I am participating in Round 2 of Trope Bingo; I've decided to go for the simultaneous double-line bingo, and this fic fulfills my 'rivals to lovers' and 'locked in' squares. I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! You can also find it over at AO3.

That bloody git, Rose thought as she glared across the sales floor at Mr. Henrik's new golden boy. Well, she called him Golden Boy; everyone else called him the Doctor. Which was bloody stupid, because he wasn't a doctor, he wasn't at uni to become a doctor, and—

"Good afternoon, Rose!" the bane of her existence greeted her cheerily.

"Hey John," she said, barely glancing up from the sweaters she was folding.

"How are you today?" he asked brightly.

" 'm fine, thanks. You?" her tone was flat and uninviting; but, thick as he was, he didn't take the hint.

"Oh, I'm very well. I had a picnic in the park yesterday. It was lovely."

"It was rainin' yesterday," she looked up, an eyebrow quirked.

"Yes, it was," he shifted on his feet, "Sunny days aren't the only beautiful days," he smiled. "Would you care to take your break with me?"

"No, ta. I've still got work to do, sales to make; you know how it is."

"Alright then; maybe another time." As he walks away, Rose knows she's only looking at his bum because she thinks his trousers are obnoxiously too tight and highly inappropriate for the workplace.

0~0~0~0

The Doctor had just finished closing another sale; a nice five-piece bedroom set. After he'd made sure the customers had been rung up, and his commission secured, he may have—possibly…accidentally, even—found himself on the edge of the ladies department; not-looking for Rose. He spotted her by the cashmere sweaters, but just then a customer came up and asked him a question. "Oh, that's Housewares, mate; straight down to the bow ties there, then make a right; down the escalator you go, and there you have it, Housewares."

He walked up to her, hands in the pockets of his brown pinstriped trousers. He was fairly new to Henrik's but was doing really well for himself; he planned to hang onto this job a bit longer than the last few, and it only seemed logical to make friends with his co-workers. Rose was the only one of them who hadn't adopted his nickname, and she hardly said two words to him most days. She was probably just shy.

He greeted her cheerily with a, "Good afternoon, Rose!" while very pointedly not-noticing how lovely she looked. And he definitely didn't glance at her bum. No, he didn't do that; that would be—if she caught him—Sexual Harassment in the Workplace. Very not-good. Very bad. Plus a whole extra suitcase full of bad.

"Hey John," she replied, not even looking up. She sounded almost exasperated. Had that bloke with the tattoos been in again, bothering her?

"How are you today?"

" 'm fine, thanks. You?" she responded, and he could tell that she was asking because it was what one did when one was in social situations. She didn't actually want to know. Short answer, then.

"Oh, I'm very well. I had a picnic in the park yesterday. It was lovely."

"It was rainin' yesterday," she looked up, an eyebrow quirked, and he couldn't help but grin; it had been a bit rainy, but he'd been able to eat his peanut butter and banana sandwich in peace and enjoy the summer air.

"Yes, it was," he shifted on his feet, "Sunny days aren't the only beautiful days," he smiled, thinking of the feel of the cool raindrops hitting his face. "Would you care to take your break with me?" he asked. He wanted to make sure she was okay, because he knew something was bothering her; he was a very perceptive one—and clever—so it was only about making sure his co-worker was well. It definitely wasn't because—

"No, ta. I've still got work to do, sales to make; you know how it is."

"Alright then; maybe another time," he said, and turned on his heel toward the break room.

0~0~0~0

The Doctor took his brown-bag lunch out of his small employee cubby and sat at one of the tables, across from a bloke called Mickey, a mechanic from the automotive department.

" 'ey Boss," he said in greeting. The Doctor didn't particularly like this moniker, but Mickey was his first friend here at Henrik's, so he didn't object. "How are you?"

"I'm alright."

"Liar."

"What? I'm always alright!" he said defensively, taking his sandwich and banana out.

"I reckon you've got something on your mind."

The Doctor took a bite of his sandwich and began talking with his mouth full. "Welll, I'm worried about one of our co-workers."

"Who? Why? What's up?"

"Rose. Rose Tyler? She works in the ladies department," the Doctor begins.

"Yeah, I know her," Mickey smirks inwardly, as the Doctor continues.

"Whenever I see her, she seems like something's bothering her. At first I thought she was just shy, but now I'm sure that someone's bothering her," the Doctor takes another bite of sandwich and Mickey tries hard to hold in his laugh, "Maybe that greasy-looking bloke that security chucked out last week."

"Oi, it's not Jimmy Stone that's bothering her, mate; it's you," Mickey chuckled.

"Me?" the Doctor squeaked. "What did I do?" his eyebrows knit together in confusion, "I've been nothing but polite! Believe me, that's not easy for me. Rude and not-ginger, me; lost my last three jobs to that quirk."

He takes another bite of his sandwich, and chews in silence for a moment before remembering the original conversation. "Honestly, what did I ever do to upset Rose Tyler?"

"She works on commission, just like you, boss. And her commissions are down twenty-five percent since you started working here."

It's been nearly a week since the Doctor had his little chat with Mickey, and he's been stewing over it. Who does she think she is? Angry with me for doing my job! Ha! He's just finished tidying the men's fitting room, and now he's ready for lunch.

0~0~0~0

Rose is just sitting down to her meal in the break room, her thoughts stormy. John Smith has stolen my last commission! I've had it with that pretty boy. As if on cue, the Doctor plopped down in the chair in front of her.

"Why can't we get along?" he asks.

"What?"

"We each seem to get along with everyone else here, but not each other. And it's not my fault, as I'm always quite pleasant with you. So I thought I'd ask you why we can't get along." Rose just stared at him in disbelief. Not his fault? Bloody hell. The Doctor took a banana out of his pocket (seriously? Who carries a banana in their pocket?) and peeled it. "Mickey says it's because you're jealous of my commissions."

"WHAT?!"

The rest of the break room falls quiet and the few eyes and ears in the room turn their attention to the Doctor and Rose.

"He said you don't like me because I make more in commissions than you do," he says matter-of-factly, grinning as he takes a bite of his banana.

"I…you…you twat!" she shouted, before dropping her voice to a growl, "You make more in commissions than I do because you wander all over the store—leavin' it to Adam to do all the straightenin' up—flashin' your aren't-I-so-impressive grin to every woman in the store with a credit card and a mind to follow unwanted home interiors advice from a pretty boy in a tight suit!"

"I'll have you know, Rose Tyler," he says proudly, seemingly unaffected by her tone, "that I tidied the men's fitting room just before lunch, and—wait, you think I'm pretty?" a self-satisfied grin broke out on his face as he ruffled his hair and he preened his jacket.

Rose's face reddened, and because her brows were knitted and she wore a scowl, it was from anger, not from embarrassment. "I think you're a twat! Jus' because everyone else here thinks the sun shines out of your arse doesn't mean I have to, John Smith!" She got to her feet and dumped her half-eaten lunch into the trash before storming out of the room.

The Doctor sat in his chair, baffled. He turned to look at one of the stunned witnesses seated at another table, "Am I pretty?" he asked a short ginger girl from the shoe department.

"Yeah, Doctor. Pretty and thick," she giggled and made her exit, the rest of the break room's occupants following closely behind. Thick? Was he thick? He began to replay their conversation in his head. "Bugger," he said scrubbing his hands over his face. I am thick. Mr. Thick-Thick-Thickety-Thickface from Thicktown, Thickainia; that's me.

He had to find a way to fix this, to patch things up with Rose; to save his job. No other reason.

0~0~0~0

"Did you really call the Doctor a twat?" Shireen asked.

"Twice," she grinned.

"Why'd you go and do that for?!"

"He is a twat! Swannin' off with my customers, my commissions—"

"But he's really fit, though," Shireen interrupted, biting her lip, "An' besides, 's not like he's doing it on purpose."

"The hell he isn't."

"I've seen it, mate. Last week he was doing the sweepin' up, and this lady older than your mum comes up to him and touches his bum. Of course she tried to play it off like it didn't happen, but she was coming on pretty strong. I ain't seen a bloke look that nervous since Andy took my virginity."

"Shireen!" Rose giggled.

"Guess it worked out though; she ended up buying a new set of flatware, some bed linens, and a flat-pack bookshelf—and she insisted that he carry it out to her car, too."

"Really?"

"Really! Course she shamelessly ogled him the whole time, the bint. Can't say I blame her, but come on! A little more tact wouldn't hurt."

"Speakin' of tact, have you thought about tellin' him you're sorry?"

"What? Why should I say I'm sorry? He's the one who walked into the break room last week and said it's my fault we don't get along 'cause I'm jealous that he makes more money than me!" he said indignantly, before punctuating it with a muttered, "Twat."

"That is not exactly how it went," she said, shooting Rose a knowing look.

Rose crossed her arms, "And how would you know? You weren't there."

"Amy from shoes told me; she was there with Lynda. They said it was like a train wreck."

"Conductor Twat, that's him."

"Rose, have you ever actually had a conversation with him? Besides what happened in the break room?"

Rose thought on that for a moment, and realized that other than polite greetings initiated by him, and invites to join him on breaks, she hadn't ever really talked to him before. "No," Rose admitted, "I guess I haven't." She started to get a niggling feeling in the back of her head and the pit of her stomach that she really didn't like at all.

"Whatever he said, he didn't mean it. Not like that, anyway; the Doctor puts his foot in it more badly and more often than any bloke I've ever known."

"Well, since he's the one who put his foot in it, he should apologize to me."

It had been a week since her talk with Shireen; twelve days since her argument with the Doctor. She still thought he was a smug prick, but her friend's words kept echoing around her head. 'Have you ever actually had a conversation with him?'

She never really had. She was too busy silently mocking his I-spent-twenty-minutes-making-it-look-like-I-just- rolled-out-of-bed hair, his goofy grin, and the fact that he wore dirty old trainers with his posh suits. Posh pinstriped suits that always seemed to look pristine; Rose scoffed. Probably has a whole wardrobe full of them, all the same; brown ones for Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and blue ones for Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. The Doctor always had Saturdays off.

'The Doctor puts his foot in it more badly and more often than any bloke I've ever known.' Rose thinks back to their exchange in the break room. Had he tried to backpedal when he realized he'd upset her? She thinks now that he did, and even tried to cover it with a bit of bluster; his tone had been more infuriating, but his words were more tactful.

He was still an arse, but they work together. She should at least smooth things over, or rather; let him know it's safe to approach so he can smooth things over. Lord knows that git doesn't have the social graces to sort it himself.

0~0~0~0

He wanted to talk to Rose and apologize; explain that his unstoppable gob always got away from him. Rose couldn't possibly be jealous of his sales skills; he didn't have sales skills. She knew everything about the merchandise, and he knew everything about telling the customer what they wanted to hear. He might be gobby and unintentionally rude, but he had always had a knack for falling ass-over-tea-kettle into a strange or ugly situation and coming out of it better than anyone—including himself—would've thought possible. This—with Rose—would just have to be another one of those times.

The next day, when Rose walked into the break room and he caught her eye, she didn't glare at him as she had been doing the last two weeks. When she took her seat, she didn't put her back to him, either. That's a good sign, he thought, and worked up the nerve to go over to her.

"Rose?" he said timidly, standing beside her with his hands fisted in his blue pinstriped trousers.

"Yeah?"

"Can I talk to you," he tugged his ear and then ruffled the hair on the back of his neck, "About what happened?"

"Alright."

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for what I said. You're not jealous of me."

"Thank you."

"I mean, why would you be jealous of me? I sell double what you do and know nothing about the products; it's the curse of being pretty, I guess."

Rose's eyes narrowed to slits, and immediately the Doctor's eyebrows shot up. "No! Wait! I didn't mean—that's not what—oh bollocks!" he said, fisting his hands in his hair.

"Just shut it," she bit out through clenched teeth. Her face was getting progressively more red, and she was about to start ranting.

"I 'ave an idea," Mickey chimed, pointing at a poster on the bulletin board, "It's almost the end of the month, right? Well, why don't the pair of you compete for next month's Employee of the Month bonus? Friendly bet, right?"

"Are you serious?" the Doctor said, his voice going squeaky.

"Yeah Boss, I am."

"Why would I want to—"

"Because then you can stop fighting about sales."

"I don't think we should—"

"Why not? Afraid you'll lose?" Rose interrupted, one arched eyebrow and a tongue-touched smile stopping the Doctor's words in his throat.

He sprung to his feet, "Alright, fine! You want to make it a bet? What are you terms?"

"If you lose, you have to quit Henrik's," she said flatly.

"What?" he said, settling into his chair again.

"If you lose," she annunciated, "you have to quit Henrik's."

"Really?" he said, and his crestfallen look actually took her by surprise. "I thought the loser would buy the winner's lunch for a week or something," he sounded even more deflated.

"I'm playing for keeps, John," Rose said, "What are your terms?"

He froze. The Doctor hadn't really thought that far ahead. "Erm…if you lose," he tugged at his ear, "You have to use your employee discount to buy me one of those nice long coats," he grinned, "the brown oneand you have to call me Doctor, like everyone else."

"Well, there you have it," Mickey said, suddenly feeling like another row in the break room would've been better than this. "Now you two have to shake on it," he said, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.

As Mickey and several others looked on, the Doctor and Rose shook hands and spoke in unison. "Deal."