Inspired by the song, "Truth," by Seether, particularly the music video.
Regarding Albert's flashback to the fight with the Waffen-SS soldier: I had a few qualms about posting that sequence due to regards for historical accuracy, but I felt that it would mirror his fight against Kid Galahad.
Prompt: Inner Conflicts
Words: 486
"Take the fall."
Much to his own disgust at himself, Albert actually found the option to be preferable to facing the mob's wrath.
The whale of Nazi Germany gaped its mouth open wantonly to swallow Great Britain. The streets of London were buried in rubble from attack after attack.
Candy folded her arms. "What I'm going to do with you, Albert, I don't know."
"Trust me just this once more, it's all I ask," Albert replied, the blinds casting silver light over his face. He silently swallowed down the doubt that her trust might not be enough; they could be caught.
Candy frowned. "Then what, your ego will get us into more trouble?"
"It's not ego, it's honor,'" His voice grew more intense as he added, "I have never thrown a fight. Why should I start now?"
"You're gonna get killed, that's why!"
"I was going to be killed back in the war."
Candy shook her head. "Leave the war behind, Albert."
"I wish to do so," he replied sympathetically, "but I must fight for what I believe is right. It's not as if I haven't had the fear for my life placed into me before."
Albert grunted from where he lay, his back pressed into the mud as attempted to push the knife point away from his face. His harried expression was reflected back to him by the blade. The Waffen-SS man tilted it to align with the soft flesh of Albert's neck, and his blood ran onto the blade's surface.
From the rubble, London rose anew, the scar on Albert's neck covered in Candy's lipstick. Los Angeles had been whole for Candy, untouched by the enemy. Though she had offered solace to a wounded knight, she didn't truly understand that fear of a stronger, darker being ripping all she loved from her. For the sake of his pride, he had to stand stalwart. He had to throw the winning punch in the boxing ring, rather than retreat with his tail between his legs just because someone thought he was washed up. Even if that meant bidding her farewell. "Just one last fight. We'll leave this city behind, and then," he tugged a cord to open the blinds and look outside, "we'll start our life together."
"Albert," he turned at the mournful tone in her voice, "not this time."
"Any particular reason?"
Her voice rose in frustration. "You don't know when to stop fighting."
He clutched at the windowsill, but said nothing.
She walked over to the chest of the drawers. Placed on top of it was a lone photo of the two of them, his arms about her waist. The picture frame thumped as Candy turned it to lay face down.
The Waffen-SS man, his throat slit by his own knife, lay motionless on the ground. Albert, bedraggled, and a kerchief held to his bleeding neck, stumbled away into the rain.
So be it.