Here's my attempt at a humorous(I hope) story, about Alan writing a letter to Scott.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Thunderbirds, or any of the characters or places mentioned in this story. All are owned by... other people. BUT NOT ME! Sadly.

Dear Scott,

I guess if you're reading this, it means you're back from the mainland, and you're probably standing in the middle of your room with steam coming out of your ears, ready to strangle me, then push my corpse of a cliff tied to a rock. Look, I'm going to cut right to the chase, ok?

I AM SORRY! Also, DO NOT BELIEVE GORDON! THIS WAS NOT MY IDEA, NO MATTER WHAT HE SAYS! I SWEAR!

Now, I understand that walking into a room that has been emptied of all furniture and that has had its walls painted with hot pink and bright yellow ice cream cones and smiley faces might be a tad frustrating (I'm guessing murderously infuriating is more accurate, isn't it?), but just hear me out.

AND I REPEAT. DO NOT LISTEN TO WHATEVER STORY GORDON HAS SPUN ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED. IT IS COMPLETE AND UTTER NONSENSE.

I'll tell you what really happened, ok? So it started when I was packing my stuff this morning. Gordo just came waltzing into my room with his hands in his pockets and a huge grin on his face. You know, the one that screams "I am an evil genius and you should all have a deep-rooted fear of me."

Well normally I would have jumped at the chance to help him with one of his plots, but seeing as it was my last day home before going back to school, I figured I would be nice to you guys and not pull anything. You're welcome. Anyways, I told him so, but he just kept smirking at me like a maniac. It really got on my nerves, so I finally asked him what he wanted.

"Nothing." He said, and just kept standing there smiling. It took all my willpower not to smack him upside the head with my chemistry notebook. Finally, just when I was thinking that the window would be a better option, he said "Are you ready?"

I was instantly suspicious. You know you would be too, don't deny it. "For what?" I said. And he said:

"To leave your greatest, everlasting impression on our brother dearest."

I didn't want to, I really wanted to be nice on my last day, but he wasn't leaving my alone and I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate on packing while he was being creepy like that. So I followed him out the door. I KNOW. I SHOULDN'T HAVE. But he just has that uncanny ability to get what he wants. I think we should consider sending him to a specialist on mystic powers or something.

But anyways. So I follow Gordo to the closet down the hall, where he starts rummaging around in the very back. He spent 5 minutes rooting around in there before he finally pulled out this box. In the box, there were all these bottles and stuff. And then we went to the workshop and got some long pieces of wood, and… you know what? I'll spare you the details. To make a long story short, we got a bunch of stuff (I still had no idea what was going on, mind you) and then went to his room.

We sat in there for a bit while he explained his plan to me. When he finally finished, I was shocked. Like, really shocked. I didn't know he was capable of such deviousness. Extreme mischief, sure, but this was downright devilry. Though you have to admit, it is kind of funny (but still, NOT MY IDEA).

I still don't understand how we managed to get your bed out the window, but we did. The entire time I was torn between wondering why the heck no one was hearing what we were doing and coming to stop us, and wondering how we were going to even pull it off. I think it went a lot like this:

Me: "Gordon, what the heck are we doing? There is no way we are going to be able to get his stuff out of his room."

Gordon: "Alan, you still have a lot to learn. It's really not that complicated."

Me: "Yeah, sure, you're right. This is no more complicated than that time you decided to turn all the water in the pool to jell-o, just to see what it would be like."

Gordon: "Ramble for ten minutes about how that was a good plan, and went really well." Guess he forgot about Virgil AND Dad's little tumbles, didn't he? It really would have been a smart idea on his part to clean the deck after the jell-o cooled. Hey, at least it was peach, right? Dad's favourite!

Anyways. Me: Gordon. This is a stupid. This isn't going to work."

Gordon: "Oh really?" *Pushes mattress out the window, down the skids (pieces of wood), and into the dirt (And smiles like a madman. Seriously Scott, he needs to see a doctor).*

Half an hour later your bed frame had joined your mattress on the ground, and I was tired.

"This is where you leave your name, Al." he said. So I wrote the note saying:

"To Scott. Love Alan" That's all I did, I swear. After that I left. It was GORDON who moved the dresser, bookcase and desk, took all your posters down, piled the rest of your stuff into the center of the room and painted the walls. I didn't find out about the other stuff until a few hours later, when I realised I had left my sweater in your room from when I got hot manoeuvring the bed frame onto the skids. By then it was too late to do anything about it, and Virgil was calling me, saying we had ten more minutes before we had to leave.

So there. I would have called and explained, but I wanted you to have something with you that would clear my name when you saw the evidence, instead of giving you a few hours to research the best ways of discreetly disposing of a body.

Again, I'm really sorry Scott. I know I don't say that often, but I really am. I'll make it up to you one day, I promise.

Love, you're deeply sorry (though adorable) brother, Alan.

P.S.: Please don't kill me.

Scott stood in the doorway to his room, speechless. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to explode. With barely contained rage, and a slightly twitching eye, he stepped slowly back into the hallway, letting the letter flutter to the floor behind him. He took a few –ineffective- calming breaths, and bellowed.

"GORDON!"

A few days later, Alan sat on his Wharton's dorm room bed, a letter clutched tightly in his slightly trembling hand. On it, were written just three words.

This. Means. War.

So what did ya think? Good? Bad? Funny? Lame? R&R

HONEST COMMENTS PLEASE. FLAMES WELCOME.