Taste of Apples

Summary:

My name is Lexi Roux. I am twenty-years-old and because I am just that awesome, I just recently graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne, in Paris, France. I never expected my life to change so drastically after the death of my parents. I never really expected to have to put my life on hold, my Tante Maria telling me that my parents had been agents for some S.H.I.E.L.D. agency.

I guess Tante Maria never explained to these...Avengers, that I have what people call Synethesia. Every voice carries a taste. Every touch carries a sound.

Now, if I could just get the taste of apples out of my mouth and ignore the soft whispers against my skin.

Author's Note:

Lexi Roux is of my own creation. She is twenty years old and incredibly talented in Fine Arts. She also suffers from what is called Synethesia, which is where the brain confuses some of the sensory triggers. Voices cause her to taste flavors, music causes her to see metallic-shaded colors (compare it to the visualizers for ITunes or Media Players) and anything she touches she hears sounds. This doesn't effect her normal senses; sight, hearing or smell, it might sound confusing, but it won't seem so odd when you read on. She has been living in France for many years, so she uses some French terms, but did grow up in America so her first language is English.

Because I absolutely adore Tony Stark (there are so many different sides to Tony that makes him so...delicious), this will be a Tony/OC story.

Disclaimer:

I do not own the Avengers, or anything in relation to Marvel. The plot and Lexi are completely my own.

Enjoy!


Chapter One
New Flavors


When people look at me, what do they see? They see a petite, ebony-haired, twenty-year-old woman. They see black skinny jeans with blue and green intertwined glow-stick bracelets dangling from the belt loops and resting against the back of my thighs. They see an electric-blue halter top thrown over a black, long-sleeved mesh top. They see the array of quarter-inch thin pigtails, looped braids and neon-green streaks. They don't see an accomplished artist, they see a freak, or very out-of-this-world person.

What they don't see are things far to difficult to explain. They don't know that even their whispers carry a flavor that dances along my taste buds. They don't know that metallic-shaded colors dance through my mind and visually with every musical note played. They don't see how a simple brush of their arm sends screams or hums along my nerves. They don't know how difficult it is to try and concentrate through all of these difficulties.

My name is Lexi Roux, I am twenty years of age and I have Synethesia; a mix-up of some of the sensory receptors.

"Miss Roux, we have arrived."

I try not to flinch as the sweet flavor of peaches trickles along my senses, and I give a slight smile, "Thank you, sir."

Getting up from the chair, I make my way through the cabin of the plane, gathering my bag as I go. Finally with my feet firmly planted on the ground, I damn near yelp at the sight of military jets. Where the hell did they bring me?

"Lexi?"

My eyes slide shut as I reflexively swallow as the taste of ripe, and slightly sour, grapes slides over my taste buds. Not one of my favorite flavors, but this particular flavor causes a soft smile to form on my lips, and I open my eyes to stare at a stern-looking woman. I can see her shock at my...uh...changes, but hey, it is my prerogative as an artist, right?

"Tante Maria!" I greet, not used to seeing her dressed in uniformed blue and looking so strict.

Before I can react, I groan as a delicate hum travels along the nerves of my skin as the woman is quick to embrace me, "Oh thank goodness you are alright. You are alright, right?"

I giggle as I pull out of her grasp, "I'm as good as I can ever be, Tante. I will admit though, this is not what I was expecting when you said that I'd be coming to your base of operation. Tell me, this thing is in the water, or something?"

"No. This is the Helicarrier and it is actually in the sky," she replies as she motions toward some men to take my things, before looping her arm with mine and pulling me along, "This base if constantly in motion and only select-few people know of its location at all times."

"Quite impressive, Tante," I say as I am ushered down the metallic halls. "Not quite sure how long it will take for me to grow restless stuck in the sky, but impressive nonetheless."

"Yes, well, Director Fury would like to ask you a few questions about what happened," my Tante says, her grape-flavored voice softening.

The smile on my lips fades slightly, but I nod slowly, never having been good with meeting new people. New people meant learning new flavors. Tasting so many flavors at once tends to send my mind in a whirlwind.

Tante Maria ushers me into a large, open room, a round conference table placed in the center of the room. Instantly, my gaze lands on the slightly intimidating, dark-skinned man standing tall and imposing. A black leather patch covered his right eye and even with the obvious disability, the very air around him screams with authority.

"Director, this is Lexi Roux, my niece. Lexi, this is Director Nick Fury," Tante Maria introduces.

"Miss Roux," I shiver as his voice carries the bitter taste of olives, "I understand that this is not easy for you to talk about, but in order to figure out what happened, I need to ask you some questions."

I nod, taking the chair the man motioned toward, "I understand, sir."

"From what I understand, you were there when the incident happened. Do you remember seeing anything? Do you recall anything that can help identify who was behind the car accident?" Director Fury questions.

Closing my eyes, I think back to the whirlwind of squealing tires, bangs, slams and the heavy scent of smoke. The men that caused the accident had all worn masks of some kind, and they spoke in a language I am not familiar with. Licking my lips, I think back to their voices.

"Liquorice," I murmurs, opening my eyes to see a flicker of confusion in the man's hardened facial features, "They spoke in a language I am unfamiliar with, but one of their voices stood out. Tasted like black liquorice."

Nick Fury turns his gaze on my Tante, who seems to realize what he doesn't, "Oh. I am sorry sir. Lexi suffers from Synethesia. Voices register to her as flavors."

"That quite a unique gift you have, Miss Roux," Director Fury states, and I won't lie saying that I wasn't confused, "You have an ability to recognize people beyond facial recognition. You may not have recognized what language they spoke, but you managed to imprint one of them."

I realize what he is getting at, and I nod, "So, you want me to keep my ears open, so to speak? See if the flavor comes by me again?"

"Precisely."

"Director Fury!" Tante Maria exclaims, "You cannot send her out by herself. If they realize they left a witness, they will come back for her. She is not a trained field agent."

"Tante, I want to do this," I state, causing her to turn to me out of shock, "Mon famille, they are dead because of these men. I am not sure why, but if there is anything I can do to help being them to justice, I want to help."

"She can stay with the team. At the moment, the only people at the Tower are Doctor Banner and Captain Rogers," Director's bitter-tasting voice informs, before calling into some communicator for this...Captain Rogers to come to the conference room. "Captain Rogers is going to take you back to the Tower and help you get settled in. If there is anything you are in need of, inform your Aunt and we will do whatever we can to help." Tante Maria seems surprised by Fury's offer, but the man continues, "Your parents had been the best field agent pair S.H.I.E.L.D. had to offer."

Despite the bitter-taste of olives dancing along my tongue, I smile softly at the intimidating man, "Thank you, Director Fury."

A firm knock sounds on the door before it opens. Glancing away from the director, I see a young, golden-haired man entering the room. He stands an entire foot taller than my own short stature. Everything about him seemed to be strength oriented. From the muscles along his broad shoulders to the taut muscles along his torso, he is definitely a handsome man. His blue eyes meet my own gold-flecked green and he seems to stand straighter.

"Ah, Captain Rogers. This is Lexi Roux, Agent Hill's niece, and she will be staying at the Tower with you and the team until further notice," Director Fury informs firmly. "Miss Roux, this is Captain Steve Rogers."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Roux," Captain Rogers greets, a warm glint in his eyes and I inwardly shudder as the sweet-spicy taste of pumpkin pie fills my sense.

An awkward smile tugs at my lips as I glance away from his extended hand, "It's nice to meet you as well, Captain Rogers, but I am not...uh...a big fan of touching people."

Instead of being offended, his lips form in a soft smile as he nods, "Please, call me Steve."

"D'accord," I respond, seeing his eyes gleam in confusion, so I translate, "Agreed. As long as you call me Lexi. Miss Roux makes me feel younger than I am."

The slightly awkwardness of the meeting fades as his grin becomes more genuine, "As you wish, M- Lexi."

"We will have a charter plane drop you off and Captain Rogers will get you settled into the Tower," Director Fury states, and I lick my lips, trying to get rid of the bitter olive-flavor in my mouth.

Within minutes, I watch as the stairs to the charter plane descend and turn to face my Tante. Immediately, I tense as the hum of her embrace travels along the expanse of my senses, and I close my eyes, memorizing the sensation. Her hands grip my shoulders carefully as she pulls away from the hug.

"Don't be afraid to call me if anything comes up," she murmurs gently, her grape-flavored voice flooding my senses.

"Merci, Tante Maria," I reply, giving a soft smile, "but do not worry. I am sure Steve is more than hospitable."

My Tante nods, grinning as she presses a gentle kiss on my brow and I shake my head, trying to brush away the subtle hum against my face. Giving a final wave, I follow Steve up the steps and settle into one of the seats.

"You and Agent Hill seem very close," Steve comments after the plane takes off.

Smiling as I nod, I say, "Ma tante is one of the few relatives that was never bothered by my...sense of self-expression," I motion toward the obvious, outlandish attire I am wearing, "Most of ma famille think art is not productive or a logical choice for a career."

"You are an artist?" he asks, his pumpkin-pie voice full of surprise.

"Oui. I just graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne, a distenguished art college in Paris, France," I smile at the sight of his blue eyes widening in shock, "Oui, I am young, but I have been in several art-based curricular academies and graduated when I was sixteen. I've spent the past quatre années (four years) attending University in Paris, wanting to experience all that I could before graduating."

"That's quite impressive for someone so young, if you don't mind me saying. Sketching is a hobby of my own," he comments.

I blink, before realize he is trying to make this meeting more comfortable for me, "I enjoy sketching as well. Do you prefer black and white? Or do you use color?"

"I usually just sketch in pencil. What about you?"

Digging into my single-strap art messenger bag, I pull out my sketch pad before flipping it open to my most recent one. Dark strokes depict a single female silhouette standing before two headstones. Minute grey dash strokes depict light rainfall, soft grey shading coloring the thick clouds. Against the grey-shading of the headstones, a single crimson rose sits on top of each one. Two pairs of barely visible eyes hide within the grey clouds, one set a soft green, the other a light golden-brown.

"So, you mainly use pencil? What about the color?" he asks, looking over the sketch significantly longer than myself.

"When I sketch, I only ever use color as an emphasis, or a metaphor," I carefully run a finger over the darkened silhouette, "This is my memory of my parents' funeral. I've never been the religious type, but they held firm Christian beliefs."

"I am sorry for your loss," Steve murmurs, his pumpkin-pie flavored voice growing sweeter on my tongue, and I inwardly cringe, a subtle ache forming along my molars.

"Thank you. It...was definitely difficult. While I loved ma famille very much, they were...always busy, always working. I didn't really get the kind of connection most have with their parents, but...it still doesn't make it easy," I say, glancing up from my sketch pad at the sound of the pilot announcing our arrival.

The drive from the airport to what Steve refers to as Avengers Tower had been short and I had not been expecting such a tall structure. The building reminds me of a beacon, as though people can look up and know exactly where they are going and who resides within the building. I find it strange, a bit disconcerting, and yet, an impressive display of architectural design.

Steve, obviously carry the redeeming qualities of a gentlemen, takes my bags and leads me through the glass doors and into the elevator. Steve went on to explain how the Tower had been set up to house the Team, as well as work as a base of operations. Arriving on the housing level, I am reminded of my studio-styled flat back at school. The common area is open, the living room blending into the kitchen and dining area, the areas broken up by door-less arch ways. The most up-to-date entertainment set up fills the living room, while a large, round wooden table acts as a dinner table in the dining area. The kitchen is outfitted with the most advanced appliances, the solid counter-top island acting as a barrier between the kitchen and the dining room, while also serving as a bar-styled table, a few tall stools set underneath the extended lip of the counter.

"Welcome home, Captain Rogers."

I blink, startled by the British-accented voice, an odd flavor of a metallic substance filling my senses, and I look around. Tilting my head as I notice Steve and I are the only people in the room, I turn my gaze to the Captain and quirk an eyebrow.

Steve chuckles, "I was a bit startled when I first arrived here as well. The tower has a built-in AI program created exclusively by Stark Industries. Jarvis, this is Lexi Roux. Lexi, Jarvis is the name given to the AI program."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Roux."

I blink, surprised and impressed, before smiling, "It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Jarvis. So, you kind of play the part of the stereotypical England-bred butler?"

"Indeed. Unless you prefer me to act in a manner that belies such stereotypical behavior."

I giggle in response to the AI program's sarcastic, humorous tone, "Non. Non. It amuse me greatly."

"I am pleased that my formulated personality trait amuses you so."

Giggling once more, I turn to Steve, who seems amused by the banter as well, "So, what room will I be taking during my stay?"

"Agent Hill called before hand and informed me of us gaining a guest. I took the liberty of setting up a room for Miss Roux. Down the hall, fifth door on the left."

"Thanks, Jarvis," I reply as Steve leads me down the hall.

The room was scarcely decorated. The four-post bed seemed to be made of a deep cherry-oak. A night stand sat on each side of the bed, a single lamp settled on both. Steve excuses himself after setting down my bags and I am left alone to unpack.

"Hm...now, where is my Ipod?" I hum aloud.

"Mr. Stark has uploaded my system with a wide assortment of music files. Is there anything in particular you'd like to listen to?"

Thinking it over, I am in the mood for deep, metallic blue-green, "Um...how about some Classic Rock. Anything from AC/DC to Metallica, maybe throw in some Guns N Roses."

"As you wish, Miss Roux."

Thanking the AI program, a dizzying array of metallic blue-green lines dance in my head, like a mental music player visualizer, as AC/DC's 'Back in Black' begins to play. Smiling softly, I softly sing along with the lyrics as I begin unpacking my clothes into the walk-in closet space.

An hour later, I sigh as I put away the last of my things, and I ask Jarvis to turn off the music before I leave the room. Moving down the hall, I catch the aroma of someone cooking. Peering into the kitchen, I spot Steve standing at the stove, another man leaning against the corner, his brown hair a mess. His body didn't carry the same physique as Steve, and I guess that this is the Doctor Director Fury spoke of.

"She seems normal in ever manner. Apparently, she is able to identify one of the people that caused the accident her parents were involved in. Director Fury said she needs to be kept protected at all times," Steve comments, never looking away from the stove.

"Do you think Director Fury is making the right choice bringing her into the Tower?" the other man states and I bite down on my lip as an odd flavor traces over my tongue.

Chilli. Spicy, and yet sweet at the same time. A rare flavor. I've never tasted anything like it. A mixture of different taste brackets is not common, and yet this man's voice indicates both areas.

"I'm not sure. I think Director Fury wanted her to feel comfortable and not cooped up on the helicarrier," Steve replies, his sweet pumpkin pie flavor conflicting against the chilli flavor from the previous man.

Placing a hand to my head, I groan at the differing flavors before silence greets me. Opening my eyes, I smile sheepishly at the sight of both of them openly staring at me. Steve turns away from the stove, grinning warmly in my direction.

"Lexi! I take it you have finished unpacking?" I nod, trying to get a control over my warring senses, "Lexi, this is Doctor Bruce Banner. Bruce, this is Lexi Roux."

"It's nice to meet you. I am sorry for your recent loss," Bruce comments, and I openly flinch at the spicy-sweet quality of his voice, "Are you alright?"

"I am fine. Your voices are killing my senses," I blurt out, blushing hotly at the confused looks, "Sorry. You see, I have what doctors call Synethesia. Voices tend to register as flavors."

"Is this...um...Synethesia the reason you refuse to touch people?" Steve asks, openly curious.

I nod mutely, looking down as my fingers dance with each other due to my nerves, "The sense of touch registers as a sound. Some people carry such a loud touch that I have ended up on the verge of a splitting headache," Neither of them say anything and I blush hotly, shifting in discomfort, "I apologize. It isn't that your voices taste particularly awful, they just...are so different that it's messing with my taste buds."

"How so?" Bruce asks, his light brown eyes twinkling with a deep seeded intelligence.

"Well, Steve's voice tastes like pumpkin pie. Sweet and carries a hint of spice. Your voice tastes like...chilli, spicy with an undertone of sweet. It will take my mind a while to get used to such different flavors," I respond.

"I taste like pumpkin pie?" Steve questions thoughtfully.

I blush, looking down once again, "I've tasted worse than the two of you. One of the men that caused the accident, his voice tasted like black liquorice. I abhor that flavor."

"So, Director Fury is having you play as bait. Outside of the tower, you can pick up on the flavor easily since it's such a definitive flavor, but you are not a trained agent, hence why you will be living with us," Bruce deduces, smiling awkwardly as I turn my gaze on him, "I hope you will not have an serious difficulties after everyone returns from their missions."

"How many people are we talking about?" I ask cautiously.

"Excluding Captain and I, there are four other members of our team. Natasha and Clint are mercenaries, so they are frequently coming and going. Thor splits up his time between here, New Mexico to visit his friends, and Asgard," I quirk an eyebrow, remembering the old Norse Mythology, "and Tony Stark, or Iron Man, is in California on business."

I cringe at the idea of dealing with, all-together, six people, "I'm not going to lie and say it won't be a problem. I might have frequent headaches, but it isn't something to become overly concerned with." Deciding on a change of subject, I peer around Steve's bulky form, "So, Captain Rogers, what's for dinner?"

As I sit, entertained with stories from both men, I begin to learn more about them. Steve, a man cryogenically frozen and a man out of his time for sure. That explains the chivalrous sense of honor and duty. Bruce explains his 'other guy', and I realize that must explain the odd mixture of flavors when it comes to his voice.

Smiling softly to myself as I relax into the bed, rubbing a hand over my stomach, I stare up at the ceiling.

Well, things are definitely going to be interesting.


I hope I explained Synethesia in an easily comprehensible manner. The others will most likely be brought in, in the next chapter, as this is really an introductory chapter. I want you to not only get an understanding of her sensory-mix-up, but also they type of personality she has. Lexi is an opinionated, talented young woman, who has a bit of an inferiority complex due to her sensory issues. She is big on self-expression and is generally a happy woman.

This will be my first attempt at something more light-hearted, though there will be some serious focal points later in the story.

This story is rated M due to the mental projection I have for the story, and there will be some stronger material later.

Thank you for reading. Please leave a review!