Sam snorts softly, but it's not derision or amusement at her, more the rough agreement of someone who knows what that's like. Still he holds up his hands briefly, trying to indicate that he means no disrespect. He's not yet sure if he can get with the way she handles everything, but so far she's also not given him any reason to be distrustful of her other than his natural - and well-deserved - skepticism of anyone in power over anyone else. Sam respects her for being open to getting called out on stuff, though - it's a good sign, he thinks, if people are free to speak their mind like that and be heard, and have things explained to them if they're not being agreed with so that at least they'll understand, even if they disagree. With numbers as high as these, Captain Childe will never be able to make calls that satisfy everyone - and that's normal.

"I hear you. Ain't raising the point to say you're doing it wrong."

He focuses on his work for a moment, in the quiet way of someone trying to pick his words carefully - it's not fear of retribution, though, but the desire to find the right words. She can be angry with him - hell, he'd rather she be angry than dismissive.

"But there's gotta be something we can do to make this easier on people who gotta give up the last connection to their loved ones they have. Grief ain't rational, and makes a hard companion to the logistics of survival. Every decision you make impacts this little world you guys have carved out for yourselves here - ain't something I envy, believe me, and trust me, you're doing a more solid job of it than a collective of world leaders from where I'm from. And I know us... hatchlings or yolk people or whatever you wanna call us, we don't make shit easier on you. You got anyone helping the survivors and your crew process all this? I mean, you're military, right - how've you guys been handling the collective trauma?"