This was something I wrote within minutes because laylaanne on tumblr said "there's gotta have been a time where alan picked up one of the controls for one of the thunderbirds instead of a game joystick and hell ensured" so I accepted the challenge.
Scott was reclining neatly by the swimming pool, refreshingly basking in the sun's midday gaze. He was almost asleep actually, that last rescue took most of his stress out of the box, but now he just needed to unwind. Gordon was swimming lengths of the pool, trying to stay cool. As someone who had been home all day, he was far too hot. Scott and Virgil, however, had been very far up north, up on a very snowy mountain dealing with a bridge collapse, and so the normally brutal midday sun was tolerable.
Scott was jolted out of his relaxation by a colossal rumble behind him, as if a shotgun had gone off behind his back. Scott bolted upright so quickly that his sunglasses fell across half of his face. Spinning around, glasses askew, he felt the ground rumble a little, and there was only one place it could come from.
That big goddamn heavy logistics craft.
Scott leapt to his feet, and Gordon had clambered out of the pool, and Scott was pretty sure that if it was possible, Gordon's jaw would be on the ground, speechless beyond belief. Gordon had no idea what was happening.
Virgil, who had been contently chomping on a beef sandwich he made himself minutes earlier, no longer had a sandwich. His jaw was also dropped, a mouth full of half chewed food. His hands were held upwards, where the sandwich had once been before it fell from his grip in shock and abject horror, the beefy goodness in his hand fell to the floor with an unrelenting splat.
The sound of the radio in the lounge rang through the villa, meaning that John was calling in, probably to ask what the hell was happening. Scott would have run up in an instant if it wasn't for Thunderbird Two's horrible banking turns, making his stomach lurch. Whoever was piloting it wasn't piloting it well.
"Who's in it?!" Scott stammered, knowing that John was out of the question (he's in space. No chance). Virgil and Gordon and himself too. Brains was on the mainland purchasing supplies for his updates to their Thunderbird craft. Kayo was with Grandma in the kitchen. That left only one person.
"AAA-LAN!" With a guttural roar, Virgil sprinted up the stairs and into the villa, running towards the bedroom of their youngest brother. Scott followed to prevent him from straight up murdering their brother. Gordon followed, grabbing his camera phone on the way.
Bursting into the bedroom…
"Why in the hell is my car not going forwards?!"
Alan was staring at his holographic monitor, with some kind of motor racing game in the background. He was losing by… well, everyone. Every other NPC opponent was beating him. He was using the joystick and swerving it around, but his car would not move the way he wanted it to. His other hand was venting his frustration onto the crisps in the bowl.
"Alan what have you done?!" Scott asked, grabbing the joystick from his hand.
"It's broken, it won't work!" He pouted.
Virgil snatched the joystick, labelled TB2 on its underside, and ran out onto the balcony, swiftly regaining control over the runaway rescue craft.
"That is probably because, Alan, this is your controller!" Scott shouted, pulling out an almost identical joystick from behind his sofa. It was amazing how quickly Alan went pale.
Gordon was laughing from the doorway, his camera phone capturing every moment of the confrontation.
Shortest thing ever, I know, but it was quite fun to think up :)