For Christine (pointlessthings) who asked for 11 (dream sequence) mixed with 6 (snowed in)…I give you a possible scene from my future S/T WWII drama fic: "Calendar Girl"

“It’s you…” he murmured, staring at her from across the bedroom.

She smiled, and then looked down at her feet, the lamplight casting a lovely and ethereal glow over her.  Her hair looked like silk, her skin like cream, and the blush on her cheek when she looked down reminded him of the roses that grew in his mother’s garden.  How appropriate, for he ever since he had seen her picture, he thought of his as his English rose…

“I’ve been waiting for you, Tom…” she whispered, lifting her eyes back to him, his breath leaving his chest as he was taken by their gorgeous blueness. 

Waiting for him?  He had been waiting for her…waiting for a girl like her his whole life. 

She lifted her arms to him, and did not hesitate, he turned and moved towards her, his entire being aching to touch her hand, hold her in his arms, kiss her lips…

He didn’t know his English rose, didn’t even know her name, and yet he knew, as mad as it sounded, that he was in love with her.  Deeply in love…and it was the thought of her face, the dream of meeting her that was somehow keeping him alive and living to see another day in this unending war.

“Tom…” she whispered, her voice growing distant.

“No…” he reached out for her, but she was out of reach.  “No, no, please don’t go, please…”

“Come back to England,” she whispered as the light grew bright and she started to disappear.  “Come and find me…”

“Wait!” he jolted awake and gasped, sweat clinging to his brow and his chest.

“Monsieur!” he turned his head and looked up at a matronly Frenchwoman in a nurse’s uniform, who began to fuss over him and mutter things in her native language, while gently pushing him back down, coaxing him to go back to bed.

It had been a dream.

His English rose, his calendar girl hadn’t been there, and he was recovering in some French hospital, snow falling and winter winds raging outside.

“Come back to England…come and find me…”

He lay there, breathing in deeply and bringing his hand up to cover his heart.  “I will,” he vowed.