I hope this is okaaay
While Sitwell had insisted any more special concessions were extremely unnecessary, he spent notably little time in the barracks anymore and S.H.I.E.L.D. only occasionally scheduled meetings or missions applying his specific unit and/or skills during daylight. Sitwell could, in fact, manage with some careful maneuvering. Truth was, he expected, Hammer didn't want him around very often and everyone else found him kind of creepy. He didn't blame them. It was, then, in its way, after the initial hissing and scowling, a pleasant surprise to be shocked out of the deep sleep he was starting to get really personally acquainted with for the first time since before college, by the call. There was a situation.
Before he got very far downtown, Sitwell began to regret taking (Jan's very thoughtful if overwhelming gift) the truck, even with its specially tinted windows meant to keep him from running into trouble. It was inevitable that one day something would go awry and he would be stranded in the little cabin until sundown, if he was lucky, and Sitwell knew before it happened that this was going to be the day. He should have met a copter for pick up. When the engine suddenly died and sent him coasting gently into the piling traffic before him, Sitwell's hands immediately leapt off of the wheel and went searching blindly for his phone. He was dialing by the time he jerked to a stop next to a slowly growing puff of cotton candy; slowly growing but unnervingly massive already, like a hedge or a cloud that surfed delicately down to touch ground. It spun and steadily ballooned outward while Sitwell tried calmly and methodically to restart his now completely unresponsive truck (which made sense, since his front end seemed to be melting), and said into his phone, "Jan, I have a problem. There's a big problem."
It was okay, though. He could handle this. The front of his truck confidently melted its way toward him and Sitwell gave up on the engine, twisting instead to frantically dig out his emergency kit and tear it open, throwing stupid bandages and flares out of his way to find the space blanket, all the while starting to squeak, "I'm by the Park, two blocks from HQ, I think it's the Park, but my car is melting and I don't think it's going to last much longer." Maybe he should have called somebody else; one of those helicopters he was thinking about. It wasn't long before the console was dripping on his feet and Sitwell had to cut his losses, kicking open the gooey door to roll, tucked under his blanket, into the sticky shade of the cotton candy mass.