Well, yeah, that sure is Alex cursing at the food fabricator. The Southern drawl is what sells it, and Amos fights against the feelings that burst in his chest as he recognizes it, relief and worry all at once, that he pushes down as quickly as they've appeared. He walks closer, a smirk appearing on his face, growing with each step.

He'd been looking for his crew, at first. Wanted them here. And then he realized it was better if they weren't, because he wasn't sure he could protect them from the bullshit things that were happening around this station.

But it never had been his choice, apparently.

"It makes a better lasagna than you do, brother," he replies immediately, even if it's a lie.

It's worth it for the look on Alex's face.