"Well?" Jack hovered, peering anxiously over her shoulder. "Can you fix it?"
Sam straightened and shook her head. "Sorry, sir."
"Oh, come on! You fix the Gate all the time!"
"Fixing the Stargate, sir, involves lightning strikes, meteorites, and crashed al'keshes. But this..." She gestured at the pathetic mess in front of them. "You tried rewiring this yourself, sir. It's beyond help now."
"I've got duct tape," he offered desperately.
Her mouth twitched, but she managed to keep a straight face. "Sorry, sir," she said again. "But if you want to tape The Simpsons, you'd better get a new VCR."
Daniel, at the end of Full Circle:
He scrabbled to bond molecules together again, to hold a world between cupped hands and reshape it into reality. But his fingers turned insubstantial, and the sands of Abydos drained away.
"Let me fix this!" he gasped at Oma, wild-eyed. "Give back the -- Don't do this!"
"It's already done," she told him. "Your people will live, but the planet is dead."
"Live? This isn't living," he said bitterly. "They didn't choose Ascension!"
"Nor do you any longer, it seems." She sighed. "I will keep them well for you, Daniel. But I see that our paths have diverged for now."
Jack, in 1969:
"Well? Can you fix it?" Daniel squinted under the hood.
"Sure thing." Jack wiped his forehead with a dirty sleeve, leaving a streak of oil behind. "But I need tools we don't have."
"That's -- very helpful, Jack."
"We passed a small town about three miles back," Michael offered. "I could hike back and get what you need."
"How long will this delay us?" Daniel asked quietly as Michael moved away.
"Five hours, maybe six," Jack estimated. "We'll still reach New York on time."
"Good."
"I'm not going through the 70s twice if I can help it," Jack agreed. "Let's go."
Teal'c (and Bra'tac), pre-series:
"Well? Can you fix it?"
Teal'c stared at the disassembled zat'nik'a'tel. He wanted to protest, to complain. He wanted to shout at Master Bra'tac that it was unfair to expect a boy of eight winters to know how to repair a weapon of such power.
Instead, he straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin, and met the master's gaze. "No," he said steadily. "I cannot."
Bra'tac's scowl melted into an approving smile. "Good!" he said, clapping Teal'c on the shoulder. "You have learned to accept your limitations with honesty. Now come, chal'ti, and I will teach you how to surpass them."
Jonas, in Meridian:
"Well, Quinn? Have you fixed it?"
Jonas swallowed, feeling sick. "Councilor -- this is wrong. Doctor Jackson saved our lives, we can't allow..."
"The people cannot know that we nearly destroyed ourselves!" the Councilor snapped. "Jackson makes the perfect scapegoat."
"But he's dying for us. The Tau'ri are so angry. It's not fair to --"
"Just tell me you've fixed the story as I instructed!"
"I..." Jonas kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, not daring to glance at the key to the room where the naquadriah was locked away. "Yes, Councilor," he lied. "No one will ever know the truth from me."