A/N: The other day I was complaining that I wanted to write something in honor of spring, and my friend celestial-peace sent me this request in reply. The idea is hers! I am merely dictating.

Warning: If you are triggered by tornadoes, do not read this story. It was hard enough for me, writing about something that terrifies me.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any other copyrighted material.

Unmistakable

By: Princess Kitty1

"No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and His love is made complete in us." – 1 John 4:12 (NIV)

"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea" – Psalms 46:1,2 (NIV)

Spring was often celebrated as a blessed relief from the harsh months of winter. Literature, songs, and paintings depicted spring with the bright greens of flowering trees, kaleidoscopic flower fields, and newborn animals stumbling after their parents on uncertain legs. What artists conveniently left out of their portrayals, however, was the fact that spring was the most weather-confused season of the year.

While some enjoyed the butterflies, the buds, and the shedding of their winter coats, others prepared themselves for war against Mother Nature. Melting ice and snow caused devastating floods and mudslides in mountainside communities. Mothers and fathers spent long hours worrying over their sick children. Afternoon highs and nighttime lows were forty degrees apart, and sweeping cold fronts marched across the plains spawning lightning, hail, and tornadoes.

One such tempest developed on an otherwise peaceful Easter Sunday. The squall line was perfectly visible from the local cemetery, where twenty-five year old Ulquiorra Cifer had taken a seat on a stone bench just off the unkempt path. Storms fascinated him like little else. They were powerful, inevitable, and unstoppable. This one spread across the sky in all the colors of a bruise: gray and purple clouds with blue accents, hints of green beyond. Lightning danced around a thick curtain of rain.

He could feel the temperature dropping; the wind throwing its weight around, smelling strongly of moisture. Soon he would have to find shelter somewhere, but for now he would take advantage of the view. Before him was a hill, sloping downwards, dotted with headstones and white-eyed angel statues. Beyond that, a small church from which he had seen the Easter crowd streaming in their pastel colored dresses and shirts. Then came the rest of the town, picturesque and still.

Ulquiorra hadn't been there long. His interest in storms demanded that he move around in constant pursuit of atmospheric instability. When things had calmed down during the winter, he'd settled in an apartment with his former college roommates, who found his hobby morbid and dangerous – ironic, coming from a UFC fighter and a medical examiner in training.

It was a rumble of thunder that finally drove him from the stone bench. The very fringes of the storm were on him now, and he could see the wispy clouds above his head curling inwards. Not a good sign. He strode down the hill with hands pocketed, blinking as a fat raindrop hit him square on the nose. Dark spots appeared on the ground around his feet. With any luck, he'd make it to his car before the deluge really started.

And then came a sound that Ulquiorra had always been careful enough to distance himself from: a low, sustained wail. He hated tornado sirens. People liked to say that their presence could mean the difference between life and death, but the only thing that nightmarish noise did was make a frightening situation into a terrifying one. His search of the skies turned up empty; if the tornado was rain-wrapped, he'd never see it coming.

Thus he decided that it would be better to seek shelter in the church, if it was still open. There was one car in the parking lot; Ulquiorra's was further down the street, and he wasn't going to take his chances. He walked past the iron gates of the cemetery and made his way across the church's back lawn under the rain, fast approaching the uncomfortable side of wet. A pink plastic egg rolled out from its hiding place and hit his shoe. He retrieved it absentmindedly, then climbed the cement steps to the church's back door. It came open with a push of the bar.

Inside he found both relief from the mournful sirens and a brightly lit hallway. To his left was a row of windows, which showed him a darkening world, and trees disturbed by a forceful breeze, but little else. He needed to get away from the glass, just in case. On his right was a series of doors, each marked by a small plaque: Kitchen, Restrooms, Classroom 2, Supply Closet, and Classroom 1.

The door to Classroom 1 was open. Music drifted from within, accompanied by a voice and some clattering sounds. Ulquiorra moved towards it, figuring he should announce himself before taking refuge in the safest room he could find.

"No height, no depth, could keep you from my love; no thing that you could ever do. And no place, is so far, that you are out of reach…" Thunder purred through the building as Ulquiorra entered the classroom. It was decorated in posters the likes of which he hadn't seen since grade school: fluffy animals, cartoons, positive and uplifting messages. There was an entire section of the wall filled with crayon drawings of crosses and empty tombs.

In the center of the room, cleaning markers and construction paper from a table, was a young woman with brown hair bordering on red. She wore a modest floral print dress with ruffled sleeves, and hummed along to the song on the radio. When she saw him, she flinched in surprise. "Hello," she smiled, "are you here for the evening service? You're a few hours early."

"No," Ulquiorra replied. "There is a tornado warning."

"Is there?" The young woman put down the crafts and walked over to the desk in the corner, where the radio sat playing Christian music. She sifted through a few stations before she came to a grave voice giving out instructions.

"…spotted on the radar, or on the ground. Residents are urged to seek shelter on the lowest level of their home, in an inner closet or bathroom with no windows. If you are in a mobile home, evacuate to a sturdy building. If you are in your car, park on the side of the road and lay flat in a ditch – do not try to outrun the tornado…"

"So there is!" she murmured, and went back to her cleaning. "You'd better stay here until the storm passes, then. How exciting! We get watches often enough, but never an actual tornado. They tend to spawn out in the farmlands." She dropped the markers into an empty tub, turned back to face Ulquiorra, and pointed to his hand. "Is that one of ours?"

Ulquiorra had forgotten about the plastic egg he'd picked up outside. "I believe so."

"You're more than welcome to keep it. I figured there would be some left in the yard, but I can't go out looking for them now."

"Woman," he interrupted her, "are you not going to find a safer room?"

At this she seemed perplexed, but shortly after, she gasped. "I'm sorry! I haven't introduced myself." She came forward and held her hand out. "My name is Orihime Inoue. Sunday school teacher, choir member, and sometimes I run the young adult Bible studies. Your name is…?"

"Ulquiorra."

"It's nice to meet you, Ulquiorra. As for your question, I'm in no hurry. Tornadoes are serious things, but I am confident that the Lord will take care of me, whatever room I'm in."

Perfect. She was one of those people. "Regardless of confidence, you should not put yourself at risk," he stated. Faith in some imaginary creator had never saved anyone from death; it was all dumb luck, medical intervention, or outright fiction.

"You're right about that," said Orihime as she moved around the room, pushing chairs in. "Let's see, that's done. Put up the supplies… the floor hasn't been vacuumed yet." She frowned to herself. "Guess I should do that." But she had barely finished her sentence before the lights and the radio went off, followed by a crack of thunder that shook the walls of the church. "Or not."

Ulquiorra pocketed the plastic Easter egg. "There is a window in this room. We should not stay here. Do you keep a weather radio somewhere in the building?"

"In the supply closet," Orihime replied, and grabbed a set of keys from off the desk. "This way."

Ulquiorra thought that he could still hear a distant rumble, like the thunder had never quite stopped. He followed the woman out of the room. Outside it had become very dark: low hanging black clouds churned above the town, and the wind appeared to have calmed down. He felt his heart thudding in his chest, and wished the woman would hurry up and find the right key.

"Here we go," Orihime said cheerfully as the supply closet door came open. She stepped inside and fumbled around until she found a flashlight, which she then clicked on and used to locate the weather radio. Ulquiorra closed the door behind him. "Do you think we should barricade the door," Orihime asked, "as a precaution?"

"It wouldn't hurt." They spent the next few minutes finding heavy objects to push against the closet door. Orihime hummed to herself throughout the task, giving Ulquiorra the impression that she was completely lacking in fear. The weather radio crackled, still spitting instructions for anyone in the path of the storm.

"So," Orihime began as they finished barricading the door, "how's your Easter going? Other than the tornado, I mean. Enjoy any church productions this morning?"

Ulquiorra went to sit beside the weather radio. "I do not attend church," he told her. "I don't believe in what my eyes cannot see."

Orihime smoothed down her dress and sat across from Ulquiorra. "You know, a lot of people reject God's existence because they can't find proof, but I think they're going about searching for it the wrong way."

"Oh?"

"Well sure. It's a lot like love: you can't see love with your own eyes, but you can see the effects it has on a person. You can measure their quickened heartbeat, point out the areas of the brain that light up when they look at their lover, and of course you can see their affectionate gestures."

"Those things have been captured by machines," Ulquiorra said. "God has not."

"No, but that hasn't stopped people from believing in Him." Orihime reached up and fiddled with the flower clips in her hair. "If God doesn't exist, why do so many people put their faith in Him?"

Ulquiorra looked away. "They are uneducated."

"What about Christian scientists?"

"They have deluded themselves into thinking there is more to the universe than what is in front of them," Ulquiorra said. "They whip themselves into an emotional frenzy and begin to hallucinate, claiming they hear someone speaking to them. They make miracles out of coincidence."

"And what gives you the right to say that, when you haven't tried it for yourself?"

"I would not waste my time." He wasn't imagining the distant rumble this time; it was like an approaching train. He tried to distract himself. "You Christians," he said, "cling to this religious idea of a savior – perhaps because you fear the nothingness of death. But tell me; were you there when they crucified Jesus Christ? Have you ever met him in person?" The woman was frowning now. "What you know about his death, you've read in your Bible, which was written by man. It's just another history text. How could you blindly accept something you merely read in a book?"

"Blindly?" Orihime could hear the noise, getting louder.

"You would do well to get out of your fantasy world and take a good look at reality," Ulquiorra spat. "If this so-called savior of yours truly exists, where is he? For that matter, where is he right now?"

"That's enough," Orihime whispered.

"He's dead," Ulquiorra declared, "and in a matter of minutes, you may be as well."

Orihime slapped him. Thunder shook the ground beneath them, and Ulquiorra lifted his hand to his cheek in surprise. Had she just hit him in a church? "I get that you're afraid," she said slowly, "but that does not give you the right to be insulting. I won't stand for it." Ulquiorra stared at her. "You're a confident man, and your arguments are good ones, but you have no experience.

"When I was growing up, I was abused by my parents. My older brother took custody of me when he graduated college. But years later, we were in a car accident, and he died on the way to the hospital. I was only twelve. They put me in the system and I was bounced back and forth between foster homes, some of which were no better than living with my birth parents. I was bullied and sexually harassed at school. I had no hope," she took a shaking breath, "and I wanted to end it. I almost did."

The roar was punctuated by other sounds: cracks and thuds, still relatively distant, but getting closer by the second. "I found God by chance, flipping through the radio for a song to sing to. Someone was talking about how Jesus loved us enough to die for our sins. And sure, He was just another character in a history book then. But how could someone who had never met me allow himself to be killed so that I could have a chance at eternal happiness? No one else in my life would ever make such a sacrifice.

"So I went to church looking for Jesus, and I found Him," Orihime said. "The person I was wouldn't recognize who I am now. She'd never believe that I could be so happy. I put my trust in God and He's taken care of me ever since." She laughed. "And as for your question of where Jesus is, He's here."

"Here," Ulquiorra echoed.

She nodded. "Right here in this room with us."

"I see nothing." A nearby crash startled him.

"Are you sure?"

He didn't understand her. How could she make such claims when the room was empty save for the two of them? Unless, like she'd said, he was going about searching for God the wrong way. He regarded Orihime instead. A smile and a worry free face in the midst of a violent storm. A woman who was completely confident that she had found Jesus while channel surfing. And when a crunch of metal and car alarm sent his heart straight into his throat, she took his hand, and he saw on her wrists a number of time-faded scars.

"Don't be afraid," she said over the almost deafening roar, and he wondered whether what he was seeing in her was faith or folly.

But there was no more time for thinking. The windows in the hallway shattered. The closet door began banging against its frame. Creaks and groans and thuds filled the air. Then there was a horrible explosion, and Ulquiorra was suffocated by a gust of wind the likes of which he'd never felt before. Water and mud and debris flew around him. He was ripped away from the woman, thrown a great distance and crashed against something. Pain shot through his shoulder, but whatever had broken his fall was solid enough, and he braced himself against it. Something heavy landed nearby; he felt the shockwave all the way to his teeth.

It seemed to last an eternity. The roar and the wind continued, but it was dying down. Ulquiorra didn't dare move. Things were still falling around him, though no longer being tossed through the air by the wind. He waited until the noise had faded into the distance, until he felt rain pelting his body. Then, and only then, did he open his eyes.

He didn't know what the church sanctuary had looked like before. Now it was a roofless ruin, its windows broken, its pews splintered, hymnals torn apart and soaked by mud and rain. The tornado had taken Ulquiorra from the supply closet and dumped him in the corner of the sanctuary. But more than the destruction, something else arrested his sight and stole the breath from his lungs:

The cross had fallen in front of him. Shards of broken glass stuck out of it, big enough to have killed him instantly.

He heard a cough and turned around. Orihime was curled up in the corner as well, her eyes half open, blood trickling down the side of her head. She looked at him, and a soft smile lit up her features. "Tears," she whispered. Ulquiorra reached up and wiped them away, but they replenished themselves quickly. The woman closed her eyes.

"Hey," he said, shaking her gently. Her left leg was bloodied and discolored. She didn't respond to his prompting. Ulquiorra struggled to his feet. His whole body was shaking, pained. He stumbled towards what was left of the church entrance. "Help," he choked out, stepping into a debris-strewn world that he no longer recognized. "Help, please…"

…

The Easter Tornado made national headlines after ripping through two more towns, leaving thousands homeless and a dozen people dead. Emergency responders and relief teams from big cities came to aid those who were affected. Hospitals took in the injured, community centers took in the families whose houses had vanished in the maelstrom.

Ulquiorra found himself in the cemetery again a few days later, staring out at the cloudless blue sky. From the hill, he could see the path the tornado had taken, cutting through neighborhoods and businesses with no apparent regard for the lives it had destroyed.

Directly beneath the slope lay the remains of the church. He could see into it like a dollhouse: the kitchen, the classrooms, the jumbled mess of the supply closet, and the sanctuary with the cross still tucked neatly in the corner.

A sharp intake of breath came from beside him. He turned his head. Orihime was leaning awkwardly on her crutches, her hands covering her mouth, tears filling her eyes. "Sorry!" she cried tremulously, taking several deep breaths. "It's hard to look at, that's all."

"They'll rebuild it," Ulquiorra told her, "stronger than before."

"I know. Oh! We're not late, are we?"

"No. Here," he moved one of the crutches and she slung her arm around his shoulder, then he carefully picked her up and started carrying her down the hill. She complained that she was too heavy, and he was too nice, but he ignored her protests. Once at the bottom and through the twisted iron gate of the cemetery, he set her down again.

They had an interview with a magazine that afternoon, their story having caught the attention of the Christian media. Orihime had been reluctant to consent to it at first, but when Ulquiorra had expressed interest, she'd relented. He was still new to everything, after all.

"Why did He do that?" he'd asked her the day of the tornado, at the hospital.

"Do what?"

"Why did He save me, too?" And when he'd told her about the cross, she had started crying.

Now they stood together in front of the cross, posing for a photograph that would serve forever as proof that Ulquiorra could see. And of all the photographs they would take together later, it would remain his favorite, until whenever God decided to call them home.

The End

A/N: Orihime is a character full of faith, and Ulquiorra has none. It takes getting to know her, and her reaching out to him, to see the evidence of something he never believed in. Thus, a religious story suits them well. Anyway, Happy Easter (week) everyone! Enjoy your church services, egg hunts, and Doctor Who and Game of Thrones premieres. :D

Princess Kitty1