Jareth and the goblins belong to Henson And Company.
Ellen Ripley, Jones the cat, and the Alien belong to Ridley Scott and probably some other people. Alas, there was no category for 'Alien,' so this isn't filed as a crossover.
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Rude Awakenings
She awoke to the sound of two fists pounding on her hibernation chamber. The thudding sounds were intermittently interrupted by the sound of Jones, the striped yellow tom cat, hissing like a boiler on the verge of total cataclysmic failure. She groggily opened her eyes to peer blearily though the transparent canopy. The pounding fists were coming into focus. Looking beyond the fists, she could see an enraged face snarling at her; an enraged, handsome face with a shaggy mop of blonde hair and two glaring blue eyes with strikingly asymmetrical pupil sizes.
"Damn you, Ripley!" the face yelled in muffled fury. "Come out of there, right now!"
Ellen Ripley, lately of the refinery ship Nostromo, and now occupant of an escape shuttle, fumbled with the controls of her hibernation chamber. After a moment, the canopy slid back. She sat up in the chamber and surveyed the interior of the small ship. The tom cat beside her cast a baleful gaze upon the intruder.
A furious Goblin King was filling most of her immediate view. He was standing over her chamber with arms angrily crossed, eyes angrily narrowed and lips angrily pursed. She stared a moment at his absurdly fitting pants, mesmerized. He was also wearing an odd, puffy shirt and some kind of leather jacket. His hair was ridiculous.
"I believe THIS is yours?" he snapped, gesturing toward the black, insect-like creature behind him.
The Alien was wearing a leather muzzle, a straitjacket and a leash. It looked crestfallen and embarrassed at its situation. It went quietly over to a knee level bulkhead and sat down, looking steadfastly at the floor. The Alien reeked of humiliation and shame.
"I'm returning your "goblin," Ms. Ripley."
"No," she said patiently and sleepily. "That's your goblin. You're the Goblin King. Your goblin." She yawned and rubbed her goose-pimpled arms.
"This is not a goblin! It doesn't even look like a goblin! It's too big, too scary looking, and it lays exploding eggs!" The Goblin King was livid.
"Exploding eggs?" she said doubtfully.
"Well, things explode out of them! And then the things attach themselves to the face of whoever or whatever is the closest. The very next day, a second thing explodes out of whoever the first thing attached itself to!" he yelled. "The medicine man's been stitching up goblins all week! Sure, it's all fun and games when someone explodes, but it's making a damned mess and I'm bloody sick of it." He paused to pant for a bit.
"I'll tell you something else," he continued. "When chickens explode, you can't stitch them back together. You've got a dead chicken on your hands. You've also got egg on your face and shell fragments flying everywhere!"
"And you can just wipe that grin off your face," he suddenly screamed at the Alien. The Alien ducked its head to stare at the floor.
"The goblins immediately eat whatever the second exploding things are, which is okay, but they fight over them, which is not okay." He glared at the Alien some more.
"Well," Ripley hedged. "It looked like a goblin to me."
Jareth tapped his foot and looked down his nose at her.
"I was sure it was a goblin," she added.
"Yes, 'I wish the goblins would come get their fellow goblin,' you said. You knew very well it wasn't a goblin," he growled. "And the fact that the idiot goblins who came to collect it couldn't tell the difference doesn't excuse your deceit." He strutted back and forth in front of her, heels clicking against the metal floor. "So I'm returning your pet, and I trust there will not be a repeat performance."
"Oh, really?" she said. "I wish the goblins would take the Alien away, right now! That's an entirely different wish!"
"Stop it," he yelled, and stomped his foot. "I'm not taking this monstrosity again!" He turned to the goblins popping into view behind him. "Get your simple-minded butts home right this instant!" he roared.
The goblins squeaked, yelled and shrieked in fright and vanished immediately. The Alien nodded at them as they disappeared. Jareth gave the Alien a narrow look. The Alien shrank inside its straitjacket and resumed staring at the floor.
"I believe that is your job," Ripley said and stepped out of the hibernation chamber. The slender, dark haired woman was wearing only a thin tank top and cotton briefs. The cool air of the small ship had a charming effect on her breasts. She looked up to find Jareth staring in fascination at her chest.
"Hey!" she snapped. He jumped guiltily and was careful to look only into her eyes.
In fact, he was staring directly into her eyes. She was barefoot and he was wearing heeled boots. It was becoming apparent that she was a good two or three inches taller than he was. He found that to be equally alarming and exciting.
"I believe taking that "monstrosity" is your job. Isn't it?" her voice had an edge to it that hadn't been there before. She was backing him up simply by walking toward him. "I wished it away. Your job is to take it."
He bumped into something behind him and realized that the Alien had left its seat and was crouching behind him. It was peeking over his shoulder at the frightening woman, snuggled up against his back for comfort.
When she had backed them both into a corner of the ship, she grasped Jareth by the biceps. She was surprised and gratified to find that his bird-like bone structure made him a very lightweight fellow. She lifted him clear off his feet and braced him against the wall. The Alien, pinched between Jareth and the wall, made a small keening sound. It was too frightened to hiss. It was afraid of the terrifying Goblin King. Anything that could push the Goblin King around was too horrible to dare antagonize in any way.
The striped yellow cat, still sitting in the hibernation chamber as if he owned the place, hissed at Jareth and the Alien both. Jones thought they were a couple of jerks.
The Alien tried to make itself as small as possible. In its mind, it had now resolved the hierarchy to be; Goblin King, then Ripley and then at the top of the heap was the mighty yellow cat, Jones. Scott only knew what the cat might be capable of. The lowly Alien trembled with dread.
"You're going to do your job, aren't you?" she said in a very calm, very low voice. "That's all I'm asking. Just do your job."
"Well," Jareth said rather shakily, as he felt a bit odd being pinned against a shivering, whimpering Alien by a minimally clothed, gorgeous, dangerous Amazon. "I've been thinking about having a "Certain Death" option for the Trumps in the Labyrinth. I suppose it would fit the bill."
"Good," soothed Ripley. "Then everybody's happy."
"Yes," he paused. "Um, could you put me down?"
She sat him on his feet without a word.
Fifteen minutes later, Ripley and Jones were back in hibernation, snoozing their way back to Earth.
Fifteen minutes later, in a different universe and time, Jareth was unbuckling the Alien's straitjacket and explaining the responsibilities and benefits package that went with its new job as "Certain Death." The Alien was thrilled with the salary, health insurance and bonus program. It promised itself to do the very best job it could. It would be "Absolutely Certain Death," it thought, and bared its glistening teeth.
And ever since that day, Jareth has had a thing for strong-willed brunettes.