I'm weirdly proud of this, you have no idea. Enjoy!

In this world, every hero has a villain.

Someone who pushes them to their limits and makes them fight at their very best. Someone who makes them stand up for what they believe in. Someone with a power that compliments their own so perfectly that the fights can be so intense, yet so disastrous to those around them.

But, even though every hero may have a villain, it doesn't mean they'll find them.

Guess that's why they never expected to find each other.

Santana didn't know when she became defined as a 'villain,' but then again, she never was the 'hero' type.

Some men just want to watch the world burn, and Santana had the power to do that; so, she used it.

The flames curled at her will, twisting and turning into every corner of the building. Heat caressed her cheeks, over her shoulder, down her arm in every direction until there was no where left to run. If burning down some of the city for pure enjoyment made her a 'villain,' then so be it.

The heroes always tried to stop her. The one with the amazing voice and the killer lung capacity just made the flames grow higher. The tall one could just kick away obstacles and hold up ceilings so they didn't cave in. They were all useless. they never succeeded.

Until now.

It wasn't Santana's fault, really. She got distracted by the sudden bone chilling coldness coming from behind her that she didn't see him coming. A fist painfully connected with her jaw, sending her flying back in a daze, forcing the flames more out of control. She made a quick attempt to calm them before the power-sapping cuffs were shackled to her wrists, tugging her out of the burning wreckage and straight into the back of a lead lined police van. Santana could vaguely see the remaining flames dwindling without her there to control them, but someone was standing next to them, shaping and forcing them back until there was nothing but smoke.

That was the first time the Mistress of Fire saw the Ice Princess.

"You should step back if you don't want the door to hit you."

Santana stood in the centre of her cell, mouth agape with her wrists shackled in front of her. She didn't know much about jails, but she was pretty sure this girl shouldn't have been standing in front of her cell in the 'extremely dangerous' section.

Breaking out of jail was one thing, but breaking into jail? You'd have to be completely mad.

"I mean it."

Then again, it's not so bad when the completely mad person with brilliant blue eyes is smiling, curling her hand around the lock on the door and freezing it rapidly under her touch. Her smile only got bigger as the lock cracked, and she forced the door open like she's done it a million times.

The shackles were taken off her wrists, a hasty 'good luck' was said, and then the woman was running back the way she came.

Weirdest thing ever, but Santana wasn't going to question it.

The third time she saw Little Miss Snowflake just happened to send her right back to jail.

Santana was inspecting a cabinet full of jewellery (a girls gotta have her bling) when she felt that familiar chill run down her spine—the same one she felt that night.

"It's not nice to stare," Santana snapped over her shoulder, lips curling into a smirk when she heard a light chuckle coming from the doorway.

"It's not nice to steal."

Not much was said after that as Santana's flames encompassed the intruder, roaring even further into life at Santana's certainty that she had won the short encounter.

"S'hot."

Santana spun around, eyes wide as the girl merely brushed away the flames, tucking loose blonde hair back behind her ear.

"Are you almost done here? The police are waiting outside, and I have to be back home for lunch soon. Lord Tubbington doesn't like being left alone."

Santana couldn't help the disbelieving laugh that escaped her lips. Regaining her composure with a shake of her head, she threw an arm out with a growl. Flames twisted around her arm and hurtled across the short distance, the heat blasting backward as it hit its target.

Or not.

The torrent of fire met its match against the barrage of ice. A stalemate between them as one tried to overcome the other, eventually exploding at the force.

Blue eyes met brown. And, standing in the middle of a mist filled with sparks and crystals, there was nowhere else either of them wanted to be.

"You're going to have to stop doing this," her voice was laced with amusement as she watched the pale hands wrap around the lock for the eighteenth (nineteenth?) time.

"Well, maybe if you actually broke yourself out once in a while, I wouldn't have to," the Ice Princess giggled softly, pushing the door open with ease, "or is the story the papers are running about your 'mysterious breakouts' not true?"

Santana smirked and held her hands out, patiently waiting for the shackles to be removed.

"Why do you keep doing this?"

The Princess paused, fingers clasped around the bracelets, thumbs brushing carefully over the soft skin on Santana's wrists as she thought of her answer.

"Because," wonderful warmth spread back through Santana's fingertips, making them tingle, "life's more interesting out there than it is in here."

"You just send me straight back here."

"I don't," she insisted. "The police do that."

She had a point.

"Hey, wait," Santana shouted down the hallway before the other girl could leave, "at least tell me your name."

The Princess giggled again. "It's Brittany."

They fell into a routine.

Santana destroys. They fight. Santana either goes free, or gets locked up, and Brittany is always there to follow, or break her out. Brittany rebuilds. Then they start over, littering the city with sparks and snowflakes.

Santana and Brittany.

The villain and the hero.

The one who can melt the Ice Princess' clueless facade and see her for who she truly is, and the one who can tame the incandescent heart of the Mistress of Fire.

A blaze and a blizzard, perfectly in sync.

And neither of them would want it any other way.