"Didn't your momma teach you not to talk during the sermon, motherfucker?" he retorted in a mutter and, for his whisper, got another jab in the back. If that bitch poked him one more time he was going to shoot her in the face. Okay, well, probably not- but he really did entertain the thought for a half second.
He turned his attention to the preacher's homily instead. He was talking, unsurprisingly, about the Resurrection. Zombie Jesus and shit. Nick remembered the first time he'd seen a living corpse in a horror movie and at Easter asked his mama if Jesus was a zombie. Got slapped for that one. Still, it was a mental image he'd never quite banished and now as he imagined it, the picture had the addition of gory details thanks to all that horrific New Orleans shit. Truly, Nick Fury lived a charmed life.
The woman behind him jabbed him again and Nick turned jerked around, eye blazing with anger, a snarl on his lips. But she merely passed him the collection plate with raised eyebrows and Nick took it silently and stared at it. Did he have any cash? He didn't think so. Only credit cards. Church wasn't going to take credit. Neither did prostitutes, for the record. "Cap, can I borrow five dollars?" he whispered, staring plaintively between Steve and the collection plate.