That finger of his gets slapped away while Felicia's face has an expression that probably reads that she doesn't like being poked very much. At least he's figured that it's a dream, but she still gets the feeling she doesn't belong which makes sense. It's his head, not hers.

The water only stays calm until a dolphin floats by, clicking and nudging the boat until it rocks gently. It's clear the dolphin means no harm, so Felicia leans over and pats it on the head. "Of who?"

She's not going to ask what the hell he is talking about Freud for, but her attention is drawn to the land and Felicia is wondering why can't his brain make anything nice.