"He's late," Cyclops muttered to no one in particular as he waited in the same alley where he'd first met Spider-Man the night before. Cold wisps of frost decorated his words in the chilly air, and he pulled his jacket closer. At least the city had managed to find a way to tow the beaheaded Sentinel's chromium carcass out of the alley.

Being punctual was a trait the X-Man had inherited from his late father, an air force officer. Adolescent years spent on his own and homeless had dulled that trait only slightly. Within a week of meeting Xavier, Scott had resharpened his punctuality to a fine point, because Scott needed to be efficient. He needed order in his life, or risk insanity. He was labeled by many as a control freak (to put it nicely), but for someone whose slightest glance could destroy and kill, control and discipline were essential. It made him the leader he was. While he knew it was unreasonable to expect the same amount of discipline from others, he had little patience for those who evidenced none.

Such as Spider-Man, who was currently a half-hour late.

Dammit, Cyclops thought, if I'd wanted to deal with people running late, I'd have stayed at the mansion. This is ridiculous. Bad enough that I have to put up with it from Wolverine and Iceman. He occupied himself by going over Danger Room scenarios, trying to think of a way to turn his teammates' shortcomings into assets, but stopped in mid-thought as he felt something approaching from above. His visor limited his peripheral vision, but his awareness of his surroundings was still acute. It was how he'd survived on the streets while functionally blind, and it was how he planned to survive as an X-Man. Jean and the others called it paranoia, teasing him about his refusal to ever sit with his back to the door. Screw them.

"You're late," Cyclops stated flatly, turning around to look up at the figure on the wall. Had it been anyone else but Spider-Man trying to sneak up on him, Cyclops might have skipped the commentary and blasted him. But the fact that his guest was crawling down a vertical surface like an insect didn't leave too many other possibilities.

"I know, I know," Spider-Man replied, his form remaining covered in deep shadow. "I had some stuff to take care of, and lost track of--wait a minute. How'd you know I was there? I was being as quiet as possible, and your back was to me!"

Cyclops smiled slightly. "I could hear your lack of experience coming a mile away."

"Hey! I'll have you know my lack of experience is MUCH quieter than that!"

"Enough. Let's just get down to business. You wanted information on the Sentinels."

"Yeah. You got it?" Spider-Man adjusted his position so that he was sitting--rather improbably--on the wall.

Cyclops mentally counted the number of Newton's laws of physics that pose was bitch-slapping. "What do you have to offer in return?" Cyclops felt as if he were conducting a drug deal, and the thought brought back memories he didn't want to recall.

The spider-boy blinked, and it was somehow evident even through the huge, reflective eyepieces. "Uhh... I didn't know we were trading."

Cyclops was less than amused.

"How about... my services as a fellow costumed crimefighter? No? Okay... the chemical formula for my webbing?"

"Formula? You have to make that stuff? I thought you grew it out of your wrists."

"Huh? That's a weird thought." Spider-Man started rolling up the end of one of his gloves, revealing a metal bracelet with a tube at the end. "No, actually I mix it up in my lab, and store it in this. I fire it by--"

"Can we get down to business?" Cyclops shook his head, losing what little patience he'd had. "I'm actually willing to give you information on the Sentinels, but you're going to have to convince me that you can put the intel to good use. I'm not going to waste me time with--"

"Okay, okay, sorry. Geez. Heaven forbid I should waste the time of such a great man as yourself. Okay, sorry. We're on the wrong foot. Can we start again?" He hopped off the wall and stood near Cyclops, but still kept a respectable distance. "Listen, I know I'm new at this. I'm pretty sure I haven't been around the block as many times as you have, but I'm trying to do what I can, here. I want to stop the Sentinels just as badly as you do. And it's not just because I'm a newly-minted superhuman who's directly threatened by the Sentinels. It's because everybody is threatened. Especially mutants. Did you know that last night another mutant girl was killed by the Sentinels while we were busy?"

Scott let out a breath. "Yeah. She was mentioned briefly on the news this morning--as the latest Sentinel success."

"Well, she went to my--well, I knew her, kind of. Her name was Tandy Bowen. I stopped by her place a little while ago. That's why I was late."

"Okay, fine. I can understand all that. But what do your parents think about your nightly activities?"

Spider-Man's shoulders slumped, and his eyes drifted downward to the alley litter.

"No parents, huh?"

"No comment."

Scott's stance loosened a bit, and he ran a gloved hand through his hair. "Sorry about that. I know how that can be."

Spider-Man glared daggers at Cyclops, fists clenched. "No, you don't know how that is. How could you?"

Cyclops did a double take, surprised at the boy's reaction--but not entirely. He remembered giving that same response to anyone who tried to say they understood how he felt about being orphaned. As far as he'd been concerned, they couldn't know. Still, Spider-Man's reaction had a certain... immediacy to it. He must have lost someone recently. Damn. "How could I know?" he finally said in a calmer voice.

"Yeah, how? I hate it when people tell me they know what I'm feeling. Unless they're psychics like your professor, they can't!"

Cyclops waited until Spider-Man calmed down a bit, silently respecting the boy's backbone. "Yeah, I hate that too, especially from my professor. I've been there."

"Give me a break."

"I'm serious. I was eight when I lost my family. Plane crash. It's not something you can understand unless you've been there."

At the words, "plane crash", Spider-Man visibly flinched. He seemed to study Cyclops' face for a moment. "You mean... really? You too?"

"Yeah--even had a brother. He might've been around your age now, I think."

"Oh." He was about to say something else, but Cyclops cut him off with a wave of his hand, apparently listening to something.

"Acknowledged," Cyclops said, then he glanced back to Spider-Man. "That was Beast. The Sentinels are headed in our direction. I see you have your cloaking device with you."

"Like I'm going to leave home without it after last night?"

Cyclops nodded. "Good. Now then, if we're going to do this, we'll have to do this as a team. When I give an order, don't stop and ask why. That'll get you killed. Just do it, but don't be afraid to improvise, either."

The wall-crawler cocked his head in confusion. "Why doesn't that last part sound like something you say very often?"

"Because it isn't, but I've studied your battle with the Goblin. With you in a fight, anything could happen. We might as well take advantage of that."

"Cool. Lead the way, boss!"