"Sweetheart, you carried me down to the hospital. I think I can make you a cup of tea," Finnick answered while filling up the kettle and setting it down on the stove top.
Really, he didn't even consider this taking care of her, which he thought spoke more to how accustomed she was used to being treated rather than his own skill at taking care of people. But this wasn't anything he wouldn't have done for anybody he heard having a nightmare. It just happened that most of the people he knew who had nightmares were victors.
"I'm going to assume you don't want to talk about it," he said as she came into the kitchen. "Let me know if I'm wrong." Once upon a time, he had always asked Annie if she wanted to talk about it, when she woke up in bed, gasping as if she couldn't get enough air. And then he'd stopped, because he'd realized that talking about those dreams -- their dreams -- never made them go away. In Finnick's mind, it was easier to forget them as soon as possible.