..."King Richard's Big Knight"...
(added scene)
The sun was dipping towards the horizon when Arthur Fonzarelli slipped out of Al's Diner. It had been a long day. He'd taught that creep, Bullfrog, a lesson in small words that he hoped got through that very thick skull. He'd seen to it that Richie made up with the rest of the gang. Now, all that remained was to take care of his motorcycle. After all the abuse it had taken, he wanted to give it some special attention.
He pulled up to the garage in his tow truck, and after sending the workers home, he suited up. As usual when he was at work in the shop by himself, time passed quickly. One minute he was assessing the damage: broken fender, sticks and stones in the motor, scratches in the paint... When he next checked the clock, it was almost 10 pm. His work finished, he smiled proudly at the new fender, glistening in the shop's artificial light.
"Good as new."
He returned the jar of polish to the counter and wiped his hands on a rag.
"Now, let's say you and me go out for a spin, just the two of us?"
He'd removed his gray jumpsuit when he heard the familiar sound of Richie's car pulling up outside the garage. Cunningham didn't usually come looking for him this late unless there was a problem. Fonzie sighed and looked longingly at his bike.
"Sorry my girl, we'll go out soon, I promise you."
He opened the garage and stepped out; Richie was just getting out of his car.
"Cunningham! To what do I owe this pleasure? Shouldn't you be out making up with Lori Beth?"
Richie, for his part, looked like a puppy who'd just been chastised for pulling up the neighbor's tulips.
"Hey, now, what's with the long face?"
"I'm sorry about your bike, Fonzie."
"Oh, is that what you're worried about? Red, you don't need to apologize for that."
"Fonz, I think I do."
Fonzie frowned. "Cunningham, if I say you don't need to apologize, then you don't need to apologize. End of discussion."
"Fonzie…" Richie pressed on, "It's your bike!"
"True, Richie. You're very good at facts."
"It's very important to you."
"I can't argue with that," Fonzie acknowledged casually.
"You once threatened to rearrange my freckles if I touched it again."
"I was having a bad day," Fonzie shrugged.
"Well, I did much more than that last night, Fonz." Richie started pacing in agitation. "I stole your bike and went for a joy ride; who knows where to? I don't know, because I can't remember a thing! But, according to my father, I got foliage in the engine, scratched up the paint, and destroyed your fender."
"And did you tell your father that it wasn't your fault?" Fonzie asked pointedly.
"Yeah... well, I told him about Bullfrog." Richie rubbed the back of his neck.
"Do you know it's not your fault?"
"Yeah, I guess I know that." He paused, trying to find the right words. "I just feel bad about it, that's all, Fonz. I hate that I let my friends down. It's the worst feeling in the world. I said some really awful things to them, you know?"
"They told you?" Fonzie was surprised by that; he'd thought they'd let bygones be bygones.
"Not at first, but once they started talking to me again, it all kind of slipped out. They aren't very good at keeping secrets, you know. Especially not from me."
Fonzie shrugged. C'est la vie.
"Anyway, then I went home and found out I had also kicked you where it hurt the most: right in the fender."
Fonzie sighed. "You're very poetic when you're upset, you know that?"
"At least let me pay for the damages," Richie concluded.
Fonzie shook his head and opened the garage door wider. "Come on in, Red. Assess the damage for yourself."
Richie walked in and surveyed the motorcycle, paying close attention to the fender.
"See, Rich? Here she now sits, none the worse for wear, with a new coat of polish, happy as an oyster in a shell."
"Oh, that's 'happy as a clam,' Fonz."
"Yeah, well we ain't all writers."
Cunningham breathed a sigh of relief. "She looks great! You'd never know anything happened to her."
"Well, I am the best mechanic in Milwaukee! I'd say in the state, but I don't wanna brag."
That earned a laugh from Richie.
"More to the point," Fonzie said, "When you rolled in through the door on Ol' Silver last night, in nothin' but your flippers and your swim trunks..."
"I was wearing flippers?" Richie cried miserably.
"Don't interrupt, Rich."
"Sorry."
"When you rolled into the room, you wanna know the first thought that came to my mind?"
"How to rearrange my freckles without getting blood on Mom's carpet?"
"Surprisingly, no."
"What, then?"
"I pictured that day you'd crashed your motorcycle, and the doctors couldn't say if you'd ever wake up again. Let me tell you something, Cunningham. Bullfrog was very lucky it was only my fender that was bent out of shape. I can fix that. You could take this bike apart, piece by piece, and I might be a little bit miffed..."
(Richie snorted, "a little bit?")
Fonzie continued, undaunted. "But, I could put her back together blindfolded, as you know. However, what I can not do - not ever, Red, is replace you. And I don't want you, or that toad, or anyone else for that matter, to ever forget that."
There was an edge to Fonzie's voice that refused any argument.
"Oh." Was all Richie could manage.
"That's right, 'Oh.'" There was a pause, and Fonzie watched as the rain cloud that had been hovering over Richie was dissipating, and a light dawned on his face. Satisfied, Fonzie waved Richie to the door. "Now, get outa here; I wanna take Ol' Silver for a ride."
Richie's lips quirked upwards in a fond smile.
"Night, Fonz. Thanks for helping me out today."
"Ayy, you know I always got your back, Red."