The stream of bullets which whizzed over the upturned table that Jim was currently using as cover seemed unending to the injured detective. He could feel the knife wound which had been too slow to avoid in his upper leg continuing to issue a light but steady stream of blood. The blood loss wasn't critical at this point but it was causing him to feel a little dizzy but he focussed his mind on the fight at hand.

Glancing to the man on his left, he wasn't surprised to see Oswald watching him intently. "This is your fault you know." He said, voice light with accusation. "If I had a dollar for every time i've had to save your life I'd probably have enough to retire early and buy a decent apartment in the nice part of North Gotham."

Oswald smiled at the combined accusation and joke but the smile didn't quite meet his eyes as he continued to look at Jim's various injuries with increasing concern. "It's not my fault these people have taken umbrage with me. I am innocent of whatever they are currently attempting to murder me for."

He paused long enough to fire a few return shots from over their cover to prevent their attackers from advancing before continuing. "Plus you do actually owe me this save since I was kind enough to slip you all those little scraps of information which allowed you to catch that awful wife murderer you recently apprehended."

Jim narrowed his eyes as he sent the shorter man an exasperated look, "And that's the only reason why I'm still here trying to save your ungrateful ass." He lied.

"You wound me Jim." Oswald cried in mock hurt before his face shifted back into the concern which he was trying to hide. "But I am concerned with how much blood you're losing. Do I need to do something?"

"Not much we can do from here." Jim replied with a grimace, "I'll just need to ride it out for the moment."

"You can leave if you want?" Oswald responded immediately, "I really do not want you to die here for me Jim, I would rather you alive. I can provide cover if you want to head for the exit over there?" He gestured with his head.

"Do you recall when the war was just a game?" Jim responded in lieu of a real answer.

Ripping a long shred of fabric from the tablecloth which was sprawled on the floor beside him, Oswald passed it to Jim so that he could make at least some attempt at wrapping up the stab wound which was hurting him.

Catching Jim's eye again, Oswald tilted his head and smiled softly. "Nothing in this war has ever been a game to me."