Saito would've felt sorry for Batou, if such an advance feeling was possible for him; empathy was a luxury that a sniper could not afford.
For years he'd watched the second-in-command pine for the unattainable Major. She was a woman who planned her every waking moment; she could, most likely without the aid of any software, calculate her respirations down to their frequency and volume. People like the Major didn't trifle with things like love. And neither did he.
As a sniper, he'd trained for tens of thousands of hours. He could not only take down the target ninety-nine percent of the time, but he'd also learned to anticipate which way a mark would move under pressure. When he saw Batou head to the completely useless weight rack, he knew deep in his instinctual hindbrain, that the Major would soon join them in the gym.
