Do you have any idea what it's like to grow up as the middle kid of a huge family? And I'm not talking just big, I'm talking huge. I had four brothers and four sisters, plus three cousins and a couple 'uncles' but I'm not sure they were actually related to us by blood or anything.

Our house was huge, too, three stories huge. It had been a hotel at one point and that was a good thing. It meant we mostly got our own rooms. My oldest brother, John, well, he was the golden boy and got his own way always. He was named after our dad and he got away with murder. He got a car for graduation, he always had new clothes, money in his pocket and never had to help out around the house. Sadly, that seemed to cripple him emotionally and he would wrap his car around a telephone pole by the time he was twenty five. He was okay, but he killed his passenger. Somehow, that seemed a worse fate than ours, but that's another story.

My two oldest sisters, born just ten months apart, shared a room. They are really close, scary close. They got what had been the honeymoon suite. It was huge, twice the size of the rest of the rooms, with a marble fireplace and exclusive access to the second floor porch. The other rooms on that side had windows looking out onto it. When one of my 'uncles' was discovered watching them undress one night, my dad moved them next door and that uncle just vanished. We never ever saw him again, but he left everything, including his bright yellow Plymouth behind. Again, another story.

Anyhow, I ended up with a bedroom on the third floor. Warm as toast in the winter, hotter than hell on a summer day. My room was just a bit bigger than its closet and overlooked the roof, but I didn't care. It was mine and I guarded it with my life. I guess that was what started me on my way to my chosen career path.

One day, my bratty younger brother and sister came into my room, messed up my stuff, found my Halloween candy stash and totally destroyed a project I'd been doing for school. When I went crying to my folks, they told me, it was my room and my responsibility, so I had to deal with it.

I was pretty handy with a soldering gun, so I began concocting what would be the first of many burglar alarms for my room. When my youngest brother, who wasn't supposed to be up on the third floor, period, tripped it, he pooped his pants. I got a licking for scaring him, but it was worth it. I'd staked my claim.

Over the years, I got better and better at devising the perfect alarm, going through many prototypes. My favorite was the one that blew colored water all over the person trying to enter. That was a huge hit in the dorms and I had more work than I knew how to handle. There would be a myriad of brightly stained freshman and a few upper classmen the first semester, then they learned and I was put on probation. But that's another story.

Of course, that didn't stop me. I simply changed directions. By the time I left college, I'd patented two alarm designs and was working on a third. Needless to say, I had my choice of jobs, but decided to take a few months off to enjoy the fruits of my labors. After all, how many kids do you know graduate college with a plus balance in their bank account?

So, my sisters wanted to go to New York for a visit and my Ma decided I would be the perfect choice to go with them. She knew that with their tag-along brother, they would be more like to behave. They insisted upon their own room, so we got an interconnecting room, which was close enough. After all, I had my own money and my own agenda. I wanted freedom, but not too much of it. Dad had slipped me some money and told me to watch out for them. To me, that meant one thing only - an alarm for their door.

The first night we went out and staggered back to our rooms, feeling very adult and very free. Of course, that didn't keep me from engaging the alarm on their door and mine. About one in the morning, there was this godforsaken noise, a whole mess of screams and general mayhem. Apparently, someone had tried to break into their room and got a face full of my bright red dye. It was very easy to track down the bellman responsible and you could say he was caught red handed… and red faced, too. Seemed that he was responsible for a string of burglaries and attacks, and, yup, another story.

The next morning I was waddling back to my room – my sisters had insisted upon buying me the best breakfast at the hotel where we were staying – and this old guy walked up to me.

"Hello, Jerry." He offered his hand.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" I had a pretty good memory for faces, but only friends knew my nickname.

"No, but I'm a great fan of your work. I've been studying you for a long time."

Okay, now my interest was piqued. "Okay, have I designed an alarm for you?"

"Not yet, but I'm hoping that will change." And that was my introduction to the UNCLE.

I bet you've always wondered who protects the protectors, you know Sections One, Two, and Three. That would be me and my team. We go into homes or apartments or even hotel rooms and install alarm systems. They have to be compact, relatively easy to use, and fail safe. This was my dream job. I spent hours designing, re-designing, and honing systems.

The hardest ones to protect were the Section Two guys. They basically were the ones that went out and poked the bear. Often, the bear poked back. They needed to have a place where they felt secure and were able to relax. Happily, I had a friend in one of the upper Section Two agents, Illya Kuryakin. He helped me test out new alarms and report back.

"Good morning, Jerry," Illya said, setting a cup of coffee down on my desk.

"Hey, thanks, Illya." I knew it would be exactly the way I liked it without have to taste it. He was funny that way. "How did the new system go last night?"

"They didn't tell you?" He looked just a bit embarrassed.

"No-o-o." I waited. "Illya, what did you do?"

"Um, the alarm head doesn't like moisture…"

"Okay." I made a mental note. "And you found this out how?" His face got a faint red sheen to it. "No, don't tell me. I don't think I want to know." I figure he either spilled something on it or… yeah, not going to think about any other possibility."

"Thank you."

"We are attending an event this evening. We are in need of your special services."

It wasn't all that rare that the agents would come to me with this request, but it had been a while. "Okay, where and when?"

"I will pick you up at eight. Please be discreet."

That meant they wanted something small and easy to conceal. I nodded. "Anything else?"

"Can you dance?"

Strangely enough, I could, but I was never any good at it. Two left feet and all that, but it was enough to keep me on the dance floor and observing the various spots where I'd stuck alarms. Illya didn't tell me why, just where and that was enough for me. I learned early in my career to not question Section Twos too much. It was just safer.

I released my current dance partner back into the wild and that when I heard a deep husky voice.

"Need a partner, partner?"

The speaker had eyes that you could get lost in. I happily dove in and sort of lost track of the next hour. Suddenly I became aware of my surroundings and realized I was out on a balcony with a warm willing body in my arms. She was everything any woman could aspire to. She was gorgeous, smart and apparently very comfortable with the opposite sex.

Puzzled as to what had happened, I looked around. Illya was standing there, a frown furrowing his brow.

"I've never felt like this with anyone before," my partner murmured. "I feel rather dizzy."

Illya jerked his head towards the door and I caught his meaning. "Would you like me to take you back to your place?"

Supple fingers tickled the back of my neck. "I'd rather you take me to yours." Okay, then, and that's a story I'm not going to share.

We'd been going together for a couple of months and I had a feeling that there was something troubling her.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"Oh, I know these people… they aren't very nice people, but when my parents died, we had nothing, so they let me borrow some money."

"Do you need to pay them back?" I had more than enough stashed away.

"No, it's not that sort of payment they want."

"What do they want?"

"Napoleon Solo."

"What do I get if I do?" I couldn't believe my mouth was forming the words.

"Me, body, heart, and soul."

As I listened to the tale she wove, my heart split in two. Part of me wanted to believe her tale of woe and, dear God, part of me even wanted to hand Napoleon over to her. He was a Casanova, but he was also a good agent.

The next morning I walked into headquarters, my mind spinning and my heart aching. How I found my way there, I can't even remember. My world was upside down. I was so much in love I was giddy and yet...

Just then the elevator door opened and Illya stepped out. Suddenly, I knew that I had to do what was right.

"Illya, I need you."

He blinked in surprise, but nodded. "All right." He looked around as we'd drawn the attention of the Section Three agent watching the entrance and the receptionist. "Let's go to my office."

I give Illya credit. He listened and never said a word. Finally, he sat back in his chair and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Do you have a photo of her?"

"No, she doesn't like having her picture taken."

He nodded. "I understand. Okay, this is what we are going to do."

It felt weird to be in someone else's apartment, hiding behind a piece of furniture. I knew there was another half dozen agents there, too and that felt even stranger.

"You are sure about this?" Illya's voice was soft.

"I'm not, but I did as you instructed." I looked towards a low light emitting from the bedroom. "Will Napoleon be okay?"

"Never better. He was very enthusiastic about it." There was a noise from the hallway and Illya held up his hand. He touched a finger to his lips and I nodded.

The door eased open and a figure, back lit, slipped in. It closed just as fast. The alarm remained silent, just as I promised it would be. It looked around, as if trying to see into the shadows. I wanted to scream, yell, or do anything to defuse the tension, but I remained silent and stock still.

The figure turned to the hallway and the bedroom. It moved so slowly that it seemed to take a year for it to travel those few feet. It reached for the door, lifting up a rifle, and gently pushed it open. The resulting POP was deadening. There was a shout, some yelling, lights flew on and I heard muffled shots. Terrified, I dropped to the ground. I wasn't ready to die for anyone.

Happily no one did that night, however, the assassin did escape. There were too many cooks in the kitchen. Agents were tripping over one another in an attempt to follow after the figure.

Illya just shook his head and went to check on Napoleon. I followed, mostly to examine the alarm.

"Are you all right?"

"That was fun." Napoleon was standing beside his bed, taking a bullet proof vest off. "Who was it?"

"No idea." Illya holstered his weapon. "The assassin got away."

"Too bad."

"It should be easy to find him," I muttered.

"What do you mean, Jerry?"

"He got a snootful of red cherry wine dye. Just look for someone with a bright red face."

That was easier said than done and at the end of the next day, they were no closer to finding someone. Napoleon thought that the person had gone underground and escaped.

That night there was a knock at my door and I practically sprinted to it.

"Sweetheart!" I opened the door, but she didn't seem happy to see me. She pushed past me, head down, as if trying to hide from a prying eye. "What's wrong?"

"How could you have tricked them?" she asked, not taking off her sunglasses or hat.

"I didn't… I don't know what you are talking about." I walked over to her and removed the glasses. "I did what you asked me to. I deactivated the main alarm in Napoleon Solo's apartment." I could see the red beneath the makeup. I smiled and kissed her as Illya and Napoleon, guns drawn, approached her. "I was the one who was tricked. I thought you really loved me."

She started laughing then. "You? Love you? Who could love you?"

I was raised in a houseful of bratty siblings and you learned early when to fight and when to pull your punches. Yeah, I decked her and never had a punch felt so good.

I had loved and been betrayed. It didn't matter in the long run. She ended up going to jail, I ended up with a raise and a new assignment. One morning, I rounded the corner, and bumped into someone. Someone who was destined to turn my world on its ear. Someone I ended up loving, marrying and never regretting a moment of it. But that's another story.