It would have been a straightforward choice for "9-1-1" to adhere to conventional TV tropes and reserve Bobby’s shocking demise for the season's climactic episode, affording viewers a summer's respite to come to terms with their grief. The show could have resumed the next season with a temporal leap, allowing all characters to have grappled with their loss over several months, and perhaps adorned the station with a framed photograph of Captain Nash, a silent testament to his enduring memory. Instead, "9-1-1" opted for a bold move, eliminating one of its core characters with merely three episodes remaining.
"The Last Alarm" unfolds mere fortnights after Bobby's heroic sacrifice, the wound still raw and unhealed. For a series often tipping the scales towards levity, this episode delivers a strikingly poignant portrayal of the grief process — primarily denial and anger — culminating in a respectful farewell to the beloved character.
As the episode kicks off, Athena appears to maintain composure, albeit with visible fractures beneath her veneer. One issue at hand is her inability to decide on a burial site for her late husband; May underscores the urgency of finding one to finalize the funeral arrangements. Athena attributes the delay to the pending release of Bobby's body, but her fury ignites upon learning that Chimney has facilitated this process. She confronts him at the 118, accusing him of rushing the burial because "until he rests in peace, no one can move forward. They're condemned to another day haunted by Bobby and his tragic end." Chimney, too, is grappling with immense pain — Maddie reveals to Buck that he's taken to running as an escape from everyone — yet he knows better than to confront a grieving widow. Athena announces the funeral for the upcoming Tuesday and attempts to storm off, only to bump into Gary, a man seeking Bobby.
Tragically, Gary arrives a tad too late. Athena, ever gracious, escorts him to a diner. He offers his condolences and then recounts his plight: his sister, Leah, languishes in jail, charged with stalking and attempted kidnapping after attempting to abscond with a young boy. A flashback at the episode's onset reveals that Leah's son, Micah, perished in a fire when he was an infant; the 118 responded, but Bobby couldn't reach the crib in time. Now, Leah is convinced that Cameron, a boy she met at a catering gig who shares Micah's exact birthday, is her son. Gary, unsure how Bobby could have swayed Leah, desperately seeks someone who witnessed the fire firsthand to confirm Micah's fate. Athena wasn't present, yet she's eager to help; it's what Bobby would have wanted.
Back at the 118, Gerrard arrives and promptly dispels rumors of him being the new captain. (A sigh of relief escapes me.) He seems to have undergone a personality transformation, embodying thoughtfulness and compassion, merely there to assist during the transition until Chief Simpson appoints a new captain. However, when Gerrard begins to share personal anecdotes about Bobby, Chimney storms out in anger. This rage spills over into the 118's next call, the aftermath of a car accident where a man loudly insists, despite T-boning another driver, that it was her fault. Chim confronts him more aggressively than the situation warrants, prompting Gerrard to step in. "I know you're in pain," Gerrard says calmly to Chimney. "So am I." When Chimney retaliates by saying Gerrard is not even half the man Bobby was — an obvious truth — Gerrard's understanding wanes, reminding Chimney that he is, in fact, the current captain. "Only because I was the last one to lose mine, so I'd tread carefully if I were you," Chimney replies. He's struggling, and who can blame him?
Athena is struggling too, yet she finds solace in a peculiar distraction. She ventures to visit Leah behind bars, where Leah unfolds her tale in harrowing detail—a narrative so captivating, it hooks Athena completely. When Leah first laid eyes on Cameron at his birthday bash, she dismissed her own astonishment at his uncanny resemblance to Micah as mere madness.But then, her gaze fell upon Cameron's wrist, adorned with a heart-shaped birthmark, an exact replica of Micah's. Unsatisfied with just this revelation, Leah delved deeper, entering the house to stumble upon photos of Cameron's mother, Heather, a woman Leah once knew from prenatal yoga classes who had mysteriously vanished. The grapevine had whispered that Heather had suffered a miscarriage. Leah is convinced that Heather abducted Micah from his crib and ignited the blaze to erase all traces. Athena, immersed in Leah's conviction, finds herself nodding in agreement. Given that this is 9-1-1, a show where absurdity is the norm, such a scenario doesn't seem all that far-fetched. Moreover, it taps into a universal fantasy harbored by those who have lost a loved one prematurely—the hope that perhaps there was a mistake, that despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, your beloved is still alive. This is a form of denial that can resurface years after a loss, regardless of the grief journey's supposed trajectory.
Athena's embrace of Leah's narrative is unsurprising; it offers a sliver of hope that the deceased can indeed return. She embarks on a Carrie Mathison-esque conspiracy quest, digging into Heather and Cameron's past, walls of suspicion rising around her. Her children's texts and calls go unanswered, the LAFD's communications ignored; nothing matters more to her at this juncture than reuniting Leah with Micah. However, one presence she cannot disregard is Bobby's spectral form, who materializes to inquire about her podcast aspirations. Skeptical of Athena's kidnapping theory, he receives a curt dismissal. "If you're not here to help, haunt someone else; I'm occupied," she snaps, her frustration evident. Athena sees Bobby's skepticism as a betrayal, reminding her of his self-imposed exile in a lab, sacrificing his right to dictate her life path. Thus, anger resurfaces.
Driven to extremes, Athena exhumes Micah's grave with Leah's blessing, only to be startled by the absence of a body for DNA testing. But there's another test she can conduct to lay this matter to rest. During her next visit to Leah, Athena reveals she's obtained DNA samples from Heather and Cameron—they are a match. Cameron is Heather's flesh and blood, unrelated to Leah, confirming that Micah is indeed gone. Athena must also impart the deeply distressing news that no body was ever buried because Micah was consumed by the inferno, a truth Leah's family should have disclosed sooner. This heart-wrenching revelation is but one of many in an episode replete with sorrow as Leah acknowledges the mirage she had clung to. "You were consumed by grief," Athena soothes. "For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to believe in the possibility of miracles." The DA considers a diversion program for Leah, but there are no happy endings here; the grieving mother feels the loss of her son anew.
Athena, too, clung to the hope of miracles, yet the stark reality of her circumstances loomed large, and she had finally found the solemn ground where Bobby would rest. The preparations for the funeral unfolded, a somber tapestry woven by all present. Ravi thoughtfully retrieved Buck's dry cleaning, paving the way for Buck to fetch Eddie from the airport—a moment that stirred a tear or two, though I must confess, my heart was already a wellspring of sorrow.
Just as they were about to embark on their journey to the church, Buck's phone rang, disrupting the poignant stillness. It was Maddie, pleading for his assistance. Chimney, engulfed in despair, was consuming vodka straight from the bottle, perched precariously on the rooftop. The undeniable truth weighed heavily: Bobby had sacrificed his life to spare Chimney's. Despite this, Buck reassured Chimney that no one held him accountable. "Nor do I blame myself," Chim responded, still consumed by rage. "I blame him." Bobby had often imparted wisdom—that amidst dual adverse choices, one should seek a third path—yet he had chosen the hardest way, sans any word to his team. Buck inquired if another option had truly existed at the lab, to which Chimney confessed he had pondered relentlessly for two weeks, to no avail. The weight of sudden responsibility bore down upon him. "Buck, he gave his life for mine," Chimney lamented. "I'm uncertain how to carry this forward." Buck's response was poignant and precise: "I believe you're meant to simply live on."
The funeral, which concluded the episode, was as heart-wrenching as anticipated. Attendees, including Bobby's formerly estranged mother, were united in their grief, tears streaming unchecked. Chief Simpson presided over the ceremony, explaining the solemn tradition where ten bells toll to honor a firefighter lost in the line of duty. The funeral procession was accompanied by the haunting melody of "A Hard Rain's a Gonna Fall," creating a powerful sequence that underscored the show's bravery in confronting grief head-on, rather than glossing over it. These characters deserved their moment of mourning, as did we, the viewers.
The episode drew to a close with Athena and her children standing beside Bobby's grave—a peaceful resting place, serendipitously next to his late wife and children, whom he had lost to a fire long ago. "You're home now, baby," Athena whispered, encapsulating the essence of farewell. What more could be said?
