Sam was sitting with one leg folded on the bench, so that she was facing neither the outside nor the door directly. She wasn't afraid of Meg, nor planning to hurt her-- she had no plans to hurt anyone on this ship, so far. If anyone, she felt that the biggest threat might be the crew running it, since they were the ones in control. They had been benevolent so far, and Sam didn't want to cause any unnecessary trouble if they really were the saviors, but after their first meeting, she'd been wary.
She looked up when she heard footsteps, catching sight of Meg out of the corner of her eye first. "Hey," she said, offering a smile. She raised the bottle she was holding, in offering. "You want some of this, or something else? I got you a glass, so take your pick."
She'd left room on the bench for Meg to sit, and now that she was here, she shifted to rest both feet on the floor, facing the observation window. But she didn't look out at the stars just yet, she moved to open the bottle and pour herself a glass. "I've been having a lot of this stuff. Between collapsing realities and alternate universes with multiples of everyone, I'm going to become an alcoholic at this rate."
Not to mention the lack, and possible non-existence, of her sister. Or any version of her, really. That was a gnawing ache of guilt and grief that she couldn't shake, but wasn't going to harp on, especially with someone she didn't know well. Mostly, though, she was avoiding the subject just because it hurt too much.