The duo of Charlie Crews and Dani Reese is a long-established fixture in the resistance. He's on friendly, chatty terms with all the other tunnel rats; she's the quiet shadow that never leaves his side. Together, they've taken out more metal than pairs half their age.
At the end of what passes for a day in the tunnels under Los Angeles, they go from sitting together with their backs against the wall to lying together facing it. Reese almost always turns in first; Crews waits 'til she's as comfortable as she can get, then spoons up behind her, one arm cushioning his head, the other resting across her hip. They sleep fully clothed, relying on their mud-encrusted boots, pants and worn-rough wool jackets to keep them warm, because their lone, thin blanket is all they've got to put between them and the filthy cement floor. Her nose almost touches the wall; his back is broad and exposed in the narrow, crowded hallway.
Everyone who's ever seen them working together--on missions, in firefights, or even just passing their battered canteen back and forth in rare moments of rest--thinks they've been married since before Judgment Day. Inevitably, someone says something to that effect; inevitably, Crews smiles and pleasantly corrects them while Reese looks at them like they've got two heads.
No one's ever seen them so much as kiss.
Doctor Tom's office is still clean, comfortable, opulent. His books, masks, art, furniture and knicknacks look no different now than they did before Judgment Day; he himself is still well-fed, well-dressed, and impeccably groomed. Everything about him seems, somehow, innately separate from the filth and misery that constitute the human condition on the other side of his door.
He's never apologised for continuing to have so much and be so safe while everyone else is hunted to extinction. But Savannah's seen the look he gets sometimes--when she names a regret involving her mother or the Connors or John Henry, and he doesn't meet her eyes as he replies that unfortunately, he won't be sending her back to that one; he's sorry, but there are rules--and she's not convinced he has any more control over his own life than she has over hers.
Sam's mojo doesn't work on metal. That's why, unlike every other human left on the planet after the fact, he refuses to call it Judgment Day.