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 Seven
Château de l' Mason

The horrible tightly coiled sensation in the pit of my stomach remains. A week has passed since the gallery and throughout the week I found myself battling the odd confliction of emotions toward Tony's whispered caress. The only thing breaking my musing over such emotional confusion had been caused by a phone call I received in the early hours of the morning. I tried to push away the weariness my heart carriers as I made breakfast, yet it seemed to encourage the feeling even more. I tried, all day, to ignore it, believing it to be a bout of nervous tension.

"Lexi!"

My thoughtful musings shatters suddenly as pumpkin-pie filters in my senses and I glance up at the table of heroes. It seems as though my weekend breakfasts had encouraged the team to start having a weekly dinner. It warmed me to see that they were trying to make me feel at home here. The thought of home causes me to look down, not wanting them to see the forlorn gleam I am sure is sparking in my gaze.

"Désolé," I apologize softly, "I am afraid I am not feeling quite like myself."

"We noticed," Sour-apple trickles over my senses, and I inwardly shudder, "Is everything alright?"

"I have an odd feeling that something is wrong. Madame, something is wrong with la Madame. Jacquot called me earlier, said that his maman had been admitted to the hospital. That her health has grown more compromised in the past few days," I nibble on my bottom lip.

"I understand you are concerned, Lexi," Steve's voice breaks the sudden silence, "but you cannot help it if she has become sick."

Fighting back the conflicting tears, I feel myself snap a glare at Steve, "La Madame has always been health conscientious. She had never been gravely sick, nothing more than the common cold, and even then it is rare she is sick for very long. Non, something is very wrong."

"Could it be caused by environmental situations?" Bruce suggests lightly, obviously in-tuned to my emotional turmoil.

"Non, they reside in the countryside of Southern France. Very little pollution. She carries no allergies."

"You think someone has caused her to become sick," Natasha points out and I inwardly smile at her quick-wit.

I nod, solemn, "Oui. It is no secret that Jacquot and I are great friends, and that his famille have come to view me as a member of their famille. If Director Fury is right in the assumption, that there are people looking for me, then the Mason famille would be a way of getting me in the open."

"Well, then it's obvious. Stay here," Tony suggests.

Despite my growing affection toward the engineer, I shoot up from my seat, my palms flat against the table, "I cannot sit by as a woman, so caring as she, grows more sick with each passing day. I want to know if the doctors know of anything. I planned on requesting someone to come with me."

"I'll go."

Sweet, sweet nectarines. I blink, glancing over at the understanding comprehension gleaming in deep blue eyes, "W-what?"

"Oh come on, Barton! This wreaks of a trap," Tony argues.

I feel my fingernails dig into the wood of the table, but Clint sighs, "Yeah, I'm not stupid, Stark. If we tell her that she can't go, she's just going to find a way there, by herself. I will go with her, so she can visit her friend's family, see if I can get some information, and I will make sure she returns safe and sound."

I fight the urge to tackle my dear friend in a thankful hug, and settle for a small smile, "Thank you, Clint. I already have a pair of tickets. We fly out at two in the morning."

Ignoring the shocked comprehension, the others realizing Clint had been right in his assumption, I pick up my plate and enter the kitchen. Placing it in the dishwasher, I disappear into my room, packing whatever I might need.

Hours pass, and though Clint and I are approaching the time to arrive at the airport, I seek out Bruce. Finding him in his lab, I smile weakly as he motions for me to come in.

"I need your help with something."

"What is it?" Bruce's chili-flavored voice flows through my taste buds.

I smile, thankful for the help of such a friend. Ten minutes later, I bid him farewell, before making my way down to the ground level. Spotting Clint, and Tony, waiting by the entrance doors, I thank Clint as he takes my bags without a word and leaves Tony and I alone. Shifting in my stance, I glance over at Tony, still slightly upset with him. Before I can react, my body is pulled across the small distance between us and I shiver at the whispered touch, instinctively inhaling his scent.

"I don't like this," Tony insists, "but I know I can't change your mind. Promise me, you will remain by Barton's side at all times."

Feeling my irritation fade, a soft smile tugs at my lips, "I promise."

I pull back from the embrace, shuddering at the sudden silent void at the loss of his touch, "I have to go, Tony."

"I know, just...stay safe. Last thing any of us want is, is to face the wrath of Agent Hill," Tony quips, trying to lighten up the moment.

I giggle at his statement, "I will. I'll be back before you realize I'm gone."

Walking off, I hear a gentle murmur, the only word I manage to catch is 'doubt'. Slipping into the backseat of the car, Clint gives me a small grin before telling Happy we were ready to go.

After nearly an eight hour flight into Paris, France, Clint and I find a way to amuse ourselves during the six hour car ride from Paris to Bordeaux, France. A small smile pulls at my lips as I view the familiar streets as I realize we are close to arriving at Château de l' Mason. I hear a slight awe in Clint's voice as we pull up to the gated entrance and as the gates part, the extensively built cottage-styled mansion greets us. Lush gardens and emerald green land, it is no wonder why so many find this place to be beautiful. As we thank the driver, and pay for his services, Clint nudges me with his elbow and I glance up to see the front door open.

"Mademoiselle Roux. Bienvenue sur Le Château de l' Mason," the familiar currant-flavored voice of Pierre, the house keeper, greets.

"Bonjour, Pierre. If you don't mind, mon ami prefers English," I greet as Pierre motions for some of the house servants to gather our bags.

"Ah, oui, oui. Welcome, Monsieur. If you are in need of anything during your stay, feel free to ask," Clint nods curtly, his well-trained gaze sweeping over the foyer area.

"Do I hear the voice of Lexi Roux?" I can't stop the grin as I turn to greet the man with the cinnamon-flavored voice. "Who is this homme you brought with you?"

"This is mon ami, Clint Barton. Clint, this is Monsieur Marcel Mason, Jacquot's father. Marcel, Clint here is a close friend of mine who did not wish for me to travel alone," I introduce the two men.

Marcel Mason, is a man of integrity and aristocratic-grace, not so different from Tony in that point. Clint remains respectful as Marcel shows us around the house, though I know my way around just fine. As I follow Clint, who seems to have caught Marcel's attention (and respect from what I can see), I find myself taking a trip down memory lane. I remember the summer and winter holidays, when my parents had been too busy. The long weeks I spent in this house, working on personal art projects with Jacquot. I remember watching as Madame work in the garden, beautiful arrangements of various roses, tulips and lilies decorating the luscious landscape. I remember movie nights with Jacquot's brothers, and being dragged through the merchant districts by his sisters.

"The doctors are busy doing tests on Angelique, and we won't be able to visit until tomorrow," Marcel states, his English tainted with the thick French accent. "You two are welcome to our guest rooms, of course."

"Thank you, for your hospitality, sir," Clint responds.

"None of that, sir stuff. I insist you call me Marcel."

Pierre, sneaky as he is, appears out of no where to show Clint and I to our rooms. After unpacking, I find myself sprawled across my bed as a knock sounds on the door. Calling out for the person to enter, I hear a soft click of the door shutting and yet cannot seem to hear any footsteps. The subtle depression on the mattress causes me to open one eye and I glance over to see Clint laying across the bed, mimicking my position.

"Marcel seems to think highly of you. As though you are one of his own children," Clint comments, and I nod stiffly, "So, why do I get the feeling you do not return the sentiment?"

"Though my parents were very busy most of the time, I still loved them dearly. I knew that their work meant a lot, that they were helping people, so I am not so broken by it. Jacquot's famille had really been the first time I was able to experience what a famille felt like. I respect them, greatly," I smile softly, "Madame Angelique, she set up a funding account for surrounding orphanages, so that the kids can go to the doctors and get yearly check-up and whatever immunizations they might need. She donated so much money and time into local hospitals. To think someone might be behind her sickness, it hurts more than you know."

"They seem like a great family," Clint comments softly.

"Hey, Clint?" A grunt sounds from my side, "Would you...stay in here with me?" Feeling his gaze burning against the side of my head, I blush, "I've never really been comfortable sleeping in this house, too quiet. Jacquot used to keep me company all the time."

"Hey," Clint nudges me gently, "I'm here to make you feel safe, right? I'd probably be up all night worrying about your safety anyway. Though, we probably shouldn't mention any of this to Tony, and the others."

I nod in agreement, thankful for the familial bond I seem to share with the marksman. As the night drags on, I find myself falling asleep to the light-hearted hum caressing my nerves, rendering me into a deeper sleep.

I've never been a fan of hospitals. Hell, I think I share the sentiment with the majority of the people in this world. Staring at the oppressive building, I steel my nerves as I follow Marcel into the building, Clint keeping by my side (at all times like he promised). I am thankful that the slight awkwardness of the sleeping arrangement hasn't hindered our growing friendship. In fact, I feel as though we are closer than before.

"Lexi!"

The dark-skinned young man greeting me causes me to smile weakly as I feel myself embraced by my dear Jacquot, "Honestly, cher, how many handsome men do you have stringing along?"

I giggle, despite the situation, Jacquot remains as playful as ever, and I pull out of the embrace, motioning toward Clint, "This is mon ami, Clint. Clint, this is Jacques Mason."

"Maman kept asking about you. How you've been doing in the Americas. When I told her you were planning on visiting, she insisted you see her," Jacquot states.

Smiling weakly, "Is it alright if Clint comes with me?"

"Oui, like any of us can deny you anything."

I blush at the sentiment, hearing a snort of irony come from Clint, and I know he is referring to our conversation last night, "Merci. We will go on in, then."

Leading Clint into the room, I stop short at the sight of the pale-skinned woman laying asleep on the bed. Realizing she has not woken up for the day, I motion for Clint to remain silent before I walk over to the bed. Digging into my purse, I pull out a hypodermic needle and an anti-coagulant vacuum tube. Hearing Clint make a startled sound, I approach the IV, placed in order for the nurses to take blood samples, and slip the needle into the port. Attaching the tube, I remain silent as a few minor units of blood begins to fill the tube. When I believe I have taken enough, I pop out the tube and remove the needle. Throwing the needle into the needle-disposal box, I place the tube carefully into my purse.

"What was that?" Clint whispers.

"I asked Bruce if he would run blood samples for me. I don't trust the doctors here. Who knows if those men have their fingers dug into a few of the employees here?" I reply.

"Anyone ever tell you, you think like an agent?"

I smile weakly, "My parents were insistent on me making sure I know who I can trust for sure, and be weary of those I am unsure of."

"L-Lexi? Is that you, chère fille?"

Tasting the familiar flavor of sour cherries, I feel my eyes burn in response, "Oui, Madame. How are you feeling?"

"Awful, ma fille." I watch as light brown eyes open, gazing at me with warmth and welcome, "Who is your friend?"

"This is Clint. He didn't wish me to come visit you in such a state by myself. Clint, this is Angelique Mason," I motion toward the blonde beauty lying on the bed.

Clint greets the woman gently and before I know it, I am listening as the woman speaks of everything that has occurred recently with the family. At the sound of the door opening, Clint and I look up as the doctor steps in. I watch closely as Angelique greets the man softly, and as he responds carefully, I feel myself tense. The familiar urge to vomit tugs at me, and I force myself to grin through it.

"Madame, I'm afraid I must be going," I press a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.

Rushing out of the room, I inform Jacquot that Clint and I needed to go and to keep me updated. Thanking Marcel, and wishing the family good fortune, I stalk out of the hospital and pull out my phone.

"Tante, can you send Clint and I a pick up. Oui. Bordeaux, France. Merci, Tante."

"Lexi! What's going on?"

Looking up at Clint, I motion for him to follow as I hail a taxi. Quickly arriving at the Mason's home, I insist on packing up our things. Hearing Clint demand and explanation, I sigh, "The doctor, the one that came into Madame's room. He was the same man from the gallery. The one that approached Jacquot, interested in buying one of his paintings of me."

"The man has a painting of you?" Clint inquires in confusion.

"Non. Tony bought it at a higher price," I state in distraction, "The man...he doesn't feel right. I don't think it's coincidence. We need to leave as soon as possible."

"Alright. Just...calm down."

The flavor of sweet nectarines mixes with the light-hearted hum as Clint's hand rests on my shoulder, "Relax, Lexi. Nothing will happen to you."

I shake my head, "Don't you get it. These people are hurting the only people I've cared about in the past four years. Why? Why are they after me?"

"I don't know, but freaking out isn't going to help. You need to calm down. We'll head back home and maybe we can send Tasha for recon," Clint murmurs, his tone gentle, despite the worry in his gaze.

Home? Thinking over the word, I realize the Tower had become home. The first time, in a very long time, I now have a home. The manic tension in my body fades and Clint seems to release a sigh of relief. Yes. We will return home and figure out what these people want.

But why? Why me? I've never hurt anyone. I've never done anything bad. What is is that they want me for?

Thank you for reading! As I stated previously, Lexi is going to start developing a closer bond with the team as she begins to become touch-oriented with them. Bet none of you guessed the man wanting to buy Lexi's 'exposed' painting would have any real part to the story. Oh does the plot ever thicken.

Yes, Jacques/Jacquot comes from an inter-racial family. His mother is Caucasian and his father is of African decent. If none of you notice, there is something different about Jacquot. Can you guess?

To my lovely Reviewers!

Crystal-Wolf-Guardian-967: Thank you. I'm glad you are enjoying it.

xxxRena: -lol- I am pleased you have found and are enjoying my story thus far! It pleases me to no end.

Ravenclaw Slytherin: Thanks as well.

Carly Carnations: 'Lovely Chap' You know, I thought of Jarvis when you said that! No lie. Thank you. I am pleased you are enjoying the story so much.

yourshowingoffagain: Aww...I'm so happy you enjoy it. I know Tony seems a bit more...soft in my story, but again, I doubt he has ever experienced a innocent woman before. I mean, come on, women just throw themselves at him, so I figured he be caught off guard by Lexi's constant innocence.

Guest: Thank you. Though you have no name to call you by, I am glad you enjoy the imagery.

LittleMissMia123: -lol- you naughty girl you. Of course that will be introduced in later chapter, but I need Lexi to develop a more comfort level. Obvious, she is a virgin, and with her Synethesia, a wonderful experience could be painful for her if she isn't completely ready for it.

To my other minions:

Thanks!

Until next time!