As I penned my reflections on last week's episode of "9-1-1," I openly admitted to being in a state of "moderate denial" regarding the possibility of a character's demise in the second half of the two-part narrative. Little did I know, my denial was more profound than I had acknowledged. To my credit, "9-1-1" is hardly a series that casually eliminates its main protagonists – and nothing in its history could have mentally prepared me for the harrowing, heart-wrenching death scene unveiled in "Lab Rats," a moment more soul-crushing than anything the show had offered in its seven-year run. Hence, if this recap lacks its usual lighthearted humor, I trust you'll empathize with the circumstances.
The episode resumes from where the last left off, with Moira on the lam, clutching the antidote in a glittering tumbler, while Athena and Buck confront Colonel Hartman, who remains blithely unconcerned about the plight of the 118 trapped within the lab. Upon the arrival of Special Agent Mark Santos of the FBI, Buck sees a chance for a shift in dynamics, but his impatient plea to "open the damn door" falls on deaf ears. Bobby counsels Athena and Buck to allow the Army and FBI to handle their duties, subtly conveying a hidden message. Athena catches his drift instantly – they must capture Moira and secure the antidote before anyone else succumbs to illness. "We'll track down that mad woman and lay our hands on the dose before anyone else inside falls sick," Athena declares. Only by retrieving the antidote ahead of the U.S. government can they hope to save Chimney.
Meanwhile, Chimney's condition is dire, as expected. The virus spreads rapidly, and the only viable treatment for hemorrhagic fever is supportive care, fluids, and pain management – all challenging tasks in a lab with limited resources. Maddie, still on the communication line, emphasizes the need to administer two to five liters of saline to Chimney every 24 hours, an amount they desperately lack. But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures in a lab! Hen guides Bobby through the saline preparation, with Maddie's assistance (not forgetting the dire warning that even a minor error could halt Chimney's heart). Amidst all this chaos, Ravi collapses, the episode intensifying with overlapping crises.
Fortunately, Ravi isn't ill – he's merely oxygen-deprived. Yet, this is dire enough. In fact, he's mere minutes away from brain damage. MVP Maddie explains that the lab's air supply lines, used for pressure suits, provide a continuous flow of filtered air. Despite the hose coupling's mismatch, Bobby improvises with duct tape, ensuring Ravi breathes again. This scene teems with foreshadowing. Firstly, Ravi confesses that, when unconscious, he feared being ill and wondered how the team would decide with just one antidote dose. "We'd find a way," Bobby responds cryptically. "It's what we do." So vague, Bobby! Secondly, the significance of air supply lines becomes crucial.
Chimney engages in an poignant conversation with Bobby, their exchange deepened by the harrowing climax of this episode. The moment is already heart-wrenching as Chimney implores Bobby to vow to look after Maddie and the children in his absence. "They are the pinnacle of my achievements," he declares earnestly. Bobby reassures him of his unwavering support for the Hans, albeit mainly striving to keep Chimney conscious, even resorting to FaceTiming Maddie for reinforcement. However, their focus shifts abruptly as Chimney begins to hemorrhage from his nose, with no means to staunch the relentless flow. Ravi's incredulous question, "You can't actually bleed to death from your nose, right?" stands out as oddly naive for a show like 9-1-1. At this juncture, they administer a DIY saline solution, but Chimney's blood loss is too severe and rapid. It takes Hen, still bearing a chest wound, to devise a solution—injecting water into Chimney's nostrils halts the bleeding, thereby stabilizing him.
Meanwhile, Athena and Buck continue their relentless pursuit of Moira, eventually trailing her to Martel-Harvey Pharmaceuticals, where she attempts to sell her antidote to a surprisingly principled pharmaceutical executive. He recognizes her prophecy of an impending pandemic as a significant warning sign and performs the responsible act by dialing 9-1-1. Unfortunately, this alerts the FBI, setting Athena against the clock to outmaneuver the federal agents. She manages to reach Moira before Santos arrives, even securing the bedazzled tumbler containing the sole dose of antiviral hidden in the water cooler. But Santos is in hot pursuit, making a conventional exit impossible. Buck proposes ascending the stairs instead of descending—a move that, in horror movie lore, would spell doom, but he seems to have a strategy in mind.
His plan involves calling his ex, still slightly irked by their recent, awkward breakup. Tommy arrives in an LAFD helicopter to airlift Athena, Buck, Moira, and the antidote from the rooftop. As schemes go, it's ingenious, until Hartman interventions, instructing Tommy to return to base, with the Army standing by to enforce compliance if necessary. What ensues resembles a helicopter dogfight, with multiple Army choppers hot on Tommy and his passengers' tail through the skies of Los Angeles. Though I'm unsure if 9-1-1 possesses the budget for such a spectacle, I deeply admire its ambition. Ultimately, Tommy is compelled to land at the L.A. Coliseum, revealing the helicopter chase as a diversion. Buck and Moira emerge with hands raised, but Athena and the antidote have vanished. It transpires that she's safely on the ground with Karen, who is whisking her and the antiviral straight to the lab.
Let me be frank; the precise moment of the bait-and-switch remains a blur to me, as does Athena's effortless infiltration of the lab unhampered by the Army or FBI's vigilance. (Granted, their primary focus was the Coliseum, yet surely, they'd have left sufficient armed personnel to thwart the escape of a highly contagious, lethal virus?) Truthfully, the specifics are of little consequence—Athena was bound to procure the antidote for Chimney somehow, and in such a narrative-driven series, one must occasionally suspend disbelief. What truly matters is Bobby's administration of the antidote to Chimney, triggering his immediate recovery. All appears well that ends well as Bobby holds a sign up to the cameras, demanding the Army evacuate his team. However, the moment Radiohead's "High & Dry" begins to play, it's evident our reprieve is illusory.
Indeed, as members of the 118 exit the lab via the filtered air tunnel promised in the preceding episode, Bobby reactivates the lab's lockdown mode, entrapping himself within. He has been infected. "You're going to be alright, Buck," Bobby reassures him through the protective glass, his nose bleeding profusely, a harbinger of imminent death from the virulent CCHF strain. "Remember that. They'll need you. I love you, kid." Here, the tears commence, flowing incessantly until the episode's conclusion, or perhaps long after. Buck communicates with Athena via radio, instructing her to proceed to the lab, where Bobby requests a private moment with his wife.
This farewell is heart-wrenchingly predictable yet profoundly impactful, with Bobby revealing the hole in his air supply line, explaining he couldn't disclose his illness to his team—even as symptoms emerged—because the antiviral was sufficient only for Chimney's salvation. "This isn't how I wanted to leave you," Bobby tells Athena. "I'm not choosing to leave you. I chose to save my team because it was the right thing to do. It was never out of a desire to depart. I don't want to go. If given the choice, I'd stay with you, forever." These lines are devastating even independently of Peter Krause's peak performance—but delivered by him, they are nothing short of soul-crushing! I am a shattered mess.
Bobby urges Athena to depart, sparing her from witnessing his impending demise, which promises to be gruesome. "I'm here for all the moments we have left," Athena responds resolutely, their hands meeting across the glass. (Angela Bassett's portrayal in this scene is equally breathtaking. Does it even need mentioning?) As Hozier's "Work Song" plays, Bobby Nash succumbs to the virus, his life extinguished, the lyrics "when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth" echoing the depth of our collective trauma. The montage depicting the 118 learning of Bobby's sacrifice adds layers of anguish to these closing scenes. "He knew, Maddie," Chimney says solemnly. "When he saved my life, he knew." In time, I shall forgive 9-1-1 for the emotional turmoil inflicted by this episode. For now, however, I mourn.
