He sets the plate down on the floor, where Annie can reach it from her spot on the chair, or from a standing position, then Finnick steps forward and leans against the windowsill, where he can see both the view of the forest out of the window and also Annie.

"Take your time, I'm not going anywhere."

He is, though, watching her rather than looking out the window as she slowly makes her way across the bedroom. She's stiff and uneasy in her walking, and she knows she needs to move more than this for the sake of her muscles, but he knows that she can't, because she couldn't move, she's been frozen in fear for a long time, and he has to look away from her, back out the window, not because he needs to watch (though he does, he promised her), but because his vision is blurring with tears.

He can't cry. He can't. He needs to be the one holding it together. So he looks away, out the window, staring into the woods for anything that might need attention. He's still watching when he hears Annie's slow steps scuffing on the floor as she returns. It's been a long time, longer than going to the bathroom should take, but he knows enough about these moods to think that could be simply because it's taking time for her to persuade herself to come back.

He knows that feeling himself.

"Hey," he says, when he judges her footsteps are close enough that she's back in the room. "Nothing to report."