Why the 9-1-1 Season 9 Finale Makes No Sense (and honestly… most of the season didn’t either, despite a few absolute gem episodes)
The 9-1-1 finale honestly left me with more questions than answers.
And weirdly enough? 9-1-1: Nashville excited me way more. Not because it was “better,” but because it opened actual doors for the future. Ryan’s storyline especially feels like it’s heading somewhere tragic but transformative. I genuinely think they’re setting Samantha up to die eventually, and as brutal as that sounds, trauma has always been how the 9-1-1 universe evolves its characters. Ryan feels emotionally frozen with her. The show has always revolved around single parents, broken families, and rebuilding yourself after loss — Eddie, Chimney during Maddie’s absence, Rob Lowe’s character in Lone Star, even the newer fathers introduced across the franchise. It’s a recurring DNA of the series.
But while Nashville made me curious, the main 9-1-1 finale mostly made me confused.
The episode itself wasn’t bad. The problem is that everything moved way too fast. This should’ve been a two-part finale. Huge emotional moments were introduced and resolved within minutes, with almost no time to breathe.
And I’m sorry, but the migrant storyline was handled terribly. The emotional perspective of the migrants themselves was powerful — those scenes worked. But the reveal of who was responsible felt completely disconnected from the reality they were trying to portray. Maybe I’m harsher because I watch a lot of Mexican television and dramas that deal directly with cartel violence and immigration issues, but here it felt surface-level and randomly stitched together. It lacked authenticity.
Soft reboot energy
This entire season feels like a soft reboot to me.
And soft reboots are always bittersweet. They allow longtime fans to stay connected to the world while opening the door for newer audiences. Marvel is doing the same thing right now. But every soft reboot also quietly closes the chapter on what came before.
That’s where my fear comes from.
Not because change is bad — sometimes change works beautifully — but because there’s always a risk of losing the emotional identity that made people fall in love with the show in the first place.
Athena
Athena becoming a detective actually makes sense to me. Retirement never felt believable for her character anyway. And from a production standpoint, it’s smart: as a detective, she can appear less frequently while still remaining important to the story, especially with Angela Bassett likely balancing other projects like American Horror Story.
May & Ravi
This episode convinced me even more that May and Ravi are temporary.
The time jump makes it obvious they’ve technically been together for months already, but the show still refuses to write them like an actual couple. There’s no intimacy. No softness. No physical familiarity. Tiny gestures matter — touching someone’s face, fixing their hair, instinctively holding each other — and they never give them those moments.
They honestly feel more like friends who occasionally kiss than two people deeply in love.
And the way Ravi has suddenly become more “important” only after sleeping with May honestly bothers me. If a female character gained relevance solely through a male love interest, fandom would destroy the writers for misogyny. Ravi deserves better than being treated like an accessory storyline.
Harry
Harry confused me the most in an interesting way.
His dialogue didn’t sound like someone simply wanting romance. It sounded like someone longing for family, stability, belonging. Which is actually a fascinating direction for such a young character. In a world where television constantly pushes adulthood later and later, the idea of a 21-year-old genuinely wanting love, commitment, maybe even a future family, would actually feel fresh.
Buck
I honestly don’t know how to feel about Buck’s storyline.
Not because of the child — none of this is the kid’s fault — but because the entire situation feels narratively forced. The show spent years showing how difficult fostering and adoption are through Hen and Karen’s storyline, yet suddenly Buck, a single firefighter working 24-hour shifts, seems to receive custody overnight?
It feels inconsistent.
And realistically… who’s helping him raise this child? Maddie and Chimney both work demanding jobs too. The show may have written itself into a corner here.
I also think people ignored something important because of the excitement surrounding Buck becoming a father: the child’s characterization changes wildly between episodes depending on which twin actor is being used. One version of the kid feels aggressive and emotionally detached, while the other feels sensitive and empathetic. It creates tonal whiplash.
Hen & Chimney
One thing I did love was the return of Hen and Chimney’s emotional partnership.
Ever since Chimney became captain, they’ve lost a lot of that old paramedic duo energy. This finale finally reminded me how much I missed them working emotionally side by side again.
Eddie
And then there’s Eddie.
The character I truly did not understand in this finale.
Especially knowing Ryan Guzman reportedly requested rewrites because he disliked parts of Eddie’s original storyline. Watching the episode, it honestly felt like Eddie intentionally pulled himself away from everyone — especially Buck.
Even Buck visiting him at the hospital felt emotionally distant.
But the biggest issue is that Eddie’s stabbing ended up meaning… almost nothing. The injury should have changed something emotionally. Instead, it gets resolved almost immediately. No aftermath. No emotional fallout. No meaningful character shift.
Why stab him at all?
If the writers didn’t want emotional consequences, they could’ve literally trapped him in an elevator and achieved the exact same result.
And that’s what disappointed me most: the lack of payoff.
The fear of season 10
My biggest fear is that season 10 becomes what later seasons of long-running shows often become.
Not bad. Just… different.
Like the later seasons of Stargate SG-1 after the original emotional core shifted. Or One Tree Hill after high school ended. Or Charmed after Prue died. The shows continued, some storylines were still enjoyable, but the original emotional magic slowly changed into something else.
That’s the feeling I’m getting from 9-1-1 right now.
Bobby’s death honestly felt like the natural emotional ending of the series. Everything after this feels like a new era — and new eras can work — but they also risk losing the identity that made the show iconic.
So yes, I’m curious about season 10.
But I’m also scared that one day I’ll watch it and realize I’m no longer watching the same show I fell in love with in the first place.
