Penny didn't know the three people that came through the door, one being carried. But she knew who they were sure enough. Shit. This was nothing but more trouble beating down her door, and when it should have frustrated her, it didn't. Because maybe this wasn't expressly her trouble, but it was new trouble. Interesting trouble. Trouble that didn't hurt, well it hurt, because the two people who were up walking around sure looked hurt, and Penny felt that just by her nature, but it didn't sting like other hurts did.
She watched Clementine carefully, not supervising, but taking note of what she did so she didn't have to redo it all and her brow furrowed deep in concentration while James talked, her eyes moved to Pepper Potts then. That was who that was - she had to assume. Field Surgeon and Detective hats worn simultaneously it seemed. She took the pill container from Clementine, looked it over, and went to looking over Tony Stark then. This wasn't a dead man. This wasn't a living man. She'd seen death in all different kinds of ways, calm death, traumatic DOAs, death on her damn table, and death in the field before they even got that far. But this? This wasn't either of them. The thing about death that made it real different from injuries was that death was the same and called under the same circumstances, and maybe she'd have called this early on, but seven days? Seven days dead, she'd seen seven days dead and it didn't look a thing like this either.
She turned the pill bottle over in her hands, "Seven days ago, what was the last anyone heard from him?" she asked the room at large. "Is there anything, either of you can remember that can help me figure out what he might have taken? Or why?" she asked, her accent thick, her concern sincere. It was the best place to start from her view, maybe the only place.