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 Two
Pucker Up


I have a habit of becoming restless. It isn't so much that I dislike Bruce, or Steve, but the sudden need to get out after being cooped up for three days rose within me. Dressing in a pair of hot-orange leggings and a long-sleeved neon-green tight-fitted mini-dress, I decide to get out of the tower. After slipping on a pair of black ballet flats and grabbing my IPod, I leave my room. Unable to locate Steve, or Bruce, I shrug on a thin leather, short-sleeved half-jacket and place the ear-plug headphones in my ears, pull my art messenger bag over one shoulder before leaving the Tower.

Metallic-red lines dance within my mind as Avenge Sevenfold's 'Seize the Day' starts. Ignoring the subtle change between darker and lighter tints as the song changes its pitch and tempo, I glance around the busy street and a smile forms on my face as I turn on heel and wander aimlessly down the sidewalk. I know I shouldn't be leaving the Tower, and I have no doubt I will be in serious trouble once they figure out I'm gone, but I've never been able to stay in one place for an extended amount of time.

Finding myself in Central Park, I look around various areas before settling on a shady spot beneath the limbs of a tree. Sitting down and crossing my legs, I pull out my sketch pad and three sketching pencils (each a different 'lead' count) as well as my white smudging pencil. Having always sketched people I meet, I begin sketching the profile of Bruce's face. Making sure to capture the roundness of his face, while adding the masculine angular edges, I gain an outline of his face before starting on the subtle detail. Sketching profiles, I often pride myself on picking up the smallest details and transferring them to paper. It isn't easy and it is definitely time-consuming, but as I do it, I feel as though I learn more about a person's character that way.

By the time I've completed Bruce's profile and I manage to get half-way through Steve's profile, a shadow looms in my lighting. Glancing up, I am startled that it is not Bruce, or Steve, standing above me, but a man I have never met. Watching his lips move, I blink before realizing my music was still audible. Yanking the ear-plug headphones from my ears, I blush as the man cocks an eyebrow.

"Um...I'm sorry, but what did you say?" I ask.

A wide grin spreads across the man's face and I feel my face burn brighter. This man is indeed handsome. His dark hair seems at best windblown and unkempt. His hazel-brown eyes gleam with mischief and intelligence. His body his lean, taut with sinewy lines of muscle, compared to Steve and Bruce's more pronounced muscle mass (Steve's way more obvious that Bruce's). I inwardly grant him kudos for the Black Sabbath t-shirt and he doesn't seem particularly out of his element among the other park visitors.

"I don't mean to bother you. I have a friend that is an artist as well, but he never really allows people to see his work. I admit I am mildly curious," he states without prompt, "Might I say, I find what work I see to be fascinating."

I blush once more, swallowing the sour flavor of green apples, taking notice that his gaze never even glances at my sketches, "Merci, Sir."

"Ah, French. Language of the romantics, no?" he teases, the grin never leaving his face, "May I sit? I am avoiding returning home for a while and would prefer the company of such an extraordinary artist."

"Of course. My name is Lexi," I say, motioning to the spot off to my side.

"Anthony," he quips without hesitation, "Unfortunately, I am a man of science myself, but I know a great masterpiece when I see it."

"Are you one of those men that gets a kick out of making women uncomfortable?" I question, trying to focus on anything but the apple-flavor puckering my taste buds.

A chuckle leaves his lips, "I don't know. Are you one of those women that gives a man a run for his money?"

"Depends on the amount at stake," I quip, oddly falling into the conversation with ease.

He chuckles once more, "So, tell me, why is a beautiful, young French woman doing at the park by herself?"

"I'm American," I see his eyebrows perk up, "I recently graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne. I lived in France for the past four years."

"Very impressive for a woman so young," he cuts in, and I flash him a look of mild annoyance.

"Yes, well, I am here because I have been staying with a couple of...friends. I tend to grow restless at times and just needed to get out for a bit," I continue, as though he had never spoken. "What about you?"

An odd glint of confusion flickers in his gaze before surprise and recognition follows, and a small smirk tugs along his lips, "I'm a genius. Seriously," he adds after I cock an eyebrow in disbelief, "I graduated from MIT when I was seventeen. I majored in engineering. I like taking things apart and putting them back together in a way that makes them work one-hundred-and-fifty-percent better, if not more so. At the moment, I am trying to engineer a power source that is eco-friendly and self-sustaining."

I smile at the obvious self-pride in his apple-flavored voice, "That's an impressive goal, Anthony."

"Thanks. A lot of people tend to think I am developing these things for my own personal gain or reason, but it's more than that," he pauses, motioning to the pedestrians, "Imagine a world where oil is obsolete. Where vehicles are powered by an energy source cleaner that gas. Imagine being able to power an entire city for a year without running up energy costs. The middle-class civilians can focus on putting their money into more economic resources, like food and purchasing luxury items, instead of becoming in debt over high service bills."

"It would help balance out the economy, while maintaining a pollution-free environment," I muse aloud, seeing a spark of surprise in his eyes, "To be honest, I think the idea and theory is incredible. You would definitely have a political fight on your hand when the time comes. The government practically runs itself on mass-production of energy resources."

"Yes, well, I'm not exactly on the best terms with the government," he remarks, grinning.

A smile tugs at my lips. How odd? A man, I just met, has managed to make me more comfortable in his presence than most strangers. While his voice carries such a sweet-sour flavor, I don't particularly dislike the man himself. His ideals alone are curious and if his goals ever come to life, I feel as though there is hope for our struggling country in the future. He carries a bit of self-righteous arrogance, but I have a feeling it isn't warranted. He is a man that knows what he wants, what he wants to do, and he is refusing to back down simply because people might dislike him.

He's real.

"Lexi!"

The flavor of pumpkin pie pierces through the sour bite of apple and my gaze snaps up at the sight of Steve walking quickly toward me. Glancing at Anthony from the corner of my eye, I watch as his head tilts in a curious manner as he gazes at the Captain with a look of recognition. Steve comes to a stop a few feet in front of me and instead of chewing me out for taking off, his sight lands on my companion.

"Stark? What are you doing here?" Steve demands, "Pepper said you were not due back until the end of the week."

My companion shrugs nonchalantly, "The negotiations were completed just this morning and I wanted to make sure you didn't blow up my kitchen."

I blink, feeling my back straighten. Anthony. Steve referred to him as Stark. Stark as in Stark Industries. As in Tony Stark. I rub at my head, wondering if Anthony even knows who I am.

"So, what's happenin', Cap'n? How are you acquainted with this lovely lady? Meet at an art convention?" the young genius questions teasingly.

A hot blush forms on Steve's cheeks at the insinuation before he shakes his head, "No. This is Lexi Roux," Hazel-brown eyes stares blankly at Steve, "Lexi Roux is the niece of Agent Hill."

"The daughter of the agents that died recently?" I glance off to the side as I feel the engineer look over at me, "Huh? Imagine that. Of all the people. Well, I can't say it isn't a pleasure to meet you, Miss Roux."

I wince, "S'il vous plaît, please, just call me Lexi. I...uh...wasn't even aw-"

"Aware of who I am?" the ebony-haired man grins in response, "It's kind of refreshing to meet a person that has no idea who I am. Please, call me Tony."

An awkward smile pulls at my lips and I glance away. Quickly looking over at Steve, I groan at the disapproving glint in his gaze. I respect the hell out of the guy, but let's face it. I'm human. I'm female. I'm the personified rebel with a cause. I mean, look at me. I don't follow the same standard rules and regulations as most people. Hell, I really don't care for it either way. Rules, while placed for the 'safety' of everyone, act as a way to inhibit people from following their instincts.

"I'm...in trouble, aren't I?" I guess, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly as the Captain nods, "Désolé," I apologize, "I can't stand being cooped up and didn't know where anyone was."

"You could have been hurt," Steve urges, his features growing stern.

"That's why I stayed in a public place," I respond, motioning to the several people, "I'm not a child, Steve. I am able to take care of myself for a few minutes."

Steve opens his mouth, obviously about to fly into a long-winded speech, but Tony stands up, brushing off his pants, "Ah, lay off of the girl, Old Man. You found her, she's safe, and we can now return to the Tower."

Steve visible swallows his speech and nods stiffly. Man, when this guy is given a mission, he sure gets really...uh...passionate about it. Sighing, I gather my things and slip them back into the bag. Instead of walking back to the Tower, Tony suggests us riding in his car. After Steve mentions he brought his own ride, I visibly cringe at the sight of the motorcycle. It isn't that I am afraid, but they tend to be loud and my eyes can only stand so much bright colors. Following Tony to his glamorous, cherry-red sports car, I slide into the passenger seat. The moment Tony is speeding through the streets, my body snaps tight with tension at the fast pace. AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell' blares an array of metallic greens and blues as the looming buildings pass us by.

Arriving back in the Tower, I suppose Tony is surprised when Bruce greets me with mild worry and relief for my safety before turning to greet him amicably.

"Welcome back, Sir. Miss Roux, I apologize, but Captain Rogers and Doctor Banner were worried when you went missing, and felt the need to locate your position."

"It's alright, Jarvis. I understand," I reply, swallowing the metallic-flavor invading my mouth.

"So, you and Jarvis are buddy-buddy, huh?" Tony questions, cocking a curious eyebrow.

"Oui, I find him to be most amusing."

"Amusing? You find my AI program to be amusing? How so?" Tony asks.

"She has insinuated that my personality fits as a British butler, and that it is extremely stereotypical given the circumstance of my programming."

"Stereotypical? You meet an AI program I developed as a child to be stereotypical?" Tony questions, mildly amused and offended at the same time.

I giggle slightly, shrugging in a sheepish manner, "I can't help it. Most of the time, I respond to him in French because it feels like the pompous thing to do."

"You believe me to be pompous, Miss Roux?"

"After requesting, on several occasion, for you to call me Lexi and not by my surname, yet you still refuse to do so in spite of the situation..." I pause briefly in a mocking manner of suspense, "Oui, I believe you to be most pompous in this case."

Tony chuckles, slightly surprised by my familiarity with his AI program. A suggestion of dinner causes everyone to agree to meet back in the dining room before we all part ways to freshen up. By the time dinner comes around, I find myself struggling to eat as sweet-sour apples invades my senses. The flavor permeates everything. My food. The air. Tony is charming, loud and never falters for a quick-witted response. Everything about him is open, freely-given and without judgment or favoritism. No. Everything Tony is, from his animated hand gestures to the flavor of his voice, seems to envelope the entire room with an apple-tinged fog.

Groaning, I place a hand to my forehead, "Excusez-moi, I will be right back."

Stepping into the kitchen area, I rub along the bridge of my nose. How am I supposed to do anything, or even function, when all I can taste is apple? To be honest, I've never really enjoyed the shifts in various flavor. I hate being in crowded areas. I hate going to social functions. I greatly dislike being caught in a debate. The louder, or more passionate, a voice is, the more potent their flavor becomes.

"Are you alright, Lexi?" At the taste of pumpkin pie, I glance up and smile weakly, "Is something bothering you?"

"New flavor to adjust to," I respond lightly, fishing out a bottle of pain medication, "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather you didn't mention my Synethesia. It isn't something I promote freely, and it's a bit of a sensitive topic to talk about."

Steve smiles warmly, "If that's what you wish. Tony might be arrogant, but he won't think less of you."

"Maybe not, but I'd rather the majority of people to be oblivious," I intone, giving him a pointed look.

Steve nods as I knock back a quick swig of water and swallow the capsules. Forcing a grin on my lips, I follow him back into the kitchen. Apologizing briefly, I resume dinner, forcing down every apple-tinged bite.

This...will be more difficult than I first believed.


Thanks to all of my Followers and Reviewers for reading and taking the time to do so.

To my Anonymous Reviewer: I am very pleased you enjoy the story. Synethesia is a real condition, and while rare, appears in more women then men. The more common versions of it is the visualization of sound (the metallic-visualizer Lexi sees when listening to music) and association of colors to take place of letters (like, P is an orange letter, while R is a red color, slightly confusing as well). I look forward to another review from you and hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

watergoddesskasey: Thank you so very much. I am pleased that my story is so...awesome! -lol- I look forward to another review from you as well.

Casey210791: Yes, it is different. I was hoping to do something different. I am pleased you like it so much. Thank you.

Ravenclaw Slytherin: As always, my dear, even with the same review, I am pleased you enjoy it so.

To my Followers: Thank you, each and everyone of you so far.

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Thanks again all of you. Please, do leave reviews as well! Until next time!