Of course nothing's changed outwardly. They wouldn't be them if it had, although he too has noticed that subtle shift; the way they are reacting to each other differently now. Not that he's about to say anything about it, but it's there all the same, a quiet underpinning to the evening that changes everything in subtle ways.

(Which is not to say that he wouldn't mind being kissed again, if it should come to that, but he's already had one more than he'd expected and he isn't about to push, yet. Not when they're both still on unfamiliar ground.)

Still, he does take the wineglass when she offers, and without even the slightest hesitation either.

"To Vienna, I think," he answers, raising his own glass in echo of hers. To new beginnings, to the future, to whatever will happen to come of this particular evening, and somehow it seems right somehow to be raising a glass to the future while standing in the middle of an old map to an older civilization. Out of the old, new, and he can very much work with that. And if he's as much watching Helen's reactions as she is his, surely that isn't any real surprise.

(He doesn't comment about the implication that they might not be traveling together. Of course they will, and right now he doesn't care enough to poke at the implication of her words.)