A small cut.
Medic breathed out a sigh of relief. The day had been stressful, as it usually was, but his mind refused to give into the joy of winning another battle and instead decided to go deeper into depression.
It was hard, cutting. The relief was only temporary. And it was addictive. Medic knew this. He had had patients who self harmed and he learned from them. Techniques, scars, proper treatment - all of the knowledge flowed out of them and Medic absorbed every last bit.
If it were to stop the torture for even a second he would do it.
The knife went over his wrist again and again, slicing flesh and leaving small bubbles of blood in its wake.
Medic loved it.
It was the one thing he was in control of. He wielded the knife, the cuts, the blood. He could stop whenever he wanted.
But in the back of his mind he knew the addiction was controlling him and he had fallen into the control of another yet again.
The fog cleared up somewhere around the seventh cut. Medic set the blade down on his desk and cleaned himself up. He wiped away the blood and wrapped gauze around his wrist. It hurt to move it around but it was just a reminder of what he did today. Of what he will do again tomorrow. Medic put everything back in its proper place. He fixed his shirt and put on his coat and, after double checking himself, left his room.
A few minutes pass. Noise comes from downstairs - Medic going to dinner and everyone talking. Spy steps out of the shadows and decloaks. He has seen more than he wanted. And now, against all of his training and beliefs, Spy wanted to help this fellow lost soul.
He leaves Medic's room quietly and walks to his own. He doesn't go to dinner, he doesn't leave his room for the rest of the night. Spy has some other things on his mind.