Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.

A/N: I swear, I'm not trying to drag this out – I never envisioned that by chapter 11, I'd still be working on the Pilot! There's just SO much material in this episode, and I'm in no rush… well, except that I'm dying to get to all the cuteness that comes the farther into the season we go… okay so I'm a little bit impatient, but I'm going to milk it for all the feels that I can along the way! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Their black SUV wove through the streets of Chinatown, and at last it pulled up to the curb outside the building that Patterson had identified based on Jane's translation. Weller climbed out of the driver's side front door, and Jane started to get out of the door behind his. Weller, however, wasn't letting her get any farther. "No, stay in the car," he told her firmly, not in the mood for another argument.

But Jane was ready to put up a fight. "That wasn't the deal," she growled.

"I don't care," Weller shot back at her. "I'm not going to take you upstairs until everything is secure. Stay in the car."

Maybe because she had won the first battle of actually getting out into the field, or because he had given her an explanation that made some degree of sense, or maybe it was because the phrase "until everything is secure" implied that she would indeed be allowed to go upstairs, just not yet, but to his surprise and relief she actually leaned back into the seat. She didn't look happy about it, but that was okay with him. Until he knew what they were dealing with, her safety was more important than her happiness.

She could see from Weller's face that she wasn't going to get anywhere by arguing with him this time, so she had agreed to stay in the car, even though she felt like a child who was being punished. She was definitely not happy about it, but she was willing to wait there – at least for now. She cringed slightly as Weller shut the door, leaving her alone with Reade.

"Reade, keep your eyes on her. Don't let her out of your sight," Weller told the other agent. Jane wasn't the only one who wasn't happy with the arrangement, which was obvious because Reade was shooting daggers at her with his eyes. The fact that she now had a babysitter was not lost on her, and she tried not to dwell on the humiliation she felt because of it. It was very hard to accept that she was in the car for her own safety, and not as some sort of punishment.

"Zapata, you're with me," Weller barked, and within seconds the two of them disappeared into the building. Jane watched enviously, trying to remind herself that she wasn't an FBI agent, so it wasn't surprising that they wouldn't allow her on the front lines, no matter what skills she may or may not have. Of course, that didn't mean she had to be happy about it. She scanned the street around them from the window of the SUV as Reade alternated between surveilling the scene and stealing angry glances at her in the rearview mirror.

Inside, Weller and Zapata found apartment seven easily. A young Chinese man with funny looking spiky hair opened the door, and it quickly became apparent that he didn't speak any English. It was obvious that they were not going to get anywhere without Jane, which annoyed Weller beyond measure. Zapata started to mention the fact that they needed Jane's help after all, but stopped mid-sentence when she saw the look on Weller's face. She could see that he already knew that he was about to eat his words. He retreated back down to the car, hoping that Jane wouldn't be too smug about being right after all, but pretty sure that he wouldn't be so lucky.

It had only been a few minutes since Weller and Zapata had gone into the building, but Jane was already restless. It might have something to do with the looks that Reade kept giving her when he thought she wasn't looking, or it might just have been the fact that Weller had made her stay in the car. She didn't know much of anything about herself, but she'd already discovered that she didn't like being told to hang back for her own safety. The longer she sat there, the more anxious she became. She wondered how long it was going to be before Weller came back, because she wasn't sure how long she could handle sitting there, biting her nails and doing nothing.

That was the moment that Weller opened the door, and Jane looked up immediately. As soon as she saw the look on his face she knew exactly why he was there, and she was glad to see him for several reasons. Not only did it mean that she could get out of the car, and that she'd been right – that he did need her there – but besides all that, she was happy that she got the chance to help with the case. She didn't just want to be a burden to the team. She knew that she could help, and the fact that she spoke Chinese gave her a concrete way that she could do that. And then, of course, there was the fact that Weller was there. She just enjoyed seeing the look on his face.

"Forget something?" She looked up at him innocently, so enjoying the knowledge that he needed her, even more so because it seemed to frustrate him. This was clearly not a man who was used to asking people for help unless it was absolutely necessary.

Weller hated that she seemed to be enjoying this moment quite as much as she appeared to be. "Would you please come upstairs with me for a minute, ma'am?"

Dammit, he thought, did I really just call her ma'am again?

"Since you asked so nicely," she smiled at him.

I win, she thought.

As she climbed out of the car, he gave her half a smile, which was more than she'd seen since first thing that morning.

Interesting… she thought. So he's not annoyed with me per se, it's more that he's annoyed because he didn't want to be wrong.

"Can I come too, or do you wanna roll a window down for me?" Reade had had enough of this assignment already. If he was going to be stuck babysitting Tattoo Girl every time they left the office… well, let's just say he wasn't pleased. As usual, though, he deflected his annoyance with humor. For some reason, sadly, he didn't think anyone was listening to his witty remarks – as usual.

As she climbed out of the SUV, Jane was already looking around at the buildings surrounding them, getting a sense of the area. After all, it was her first time in Chinatown. It was her first time almost anywhere. She hurried to follow Weller into the building, eager to help these people who were trying to help her, and even more eager to find some answers.

They reached the top of the stairs, finding apartment seven. The door was ajar, and Jane walked hesitantly towards it ahead of the two agents. She glanced over her shoulder at Weller, pausing where she stood. He nodded at her, indicating that she should go in ahead of him. As she stepped through the doorway into the apartment, she was conscious that Weller was close behind her, and she knew that Reade was behind him.

She entered the front room and looked around cautiously, a little nervously, even knowing that Weller and Zapata had already cleared the apartment. As she stepped slowly forward, she felt a small jolt when Weller's right hand landed on the back of her right arm, resting lightly between her elbow and her shoulder. Does he even realize that he's touching me, or is it come sort of unconscious gesture? she wondered. She'd observed his professional demeanor with his team, seen how uncomfortable he'd been when she'd touched his hand and his face in the interrogation room only the day before. Therefore, this came as more than a little bit of a surprise. She dismissed it as some sort of protective gesture that he probably didn't even realize he was doing, as strange as that seemed to her.

However, as they walked towards the adjoining room, where Zapata was standing with the young man who only spoke Chinese, she felt his left hand move to the same position on the back of her left arm – he was now holding onto both of her arms at once – and this made her wonder again. This was harder to dismiss.

She had to admit, she definitely didn't hate it.

If anything, she had to take a deep breath, because her heart suddenly felt like it might beat out of her chest. Get a grip, Jane, she told herself. It's nothing. You're alone in the world and you're grasping onto the only guy – the only person – you know. He just feels responsible for you. You insisted that he bring you into the field, and now he's worried about your safety. He sees you as a liability, someone he has to protect. That's it. It's a nice gesture, it's cute and all, but it doesn't mean anything.

Despite what the "rational" side of her was saying, the feeling of his hands on her arms, even though she couldn't see his expression while he was holding onto her, gave her the same sensation that she'd had when she'd touched his hand and his face the day before. Warm. Slightly electric. Somehow… familiar, while simultaneously completely foreign. But most of all… right. She felt like she shouldn't like it as much as she actually did. She told herself that she was reading far too much into it. Yes, she was definitely reading too much into it.

Whatever the reason, he kept his hands on her arms for a full few seconds as they went through the next doorway into the second room. There, he stepped around her on the right, removing first his right hand, then his left as he walked past her. It annoyed her that she actually felt the absence of his hands' warmth after he had removed them. She willed the thought from her head. They had a job to do. And besides, it was nothing.

He didn't even realize what he'd done until after he had already moved his hands off of her. Despite the fact that he knew that he and Zapata had already cleared the apartment, he couldn't help feeling protective of Jane as they entered together. Maybe he should have gone in first, but because Zapata was already there, because he was bringing Jane up there for a reason and wanted to show that he trusted her, and because he was a gentleman, he told her to go in ahead of him. Had he perhaps been second guessing that decision when he'd apparently decided to hold onto her with both hands, without even realizing it? That crossed a whole bunch of lines and he knew it.

He couldn't even explain it to himself. He hadn't even realized that he'd been holding onto her arms until he had let go of them as they walked into the room where Zapata and the Chinese man were standing. In the seconds while Jane was stepping toward the man, Weller demanded that his hands provide a justification for their actions, but none came. There was no time to dwell on it after that, because the man was providing them information about Chao, and they had to act. His thoughts about his involuntary reactions to Jane would have to wait, but he promised his hands that they had not heard the last of that topic.

Jane took a step forward toward the young Chinese man, who was speaking rapidly, frustrated that no one could understand him. Weller stepped forward beside her as well, motioning toward the man, signaling to Jane to go ahead and figure out what he wanted to tell them. She listened to him, smiling at him kindly, for a minute and then began translating.

"He said he just moved in last week. He hasn't seen Chao since yesterday… Okay, he wants to apologize for letting his student visa lapse. He said… he said he didn't get the forms in time."

Weller wasn't interested in visas, of course. They had a much more pressing problem, and that was finding Chao. He pointed to a padlocked door behind where the man was standing.

"Is that Chao's room?" he asked urgently, despite knowing that the man didn't understand him.

Jane translated the question, more gently than Weller had asked it, and the man replied in Chinese. Before Jane could relay his response, Weller's impatience got the better of him. "Yes? Yes? Or no?" he asked Jane in annoyance.

"Yes," she replied simply.

Weller hurriedly thanked both the confused man and Jane for their help. Then he turned to Jane, extending his hand towards her to signal that they needed to move quickly in the direction of Chao's room. Without a second thought, he uttered one word, one that she heard loud and clear, despite the fact that it came out of his mouth mumbled quietly.

The word was "Jane."

She wasn't sure if he'd actually called her by name back in the screens room before, when her mind had been trying to process the images of so many of her tattoos laid out on huge monitors all at once. It could have been her imagination, because everything had sounded as if she had been under water for a minute or two there. But this time, it was definitely real.

He had called her Jane, for sure this time. She couldn't quite explain, even to herself, why she felt such a difference between Weller calling her "ma'am" or "Jane." It's just because he's the closest thing you have to a friend, which, by the way, he isn't, the cynical voice in her head told her. But what's the big deal? "Jane" isn't any more your name than "ma'am" is.

The voice had a point. "Jane" wasn't really her name either, and it wasn't as though she hadn't been addressed as Jane already, at least a few times. Her security detail, so far, always called her "ma'am," though she'd tried to get them to stop. They were nice enough, but they were very proper, very official, very professional… all business. So why did she care about what Weller called her? It was just… different coming from Weller. She had to admit that she liked the way it sounded when he called her "Jane."

She wanted to shake herself for being so ridiculous.

As Weller walked purposefully toward Chao's padlocked door, he realized that he had just called her "Jane." Once again, his mind seemed to be working on a slight delay, only catching up after the word had left his mouth. It was doubtful that anyone else would even have noticed what he considered to be such a significant slip, but his mind was screaming at him. He'd only met her yesterday. This was unheard of for him – even something as small as calling a subject, an asset, whatever she was to the FBI, by their first name was something that he just didn't do. Though really, he supposed that that was nothing compared to holding onto her with both hands and not even being conscious that he was doing it. He groaned inwardly.

His frustration with himself wasn't about the FBI's regulations. It wasn't that he was acting inappropriately according to his agency. It was just that he had his own set of clear rules in his head, rules that made it possible for him to do his job. Clear lines that he didn't cross, couldn't cross. He could care a lot about the people that he was helping because he knew where the lines were, knew exactly how much of himself he could afford to give to the job before he had to pull back. He did not get emotionally involved in investigations. That much was crucial. It was important to sympathize, even empathize, but there had to be a line. He was very good at finding the line and staying on the correct side of it. Or, he'd always been good at it until now. Until her.

Really? We're back to the "remaining professional" crap again? his mind demanded. Didn't you notice that that doesn't seem to work with her?

Alright, Weller bargained with himself, she can be "Jane." That's not a serious breach of the rules. But watch it, Weller, because it's a slippery slope and you know it. Really, he knew that he didn't stand a chance on this slippery slope, but he wasn't willing to admit it to himself.

He knew what would happen if he let himself get too wrapped up in this case, too focused on whatever it was about her, because it had already happened to him once. When he took a cause too much to heart, when something was too important to him, it swallowed him whole, devoured him and left only an empty shell of his former self. He couldn't let that happen, not again. He'd worked for twenty five years to overcome that very condition, and starting that process again… well, he couldn't bear even the thought of it.

And yet, just glancing in her eyes, seeing a split second flash of recognition, and he knew that she'd noticed that he had called her "Jane." All of his "rules" – not the FBI's regulations for case work, but Kurt Weller's rules for himself – threatened to fly out the window from that glance between them. Because as simple and silly and probably naïve as it was of him, he could tell one thing in that split second. She liked it.

All of these thoughts had exploded in his head in a millisecond, but he recovered quickly, knowing that this was not the time. They had an important job to do, and he had a lot of practice with holding his emotions in check. Surely, he could do a better job than what he was doing now, he told himself reproachfully.

Can you? the voice in his head asked, clearly not buying it. Even with her?