attitude.

Skinner toasts with the rest of them but wanders to the edge of the gathering quickly. He sips at his wine bitterly, glaring at Alfredo as he mingles with the other chefs and laughs nervously at all the attention. 

“After this, he knew he would have great difficulty getting rid of you,” Colette realizes. “He had hoped to make an excuse to fire you but instead he secured your place there by giving you a moment in the spotlight.”

“It could have gone exactly as he planned, if I didn’t have Little Chef to take risks.” Alfredo shakes his head. “Even if I was the good cook I know I wouldn’t have done what he did.”

“That does not matter.” Colette leans against his shoulder and tips her head to bump lightly into his. “You did what you did and it turned out marvelously. Do not undermine your successes.”

“Right, right,” Alfredo murmurs.

At that moment, the Alfredo of the past turned and a light directly behind his toque caught in the fabric. Skinner straightened and nearly spat out his wine as Remy’s silhouette became clear atop Alfredo’s head. On the table, Remy squeaks with outrage and Alfredo goes stiff against her side. Colette merely shakes her head.

“How you managed to fool everyone so thoroughly except for him… I do not understand it. But he remains in the past. However you made it through all these trials, you have already done so. There is no sense in regretting it now.”

Remy crosses his arms and paces across the table, but does not demand further attention. Alfredo simply watches the screen with something like nausea coloring his expression.

Colette frowns and rakes her memory. What had happened after this that has them both so nervous? She remembers the night going well… What had happened next?